I broke my streak. I cried last night. Hard. Sobbed and whimpered and curled up in a ball at midnight.
But it wasn't completely to do with him. Not completely.
My thoughts of Andrew Coit triggered something inside me which asked me to question the very realness of life.
It's hard to understand. I know that. I realize that.
But try to grasp it. Try to ( Read more... )

I'm happy ( Read more... )

Yeah. I pretty much love Wicked ( Read more... )

My dad and I got into an arguement the other day.
I've been playing softball for a few years now. I dunno. Since I was seven? But this year I'm not playing because it's like almost $100 to play, I missed sign-ups, and it's one more opportunity for me to deal with people I may or may not be too crazy about and my dad has a habit of biting my head off ( Read more... )

I haven't cried since I said goodbye to him, saturday. It still feels kind of vague. Like is he really gone? I dunno. I can't tell anymore. I almost started crying in school yesterday. I was heading up to math class and I had to pass the music/drama hallway. As I was passing by, I heard an obnoxiously loud laugh down the hallway, one that sounded ( Read more... )

I guess I'm just so sick of trying to make people happy.
So go ahead and trade angry words with me.
$10 says I got more of them than you do.
I've got more anger built up than you'll ever know.
Cuz I'll never tell you.
I'm so sick of this. 
But whatever.
I guess I'm too "complicated".

So many songs remind me of him. Many different reasons. Here they are ( Read more... )

Thursday - "The Lovesong Writer"

Sitting alone in the dark of a stadium
He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar
With the flick of his wrist he turns words into melodies
Chords into church bells, fill up the allies
Lovers intwine in the heat of the night
And by dawn are apart in the shivering silences
We will pretend
That its all just made up

The songs ( Read more... )

It feels almost dream-like ( Read more... )

"We only know that thou hast gone, and that the same relentless tide which bore thee from us, still glides on. And we who mourn thee with it glide ( Read more... )