Three Days in Paradise

Day 1

I sit on this swing and hear the rusty chain squeak as I push back and forth. There is no wind, no rain, no snow, yet the cold air makes the hair rise off my skin. My throat is sore from screaming at the young children. These days, they’re so undisciplined, so rude, so mouthy. I had no choice but to scare them. I had no choice but to tell them I would eat their souls, as if they had one. I can see my breath swirl around me, like a lullaby in a child’s head. Next to me is my friend. Brooke. My sister at heart. She waits with me. For what, I am not sure. He will not come. He will not come. My lips and toes go numb. My ears begin to sting. An old man walks down the street. In my mind, I wonder who he is. What is his story? I think to myself, of how many forget every wanderer, every drifter, every man, every woman, every child has a story, regardless whether we have heard it or not. I am shaken from my daydream by the voice of Brooke.

“Is that him?” she asks.

I sigh and shake my head. I hide my blue fingers from the cold in the sleeves of my jacket. They do not thaw at all. Geese fly overhead. He is usually here by now. He will not come. He will not come. The sun begins to fall. God paints me a picture in the sky of blue, of pink, of yellow. The masterpiece is lovely, but does not help a bit. I do not see him on the horizon, though, by now, I should. I do not feel my fingers, my toes, my lips, my nose. I do not hear the singing of birds as they cower from this frigid weather. As the sun fades to darkness, I hear Brooke’s teeth chatter. I look at the time. Twenty-seven minutes passed. Twenty-seven minutes of waiting. He will not come. He will not come. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brooke stand.

“I think that’s him,” she says, “Yep. It has to be.”

As I stand, I think to myself, it is not him. It is not him. He will not come. He will not come. Into the streetlight steps a boy I’ve grown to know. He smiles and apologizes for being late. I smile, satisfied he even showed up.

Day 2


It’s like a celebration. Twenty, thirty of us piled into this small corner park. There’s laughter all around. I smell smoke. I look to my left to find people crowded around a small fire on the ground. They do what they would call ‘fire dances’ around the flame. Someone trips, catches themselves, and steps on the flame accidentally. They are banned from the circle. That is, of course, till the group forgets about it and lets them back. I sit on the bench with a notepad in my hand and Liz by my side. In the corner of my eye, I see her make faces at me, trying to get me to laugh. Another group, quite different from us, walks down the street. They scream. The call us weirdoes and emos and laugh. We laugh back, mocking them. They laugh back, mocking us, mocking them. I laugh to myself, realizing the irony. Someone plays music from their phone. Some dance. Some sing. I sit, and watch. I look back though the months, the years. Some of us hated each other. Some of us loved each other. Some of us never knew each other. I look around this park today and see unity. I see people that get along with each other. I see people that fight sometimes. I see people that are in love with each other. I see a family. I see a family that will last through thick and thin. I see my family. I see the place where I belong.

Day 3

I listen to my headphones as I sit in this little metal tower. It begins to rain, but I don’t move. I have all that I need. A roof, music, Mountain Dew, and my friends. A small group of five, including myself, sit in this place where I am forbidden to go. We laugh at the fact I’m not allowed here. My parents find it dangerous. A park. Dangerous. I find it the best place I’ve set foot. This is my sanctuary. No one can forbid me from coming here. This place is my everything. I think back to my memories here. The turf wars. The bon fires. The jokes. The laughter. The hilarious fights that always end out fine. I hear someone whisper to another. They laugh. I curiously ask what they said. I wish I never did. We all laugh together at my reaction. The usual disgusted face I make at their jokes. Liz looks at me, confused. She doesn’t get it, as always. After ten minutes of explaining, she gets the joke, for the most part. I catch myself singing along to the music and blush. I’m not much of a singer. I’m not much of a talker. They look at me in surprise.

“Were you just singing?” asks Brooke, obviously knowing the answer.

“Nope,” I lie. “You must be hearing things.”

I laugh a nervous laugh. I feel my cheeks turn several different shades of red. They all laugh at my attempt to cover it up. I begin to listen into Liz and Brooke’s conversation. The first thing I hear is Brooke’s voice.

“…Twenty dollars later, we were both in the closet….”

I laugh. Mountain Dew comes out of my nose. Tears fall from my eyes.

“What?!” I laugh.

the little things in life.

Sometimes, we lose sight of the little things in life that bring us so much joy....

...Like Slinkies.
I fucking love Slinkies...

eat lead.

I wonder what lead tastes like...
At this rate, I'll surely find out soon.
Unfortunately, I won't live to tell the tale.

Once Upon A Time...

Me (10:33 PM):
I'm gonna go to bed in a bit. You should, too.
If you can't get yourself some sleep, then I'LL get you some sleep. :P


Charlie (10:39 PM):
Haha, okay. I'm having a hard time though. Tell me a story?


Me (10:41 PM):
Once upon a time... This chick fell in love with this total dork who just-so-happened to be the greatest person on this earth in the history of ever...


Me (10:41 PM):
I haven't written the ending, yet. :P


Charlie (10:44 PM):
That was sweet. True story? Lol
:)
Ima hit the hay. Goodnight, I love you.


Me (10:45 PM):
Well, the best writers write what they know... :)
Alright. Goodnight.
Sweet dreams.
I love you, too. :3

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After reading this, would you believe me if I told you we don't date anymore? I wouldn't. Even after breaking up with Charlie (for the second time), I still find myself wanting to be with him. Even after I gave up dating completely, I still find myself saying cute little comments, like the ones above.
I quit believing in that fairytale bullshit. That 'I love you. We'll be together till we die' shit... I began to realize that this 'love' bullshit is nothing but hormones and the urge to fuck. I tried to, anyhow... But, when I talk to Charlie... When he talks to me... I can't help but feel there's some hope of living Happily Ever After...

WOW.

WOW. I haven't posted anything in like, forever.
Unfortunately, I have very little time to write a cornucopiate amount of words.
So, long story short. Sven, my absolute DREAM, is gay.
Not bi. Not curious.
GAY.
He was only pretending to like me, because he didn't want to turn me down and hurt me. He also claims he had nothing better to do than to put a smile on someone's face. So, I played his little fucking guinea pig for a few months, and in the end, he chewed up my heart and spit it out.
Lesson well learned, my friend.
When your mother says, "Don't, I have a terrible feeling about this one."
TRUST IT.

easy, sleazy, lure and seizey.

I realize that I haven't written in damn near forever. There isn't much to catch up on, however, the petite amount of information that there is to be told is slightly major. To me, anyhow.
So, Christmas passed. It seems as if I didn't get much, which I actually prefer. However, though few, the gifts I received were immensely expensive.
The day after, I decided to go to a local mall with two of my closest friends, Sven and Lilith. {alter egos used.}
Sven has been written about once before. Before continuing, I advise you read the post titled "i love you, i hate you." {posted on December 17th, 2008.}

What I left out from that last post was my slight, girly obsession with him. I, being a sophomore, have been drooling over this boy since I saw him my first day of freshman year.
Months ago, long before he told me he loved me, he found out how much I liked him, thanks to my uncontrollable instinct to blush around him.
Recently he approached me, stood inches from my face with this charming, devious smile, and said, "When are you going to stop staring at my lips... and kiss me."
Being the submissive person that I am, I of course did nothing. Leaving him to decide what happened.

Moving on...

So here I am, with Sven and Lilith the day after Christmas, walking around a local mall. Sven, being the seductive little flirt that he is, grabs my hand, entwining our fingers in the sweetest way, and smiles at me so gently. As we roam the mall, he pesters me about kissing him.
"If you don't do it, I will," he giggles, "and we both know if I do, your sister will kill me."
{My family hates Sven. I am forbidden to date him}
I simply smile at him and blush, unsure of what to do.
As we exit a bookstore, Sven tugs on my hand, pulling me to him, my face to his, his lips to mine. He kisses me ever-so-softly on the lips with the lightest peck, painting my face scarlet. He pulls away and smiles, and proceeds to walk. As my mind tries to process what happened, my heart reacts much quicker. I tug on his hand, pulling him to me, his face to mine, my lips to his. I kiss him back. A real kiss. A kiss that would make a bashful peck hang its head in shame.
The taste of cigarettes and honey soothe my once panicked, self-conscious thoughts. I pull away, my face now a light rosy pink, and look at him with upturned, hopeful eyes and the smile of a dreamer lost at bay. The look anyone would interpret as 'falling for someone.'
He sighs, raises his eyebrows, huffs, and gives me this sarcastic, disappointed smile before proceeding to walk. I return home, replaying the entire scene in my head, worrying about what I did wrong.
I don't hear from him that whole weekend.
He calls and texts that Monday{the 29th}, only to tell me of his new snakebite piercings. I don't talk much, because I'm afraid of saying something stupid.
He texts me the 30th, early that morning. After a long conversation, I tell him I miss him. No reply.
Later that day, I strike up a conversation with his best friend. In this conversation I am told that Sven is a terrible person who is only messing with my head. He tells me he loves me, and tells his friends the opposite. Near tears, I go and hang out with a group of friends, giving uncontrollable gah-gah eyes to the adorable Led Zeppelin fan.
The more I think about Sven, the more I question his intentions. Does he tell me he loves me because he means it, or because he's simply trying to get laid?
And if he's simply trying to get laid, I wonder, what makes him think that the celibate virgin is so easy?
And when that comes to mind, the remembrance of that kiss follows, and I realize why.
I was so quick to give the man a kiss, he obviously would assume I would be quick to give my virginity as well...
I feel so used... Like scum... Lower than low... The vermin of the world.
This guy is destroying me... Seizing my heart only to chew it up and spit it out.
I'm such an idiot...

the villain. my hero.

Yesterday, instead of writing, I decided to watch The Dark Knight for the first time. I highly advise anyone and everyone to see this movie as soon as possible. It really is as good as everyone says.
Regardless of the movies awesomeness, I realize that the Joker completely steals the show. I mean this in the best way possible, of course. I also realized that I always root for the villain to win, regardless how obvious the final outcome is. With this realization, I had some epiphany or something, causing me to see why I always seem to end up getting terribly hurt in relationships and such. The villain always seems so much more adventurous and lively than the hero... The villain is always so completely insane and psychotic and masochistic. The villain is the guy everyone says you should avoid.
I realize now, that my wrongdoing is in simply choosing the villain over the hero. The bad over the good. The psycho over the sane. Yet, I simply cannot choose the hero. The good guy. The sane.
No.
Because where is the fun in sanity? In order? In...'good?'
Where's the spark? The adventure? The romance?
And with this thought, I have had another epiphany.
With this, I realized that without chaos and corruption, this world would be so bland, so lifeless, so pointless. I realized that with the hero, everything is just perfect, and peachy, and...boring. You're actually more afraid of the hero. Why? Because with the hero, you're so terrified of showing your true emotions and your true self. You don't want to tear down and destroy this perfect life and relationship they've created and built with lies and simple fantasies and illusions of the mind. You're so afraid of making them sad, or depressed, or angry. You're so afraid to tell them what wrong they've done. If they hurt you by something they said or did. You're so terribly afraid of losing them. As if one day, they'll find you too corrupt and depressing, and simply leave you to find another.
With the villain, you can be insane. You can be corrupt. You can be masochistic. You never have to worry about faking a smile, because deep down, the villain is thinking the same, twisted, fucked up thoughts as you are. With chaos and inanity and lack of order, there is adventure and fun and freedom. The villain, I see, is the most desirable to me, simply because the villain is the one I've been told to stay away from.
Through the years, I have learned something so very important and so very true: Nothing is more desirable than what you can't have. Nothing.
Therefore, I've come to this conclusion:
Nothing is more desirable than the villain.