The first time I popped a balloon I cried. I remember thinking it was dumb to be crying, I was fine, it was just a balloon, no big deal. I couldn’t figure out why I was crying.
I cried because I did not understand nor enjoy the feeling of my heart clenching and solidifying in my throat or the way my body stiffened.
I remember abhorring those feelings, they scared me. My heart should never have held a beat for that long, for a split second I could’ve died as far as my eight-year-old self was concerned.
I still hate that feeling.
screaming for your attention.
Demanding some kind of contact.
Pretending I don’t feel viciously sad.
Wishing I didn’t feel this way.
Wondering why my friends hang out with you more than I do.
Wanting it not to be your fault.
Hating that it is.
“Let’s get drunk and take advantage of each other. Or, I could get drunk and you could just take advantage of me. OR, you can stay here and get drunk and I can go home and take advantage of myself. Either way, it’s up to you. “
I’d be happier under the covers with you but eh, what can you do?
Except let me under your covers with you.
This is weird, mostly because… It’s just weird. Consider that a disclaimer.
Everytime we see eachother I can feel the condescending leaking out of you. You have consistently dropped my change while trying to hand it to me like three times, I promise that I won’t touch you and that if I do it will not effect you or your girlfriend. Or me. I will not jump you, I swear.
Or I might. You were the first person to actually attempt to make out with my fifteen year old self. It was weird, I was bad at it, it didn’t really happen that often. I am understanding of that. So, speaking of said condescending attitude, I want to make out with you just so you stop looking at me like I’m some putride virgin you wasted six months with. Seriously, you work at a place I eat at weekly, you’re pissing me off acting like I’m still a freshman in high school and your some almighty elder I need to grovel for.
This isn’t high school, I don’t consider you any kind of gift to anyone. I don’t consider you anything until you look at me like I shaved your head and pissed on everything you own… Or burnt down you place of living. Whatever. The point is, get over yourself because I got over you five years ago.
Just hand me my fucking change like a normal person so I don’t have to dig through a basket of cookies for my fucking quarters.
Quarters = laundry.
I need to do laundry.
“Look at you. You’re young. And you’re scared. Why are you so scared? Stop being paralyzed. Stop swallowing your words. Stop caring what other people think. Wear what you want. Say what you want. Listen to the music you want to listen to. Play it loud as fuck and dance to it. Go out for a drive at midnight and forget that you have school the next day. Stop waiting for Friday. Live now. Do it now. Take risks. Tell secrets. This life is yours. When are you going to realize that you can do whatever you want?”
It’s pretty much all I’ve got right now.
Yeah it’s from a commercial.
I like that commercial.
I’m pretty hard up for some physical contact. My induction back into the real world is going to be a hot mess of bone jumping. Augh.