No one will ever save you if no one can ever find you

So I've managed to make my life a total mess in the last few weeks.

I started thinking I could do something when all along I probably knew it was too late, and then I was crushed when I was told that it was, indeed, too late. I put myself through a week of unnecessary conversations and unnecessary tears and unnecessary worries. And I don't care what anyone says - I didn't get anything real out of it. If you'd like to provide me with an example of something I did get out of it, I welcome that. But I don't want to hear "I know you got something out of it. You might not see it yet, but you did." If you can see that so clearly, I'm going to need you to tell me what it was. Because I'm still not seeing it.

Anyway...

Then I decided to try to hide things from some of my friends, and...well...I mean, we all know I can't hide anything when it comes to my emotions, especially with the specific people involved. So I ended up hurting them and pushing them away even though that was the very last thing I wanted. I haven't heard from one particular person in a week and a half, and it's absolutely killing me. It's agonizing.

My stomach twists and my heart's in my throat every time I see I have a new email. I'm afraid that I was too late again, because I was ashamed and didn't know what to say. It was as simple as an apology, but I just couldn't figure out how to say it. And now that's all I can think about. I've spent a lot of time either in bed or on the couch, a lot of time crying, and a lot of time alone.

In the meantime, I've been trying to improve my outlook on things. I'm getting back to being on my way to feeling okay with myself. I'm forcing myself to listen to the wonderfully supportive people around me. I'm going to start trying to discern what parts of me are really me, and not just a combination of my parents. My mom always tells me "Ugh, you're so much like your dad" when I do something that irritates her, and my dad's response to when my mom and I fought was always "You're so similar that you just know how to push each other's buttons." I realized in my counseling appointment the other day that I've never really thought about identifying myself outside of that - I have my dad's eyes, my mom's complexion, my dad's short upper lip, my mom's voice, and a combination of their hair with my mom's color and my dad's texture.

But more than that, I identified myself with their personality traits too. My dad's passion, my mom's school smarts. My dad's interest in the humanities, my mom's interest in math. My dad's ability to dream, my mom's stubbornness. My dad's will to do everything possible, my mom's responsibility to the people around her.



Then if all that's from them...who am I?

So far, I think I'm one of Tilly's "Lost Girls" (see title, search song, listen).

I'm working on that.

I am here with you

Nothing really important to say right now...at least not to say here. I just want to show off the beginnings of two new paintings. :)

There's nothing that can accurately describe the internal joy that painting gives me. Even when they don't turn out exactly how I wanted (like the silver on top of the pink in the bottom picture), and especially when they turn out better than I expected (like the top picture!)...it makes me so happy. I don't know what it is...it's just fulfilling, I guess. The creativity, the knowledge that I'm making something for my friends, the simple beauty of having paint-covered hands - it's so wonderful. I love finding inspiration and making the idea my own, I love seeing it in my mind and later seeing it on the canvas, I love the escape of an afternoon of painting.

That top picture could end up being my favorite one yet. Good thing, because I'm making it for a very special purpose.

Six years has gone so fast

This is Brian. He died six years ago today.

Brian, Jane's boyfriend. Brian, who I'd eaten lunch with almost every day of freshman year of high school. Brian, who I pushed around stage on wheeled scaffolding during strike after the spring play the previous year. Brian, the star-to-be of Big River, the fall play that year. Brian, the guy who wore his plaid pajama pants almost every day, the one who had an easy laugh and kind eyes. Brian, my friend.

Your life is hard. I know, mine is too. Life is hard. But I can tell you, and I hope you believe me, that life is worth it, too. It can be terrifying to think about, but there is always help available. Open up to a friend, see a counselor. Suicide...suicide is never worth it. Suicide hurts the people around you so incredibly much, to the point where they're still asking why six years later.

I might not even know you (but chances are I probably do). Even if I don't, I know that you deserve to be alive. You are loved, and you are not alone. Especially when it feels like you're lonelier than you've ever been, you are never alone. You are a beautiful person.

I want to take everyone in the world who's ever felt worthless, hopeless, broken, or empty, and I want to hug them. I want to tell them that they mean something, that their life matters, that they're not alone...that they're loved.

I could offer you a warm embrace

Adele's back to being stuck in my head. Make You Feel My Love, One and Only...they say it all. I've got a headache from the tears I've been needing to cry but couldn't. Twice now, HP7P2 has given me the release of emotion that I need. Also, I really can't wait until everyone comes back.

13 years

13 years gone like 13 minutes...underwater.

Now that July 18th is over, I think it's time for a little reflection. The day marked the 13th anniversary of my diagnosis with type I diabetes, and to be honest, it was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. It carried a lot of emotion that I hadn't been expecting, and the day in general hurt a lot more than it usually does.

Normally my "diabeteversaries" are happy occasions, days when I get treated to a nice dinner and sometimes even cake! The past few years have been really chill, because after a while it's not such a big deal anymore. I didn't mean for this one to even be a big deal. A Facebook status, a Tumblr post, a tweet or two. Not too much. But I guess it was my own fault that it became a bit bigger, because I talked about this one a lot. I mean, it is kind of interesting that my diabetes is a teenager now. But then I started making it a bigger deal than I even wanted it to be, so much that Claire even made me a cake (which was delicious and so awesome of her - thanks friend!).

It didn't help that my mom sent me this text: "Hey hun, it never ceases to amaze me how much courage you have shown in dealing with your medical conditions. I'm thinking of you on this 13th anniversary. Luv, mama." I overlooked it when I first got it, but when I went to reply later, it just hit me. I wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for her.

It was a reminder of how fragile my life is, how easily I could lose control, how easily it could kill me. Maybe you don't know this (or maybe you do), but I've had four seizures, including two in my sleep. I've struggled with the temptations of diabulimia (which I'm sure you can find some information about on the Google machine - too much effort to go into it right now), it's been a major source of my depressive times, and I stopped caring for a long time during spring semester this year. No, wait. I didn't just stop caring; I let it take over, I let it get to me. For the first time, I felt defined by it.

Diabetes sucks. It really, really sucks. And I legitimately am sorry that I can't explain it very well to those of you who aren't diabetic. Unfortunately, you just can't know how it affects you unless you have it. I know you can see how it affects me, and you might feel like you get it, but it's just one of those things, you know? One of those things that is just impossible to fully understand until you're the one dealing with it. That's why camp has been so important to me - it's the one place where everyone really understands. I've never had the same connection with another person as I have with Lauren, my best friend from camp. I'm very lucky to have someone like her who understands and has had very similar life experiences.

I apologize for any time ever when I have not been very patient in talking with you about it. I know that you might just want to understand better, or you're curious about how things work. If I have lost my patience (or lose it in the future), please know it's not your fault. I know I have said before that it's my favorite thing to talk about, but if I'm being honest, it's really not. I'm not going to avoid talking about it or try to keep it a secret, but I only talk about it because it's something I can discuss for hours on end.

Another note - please, please spare me the diabetes jokes. They're a lot less funny when that's your reality. Also, they hurt more than you think they do.


I guess what I'm getting at here is that diabetes is a large part of my life. It affects me daily, to an extent you can't imagine. People tell me they couldn't imagine giving themselves shots every day, that I'm so strong and courageous, that they wouldn't be able to do it. I know they mean well, and I really appreciate the sentiment. But honestly, I would trade anything for it. I'm not brave, I'm just trying to stay alive. You might not think you'd be able to do it, but five injections a day is a lot better than dying so that's the option I choose.

So...I guess that kind of covers it. It's confusing and it's messy and it's anything but pleasant. It comes with other issues, it creates a lot of problems, and it's inconvenient. It creates days like this that end in tears, and it hurts - both externally and internally. And now, once again:

I just need the rain to remind me

"I always felt it before, that the world was filled with much more than the drowning soul I've learned to be. I just need the rain to remind me."

I need to get caught in the rain.

I'll be walking around campus with nothing to do in the late afternoon. I'll feel the drops begin, followed by the downpour. Warm summer rain will fall on my head, for once clearing the thoughts that swirl there. Not worth it, worth it, do something, don't do anything. The water hitting the still-warm sidewalk will create a mist into which I can retreat, a cover behind which I can let the rain fall from my eyes. Because try as I may, I cannot cry now. I have nothing worth spilled tears at this moment, but I need to cry.

There are too many ways this song (found here) is a representation of my life.

I want to darken in the skies, open the flood gates up. I want to change my mind, I want to be enough. I want the water in my eyes, I want to cry until the end of time. I want to let the rain come down, make a brand new ground, let the rain come down.

(part of) Bandito - Eleanor Lerman

...

This, by the way, this is not a fantasy

It is page 69 (ha ha!) of the manual

I read when we were planning

the takeover

So it didn't happen—so what?

This is better

Wait until I tell you

what's on the next page

These last two stanzas are what really make this poem for me.

This is important right now.

3. Wait for it.
Wait for somebody who is perfect for you. I don't care how long you've been alone, or how easy it is to make excuses for somebody who makes you feel bad. I don't care if it's because you kind of like them, and I don't care if you think it 'could maybe work out.' Wait for somebody who is good to you. It doesn't matter if they make you giggle laugh, because if they give you that empty 'i'm not hungry' feeling in your stomach when they forget to call, they are not fucking worth it. They are never worth your bathroom tears or your constant 'what do you think it means' barrage to your friends. You are worth it. You are stupidly cool/sometimes lame but you have a human pulse and you don't kill people and you deserve to be happy. Maybe this person will take forever, maybe it will take till next week. Who knows when they will get their lazy ass off the couch and come find you? However, until then, don't put up with the bullshit. Don't put up with the bad feelings. Just go do your own thing until somebody fits your puzzle piece. It'll be something for the books. Don't fucking settle for anything less.

Taken from this. This is important right now.

I just wanna be alone with your smile

2 things:

• That damn dream I had this morning. It was the first one about you in months. You were standing there, holding the hand of a girl who was taller, skinnier, and had darker red hair than me. In the beginning, your hair seemed like you cut it, but then I realized it was longer than ever. You were so self-absorbed that you didn't even notice me.
• Seeing lyrics from Blink-182's "M+M's" on Tumblr. It took me back to that time when we just sat in your car and you played it for me, telling me to listen to all the lyrics. All I wanted was to buy some candy (but not cigarettes) and drive to Madagascar with you. And I thought of how those are your favorite candy, and how I bought you that 42-ounce bag of them when I left for school so you'd eat them at work and think of me.

So I played it, and Dammit came on next, and why does every Blink-182 song have to be about you? Why did I have to start listening to your favorite band so much that I can still remember all the words, even though I haven't listened to them in a year and a half? And then there was Feeling This, and I could remember singing harmony with you in the car, and how you played Down and I didn't really understand it.

And it's not that I miss you, it's that I wish you would have tried harder. Because then I wouldn't be crying about nostalgia, I'd be crying about how I'm going to be in Omaha and you're going to be in Texas for the summer, but I wouldn't be alone tonight because you're not leaving for another couple of weeks.

And I just want to know what makes you smile now and if it still hurts to think about that night, whether you thought about coming after me when I left, and why you never called. And if you talked to your mom or your grandma or your brothers and what they said about me and what if I had gone to your grandma's wedding last summer? How the smell of the Garnier Fructis in my hair doesn't remind me of yours anymore, it's just how my hair smells now.

And how I just want to prove to you how much better off I am without you pulling me down all the time and how you hated my friends and how I hated that you hate everyone. And how you ruined Christmas for me that year and never wanted to introduce me to your family and how I never understood that.

And how I wish you'd call, still. That you'd want to apologize and show me how you've changed and become a better person. And how I'd pretend not to know who was calling because I deleted your number but can still remember it immediately when I think about it. And how I try not to think about it, but suddenly it's there, just like the way you'd roll your eyes when you were being ridiculous and how much I loved your real smile and how rarely I saw it because you were never happy, just content. And how I couldn't handle just being content and just wanted to make you happy but never could and how I drove myself crazy with that.

And how you had such an amazing smile.

In the shadow of your heart

It's not about him this time.

"Then in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat. I tried to find the sound, but then it stopped and I was in the darkness, so darkness I became."

I feel like I'm constantly applying for friendship. Doing things to make people like me, make them want to be around me like I want to be around them. I've achieved that with very few people, and you're not helping me with it. Like I said, counting down the days until you get sick of me.

Make up your mind to be well

"Catch me, I'm falling."

That line from the song he played for me is haunting me. It plays over again and again and again in my head, but it doesn't bother me. It gives me something to think about.

I'm messed up. Seriously, really messed up. I don't know what it is...maybe you can't really put a label on it. But I have big problems, and it's time to admit that. I need more than just friends - don't get me wrong, friends help. They really do. But friends can't fix me.

I love my friends, an incredible amount. I think we all know that. So far this year, they've kept me going, kept me positive, kept me hopeful. I have so much fun with my friends, and I share everything with them (well...almost everything, and some more than others). They're the ones I rely on for hugs, for held hands, for eye contact. But friends can't fix me.

I want to say it's kind of funny, but it's not. It's odd, but not to me. It's crazy, but not to me. So I'll settle for this:  It might be interesting to you, if you don't know me as well as some...ugh. This is making no sense. But I'm not hitting the backspace, because I'm leaving this post as it is (except, of course, for grammatical mistakes). Okay, so. Instead of prefacing it, I'm just going to say it. Someone mentioned me in his weekly report to Mandi last week, saying that I'm always so positive and how it helps keep the rest of the staff positive too. It made me sooooo happy seeing that. I'm really glad that I can help others to be happier - that's what I enjoy most.

But having someone say that I'm great at being positive means that I'm really good at pretending.

Truth is, I'd sacrifice my own happiness any day to make the people around me happy. If someone I love is going to be made happy, I will be miserable (without showing it) if that's what it takes. Because even when I'm miserable, I'm so relieved that someone else is happy that my own feelings don't really make a difference. I just want to make other people happy.

I'm a terrible liar - anyone who knows me can tell you that. But I'm great at pretending to be happy.

I'm sick of the excuses, though. It's not just being sad. It's not PMS. It's not stress. It's not a lack of sleep. Those are the excuses I give to everyone. All those might be true at one time or another, but there's more going on with me. So it's time to do something about it. (This entire paragraph may sound full of determination, but trust me, it's not. I'm terrified, nervous, and dreading this.)

I haven't really been able to see the real problems with my relationship with Ryan before. All I thought was that he was satisfied, and I wasn't. It was good enough for him, but I wanted more. When I've told my friends about it, they've all been horrified, couldn't believe that I had gone through that, told me I didn't deserve it. But I never really believed them. I've said things about it being a terrible relationship, something that no one should have to deal with...but in all honesty, I never really believed it. It took the person who knows me best saying it for me to realize that it's true - it was an emotionally abusive relationship. He had so much control over me, and I still can't let it go. I see all the signs, but I've never accepted that they were true before.

It's time to stop making excuses. It's time to be well.




(Again, you could read that with a sense of determination, but you shouldn't. It's more reluctance and defeat.)




PS - happy 100th post to me...

Shattered

I can't even glance up,
afraid to look you in the eye
silent sobs suppressed into shudders
hearing the words you say
and not buying a thing
I don't even try to hide the disbelief,
shaking my head
because it's all I can trust myself to do
please, repeat repeat
repeat
repeat
until I finally believe.

These are my confessions

It's time to admit some things about myself. I don't always feel like this, but I usually do. Fuck, I don't even know how to start this. There's just so much built up inside me right now.

I hate nearly everything about my body. (Yes, I'm a typical girl with typical body issues, plus some. So if you don't care or don't want to hear it, stop reading.) Why, you ask? Well.

I'm 6'0 tall, which has always been awkward and not cool in my book.
I never use scales because they make me cry.
I realize that as a tall person, my ideal body weight is greater than people who are normal heights, but I can't help it.
Born to dance? Fuck that. If I were born to dance, I would be less than 5'6 and around 100 pounds.
Shopping is usually fun...when I'm looking at accessories. When it comes to trying on clothes, I almost always end up discouraged and angry because nothing ever fits me.
Jeans are nearly impossible for me to find; I have to get at least extra-longs in one of the largest sizes because my hips are so big, and I spend hours trying them on and find maybe two pairs.
I don't realize it UNTIL I try on jeans that my hips are huge.
(I actually really like having curvy hips...only thanks to Ryan.)
I was told once that my eyes have a unique shape, but that only makes me think they're weird.
I think I have a really big forehead.
I only like my hair when it's straight, but it takes so much time and effort that I hardly ever do it.
My feet (as I wrote about it my recent post) have calluses from dancing for 14 years, and I'm convinced they'll never be smooth.
My hands are too small for someone my size.
I have small shoulders, tiny ears, and an extremely short upper lip.

Last but not least, what I hate most about myself: my insulin spots.
There are hard deposits about a centimeter below my skin that came from doing too many injections there in the last twelve and a half years.
They're horrible. To me, they look like two little tumors on either side of me, in line with my belly button, just inside my hip bones. They have little bruises around them from other shots. I hate them with every fiber of my being and sometimes I just want to take a knife and cut them out.
They're the only things I really try to hide from everyone. Sometimes I wear leggings under my jeans and tell you it's just to be warmer...but I wouldn't tell you it's also because they can hold in my insulin spots. I wear a sweater or a jacket every day, just so I can cover them up.

A recent excerpt from my journal (I know, a journal with stuff that's not already on my blog? Crazy, right?):
"It's nights like these that make me want to run back to him. The one who would rub aloe as gently as he could on my severely burnt back, the one who once told me I was perfect, the one who would kiss the insulin deposits under my skin that I hate so much. He would hold me while I cried, my forehead on his shoulder and my face stuck frozen in a sob that felt like it would never end. 0.09% NaCl solution coursing down my cheeks, chest caving in like my heart was a black hole, not feeling the need to breathe."

Even when I've tightened my belt by a notch, when I know that my stomach's full of air because I ate wheat today and not with food because I ate too much, when I've felt so good about myself earlier in the week...I can't escape the tears that are so ready to spill.

Where do I go from here?

Sometimes I just feel lost.

Like everyone around me knows exactly what's going on, exactly what they want.

This is why I hate going with the flow and being flexible. When I follow the rules and keep on the straight and narrow, I know what I want and where I'm going.

But then people have to complicate things. People who know what I don't know, people who are even worse at figuring out who they are than I am.

It's that second set that messes me up. I'm naturally drawn to people who need saving. I want to be a safety net, to be the one that someone credits for rescuing him (or her, of course).

But then...when will it be my turn to be saved?

There goes my life

It started off this morning with that song. Watching some countdown on CMT, top 40 songs of the decade or something? Nothing better to watch, so resorting to that after half an hour of flipping through channels. Watching parts of the video, interviews with people who know their country music.

Tears are flowing out of my eyes as my mom walks in the door, so I turn and hide them, busy myself by putting away the laundry I just folded. They're gone as quickly as they came, and I try to forget them.



Mom says I need to call Dr. MacCashland to get my biopsy results. I hold it together through the phone call, thinking maybe they won't return. As I walk away from the kitchen, though, there's no stopping them.



Strolling through Walmart to get groceries, they nearly make a return. I realize how lonely I am without someone to hold me, tell me I'm still normal, walk me through the aisles to find everything I can still eat.

Then I finish Mockingjay tonight. Damn, that book is tough to get through. The last chapter and the epilogue tear me apart, rip me to shreds, and I'm blinded again. Forcing myself to inhale deeply and push the saltwater back down.

So many tears today.

Sick and tired

I'm sick and tired.

I'm sick because I have been since I was 8, and now there's more wrong with me.
I pray for one disease over another, because one can be fixed.
I already have one that will last forever and a deficiency that goes along with it, and I don't want to add another one.
Fuck, I don't want to add another disease at all, but I have to pray and hope and wish that I have the one that will make less of an impact on my life.
Another pill? Sure, that's fine. I can deal with taking pills for the rest of my life. I already do that.
Changing my eating habits? I'm not so okay with that.

I want to be less different, and now I'm even more so.

I talk about my diseased state all the time. I tell you it's my favorite thing to talk about, which isn't really the truth. It's just the subject I know most about and which you don't know much about, so I can talk a lot. I like talking.
What I hate, though, is being diseased. I will never not be sick. And you know what? That sucks.
I fucking hate being diabetic. I hate having hypothyroidism. I hate the possibility of having Celiac. I hate it, hate it, hate it.

I'm tired, and going to bed but not to sleep because I can't fall asleep thinking about how sick I am.

I'm sick and tired of being sick.

I'll be doing alright with my Christmas of white

I hope you'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.

This is my first Christmas in three years without you. Well, without you in my life. Last year I didn't want you there because you ruined it the year before, and I was planning to break up with you a couple weeks later anyway. But we were still together. Sometimes I forget that I was still your girlfriend only a year ago. Then I realize that in a few weeks (two and a half from today), I will have been single for a full year.

Sometimes, I wish I was still there. Sitting on your ugly 80's couch, holding hands and watching the History Channel, House, or NCIS. Smelling the Garnier Fructis spray in your hair, the warm smell of your shoulder as it supported my head. (I almost typed heart instead of head...) Now the scent of my hair mousse doesn't remind me of you, I can watch NCIS and House without thinking of you (until a few hours later), and I lean on a bunch of other people's shoulders for support, both with my head and my heart.

Sometimes, I forget your phone number. Then suddenly the mess of numbers clears up, and there it is. Even though I deleted it from my phone, I can still remember it. I was really happy the first time I couldn't do that, though. Hopefully that will keep happening.

This is the second letter I've written to you now...the other one is still hiding where I left it this summer, sloppy handwriting from a ballpoint pen on plain computer paper. Six pages, I think? This one's in typing (my favorite font, which you would probably be neutral about). I remember our shared hatred of Comic Sans, which apparently we share with a TON of people - including the new girl who I suspect is a little into you, but I'll never know if my hunch is true. Did you know her cousin is in the Honors Program at Creighton? So weird, how things like that happen.

Anyway...I saw Chris (the "dog," as you always called her - asshole) tonight. She was at Wendy's with a couple girls I didn't recognize, and she was holding a baby. Maybe it was hers? I haven't creeped enough to find out yet. But I thought you might think that was entertaining. Because you always were the type to make fun of people worse off than you, especially Chris. I felt kind of bad for her, even though she was kind of a crazy bitch. She was nice enough to me while I was with you.

You would think it was stupid, but I'm reading Pride and Prejudice and listening to Christmas music on the radio. The song about meeting an old lover in the grocery store just came on - apparently it's called Same Old Lang Syne. They're both making me think of you. I'm partly wishing that could be us one day...but in all honesty, I probably won't see you ever again. Blue Christmas makes me think of you too, because I really truly hope that's how you feel. It sounds terrible, but I want you to realize how much you lost when you let me walk out your door on January 7th.

I remember I was wearing my grey skinny jeans, forest green henley, and brown boots. We went to Applebee's (like always), and you were in a particularly silly mood. You spelled out "MOO" with the straw wrappers while I was in the bathroom. I was texting Corinne the entire night, saying I couldn't do it, and she kept telling me I had to. We went back to your house after renting The Hangover from Hastings. After watching it, we saw the end of an episode of House and I started crying. We talked for what seemed like hours, but it probably only took about one. You cried, and I remember you pushing my hand away because I was hanging on too long. When there was finally nothing left to say, I went home. Before I left, I kissed your cheek, and you kissed my forehead. I watched your face crumple as I walked out the door, and I don't remember the drive home. I cried for days after that.

So yeah. Nights like tonight, they make me miss being with you. Not you, necessarily, but being with you. So I guess they make me miss being with anyone, and you're the only one with whom I have any experience of that. So then it feels like I miss you. But maybe I just miss being wanted, maybe I feel guilty. I can't tell you any of this, because that would be like admitting defeat. I don't regret it, but I am sorry for hurting you. You'll never admit that I did, but I know it's true. I saw your face.

I don't think Angiee or Sherri would still love me so much if they didn't think I was good for you. But I wasn't good enough - I couldn't inspire you to come to God, and you took me away from him. Maybe someday you'll find a girl who can do that. I secretly hope you don't and that you pine for me until you die because I'm the one that got away. Because you let me walk out the door, and all the while I was hoping you'd run out and stop me before I drove away, or that you'd call and beg me to change my mind. You never did, though, so I'm left in the dark praying that's how you still feel, and hoping that you'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.

I thought I could live in your arms

Why does Mayday Parade know exactly how I feel?

Every time my heart hurts for someone, their music is the only thing I need. Every song has a line that's completely applicable to how I feel right now.

A hug. I needs it.

Let It All Out

I still love you. Just in a different way now.
Always will.

I can live without you, but...

...without you I'll be miserable at best.

I don't even know what to say. I just know that I'm really happy when I'm with you, and the only thing I want when I'm not with you is to talk to you.

Usually, I start liking someone because a) someone suggested that he would be a good match for me, or b) it would just make sense for us to be together. You're different, though. I am genuinely falling for you.

Hard.
Fast.
Too soon.

I want soooo badly to say this to your face, for it to be like the movies - where I would pour my heart out, then I would think you didn't like me, then you would just pull me toward you and kiss me. But this isn't a movie, and I don't have the strength to be open about things like this anymore. At least not with you. I haven't even told other people - they've figured it out. And I just want them to tell you, and for you to feel the same, and for us to be happy together.









Come find me?