I am thinking myself in circles, speaking only in tongues.

Today I need a translator of sorts, to decipher the broken words falling from your lips.

My eyes cannot seal the cracks between letters and though I make fists and flex my arms, the symbols slip through my fingers like water, like snow.

Like everything I've ever dropped and broken while drying the dishes

and each tear I cried upon noticing the sharp, lifeless glass splinters scattered by my toes.

You are..

a temptress,

a sorceress.

and, if given the time,

you could convince flowers to reject sunlight,

the stock market to crash, 

and him to take me back.

unfortunately,

life is short, and talk's getting pricey.

i spend days saving up for just one of your codes,

hoping to spend the rest understanding them.

hoping that you are right.

i'm back, not quite better than ever

These days, things just keep getting stranger. The weather changes and once again, on the edge of the darkest coldest season, something happens that makes my blood freeze. Something that stops me in my tracks, that renders me incapable of compassion.

This year, it is a party that ruins my faith in humanity. It is the type of party from the movies. The scene: loud music, big house, 20 some-odd teenagers and enough alcohol to fuel all present. Enter Susan, wide-eyed and naive, expecting nothing more than ten kids hopped up on sugar, playing video games. Cue clubbing music. Cue drunken, disgusting party guests. Enter Ex Boyfriend. Let's call him: indiecock.

Indiecock (holding cup of rum and coke): Hey baby!

(staggers toward susan. hugs her, spills most of cup across his very indie, very vintage, very gay flannel buttondown.)

susan: (flatly) hi. 

(indiecock hugs susan. she shrugs him off. this continues for a few minutes until indiecock saunters off to the beat of the music playing in the background)

replay this two times with two other ex boyfriends. let's call them guitarprodigyfucktard and youarenotattractivejustveryverydrunk.

guitar prodigy insists on asking if i'm ok, which is sweet. But after the sixth time, the sweetness has worn off. He begs a hug, i give in. He does not let go after one minute. I try to slip away--guitarprodigy is strong! 

will continue this later.

i am full of anger at the moment.

i want to tell him everything.
but somehow i always lose my nerve.
the thoughts don't correspond to words, and i am never able to pull the strings of sentences from my mouth into the air between us.
but i can write it down.

the letters constantly pulse through my fingertips as the ink touches paper.

foolproof way to get it all out.

today was the best in a while.
i'm starting to rock this whole school thing.
grades are looking up, so are other things.
we took a field trip to the tuck in spanish.
'twould have been perfectly lovely, if not for a minor incident.

no work tonight.
nothing happening tomorrow.
disney with the team this weekend (HOLY SHIT AM I EXCITED)

i began A Million Little Pieces this week.
i feel unholy and self righteous reading it.
i feel like it's feeding my opinions and i dont want that.
but i need to know how the story ends.
i can't get a hundred pages in and change my mind, not with this story.
this is important.
and i can't drop it, no matter how obnoxious it makes me look to read it.
i don't care how i look.
and i dont care what assumptions you make by me reading the story of a drug addict's stint in rehab.
i just want to know how it ends.

dylan ditched me on the phone a few days ago.
it felt normal.
i hate this.

today is so happy.
so fucking happy.

but i could use a nap.

i wish i didn't miss them so much.
i wish i could give us a label.
figure out what it is that we are now.
i wish we had something.
i wish i hated them.
it's a shame that i dont.

paul shared the pier with me today.

i walked barefoot in the wind, and he watched the water.

some crazy italian guy knew i was angry by that phone call.

all i did was pick up, 'fuck off', hang up. what does that say?

things are surreal in the wind,

where they can so easily be blown away.