| bohemian shit |
[Jun. 25th, 2009|02:13 am] |
this is why i hate the real world.
it's like when i was in high school, and texting wasn't allowed but everyone did it anyway, underneath their desks in the most obvious way possible. except i hardly ever did, because i was the good kid who never felt the need to and the only person i ever really needed to text during school was my mom, anyway. but it's like the last day of school, when i was finished with my last exam of being a sophomore and had twenty minutes left until i was a big upperclassman junior (even though even now i still feel like a freshman), and i decided it was okay to take out my cellphone and be a badass and pretend i had people to talk to at that particular moment. i was really just bored. but the whole point is - it's like my teacher noticing me, and pretending he didn't even because he was a nice dude and it was pointless to punish me for it anyway, although i knew he noticed and he knew i knew he did and i knew that. and so neither of us did anything about it. frankly, it was a load of awkward nerve-wracking bullshit. this is what it's like; this is why i hate the real world. as if it's any different from high school, anyway.
last week my mind went blank. i got up to get a drink but i wasn't thirsty; i didn't want to taste anything, i just wanted a use for my lips. while i could've been using them for something productive like talking, or applying chapstick, or making out with someone somewhere or something, i just got a glass of water. then i forgot how to drink, so i dumped it back down the sink. in wonder if that was considered wasting water or not, i picked up the phone to call whatever environmental protection agency was closest to where i live; the last thing i want to do is be responsible for helping destroy our lovely lousy earth. i didn't know the number but the operator was nice to talk to. she was a lady in her 30's named miranda, and in my head she had red curly hair and long long fingernails like the fake ones my old lunch aid in elementary school used to have. she used to tease all us children and claim that they were real, no really, they are, and i can't remember if i ever really believed her but looking back upon this i realize they must have been fake. they were so damn long. i talked to miranda for a long time, because i think operators are legally bound to talk to whatever asshole who has nothing else to do. (me, in this case.) but at the end before we hung up i told her it had all just been a test, and she was good about it. she probably thought i was insane. i think i was that day.
my whole point is that maybe i'm crazy, but people don't get better in time - at least, not around here. no one has gray hair because they all get dyed or plucked immediately or else, which means that no one ever gets old, which makes sense in a way because most people act like they're still in high school forever. it's somewhat of a shame but it reminds me of peter pan. if they're peter pan, i'm their number one fan. king of the lost boys, and always lost in everyone's shadows. i realize this. like a moth to a lightbulb i am so attracted to train wrecks, underdogs; so obsessed with bad blood. maybe i need a taste of my own medicine. maybe i need a whole fucking glass.
tonight, though, i woke up to a voice that could've been miranda's, or my old teacher from school who let it slide that one time, or anyone in the world, saying, "i will look after you if no one else will." i sat up in bed and then something very amazing happened. the world began to change. and i could tell. i could feel the world ending; touch it with the ends of my fingertips. i looked out the window. not one car passed by. and it was raining, but the rain, it was silent. this was the only part that really made me uncomfortable. i listened for what might happen next. i listened for pages turning, and for the rain to drown out all the soundwaves that i like. it never happened, so i decided that this is what it must feel like on top of the world.
right now, it's 11:26 at night and i have no one to go to about this. this is why i'm writing you. hopefully you'll read this. hopefully you may agree, or have a different way of looking at things, because i'm always open to hearing something new. my eyes are bluer than ever and i really wish i could hear the rain; it's the only thing i ever hear that makes much sense. i don't know if the grass will still be wet in the morning. i don't know that the morning won't come earlier than it's supposed to. i don't know that there aren't people outside - alive, awake - right now. if there are, tell them that i did the best i could. until i know for sure, i will sit in my bed and close my eyes and go anywhere i'd like. i will travel until the end of time - to both oceans and back, where you meet me in the middle. until the stars burn out and fall, until the sun forgets to rise, and until the moon forgets to set. until my heart turns to lead and weighs me down. until the end of time.
(we are a promise to be caught in, forever. a pinky swear you didn't take seriously.) |
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