Every time I’m sober for something or I regretfully pity myself, a blank sheet of paper, a pen ready to ink out clichés, and a even more pitiful rhyme reference lie on my shit loaded desk. Then I type it up on Microsoft Word and yet again regretfully paste it on Xanga. I think it’s just very satisfying to see my feelings on paper as if actually feeling them isn’t tangible enough. Plus, it gives me salvation by cutting a few days off of the routine long guilt trip, because black ink screaming out words at me just reminds me how (insert here) I was.

And here I go again, except this time, the poems will remain absent.

I realized something I should’ve been aware of a long time ago.

He didn’t like me enough, probably even as a person, to give me a second chance at making things right, or at least making things how they used to be.

And while I’m at it, these pointless blogs I whimsically write make things worse just because I publicly announce it. I just wish people to read or know how I’m doing.  

Either I’m a completely normal teenager with dysfunctional hormones or I’m completely insane. Regardless, I find myself in a completely awkward situation in which I cannot seem to get myself out of. And it’s not helping that my dysfunctional iPod won’t allow the new episode of Boys Over Flowers to upload, which consequently delays my prepping for McCollaum’s test tomorrow even further. It’s 9:30 pm and I have merely 125 text messages left to last till the 18^th of April, which ensures that I will once again go over my plan, resulting in yet again, another epic dispute with my mom. And since 6:03, I’ve been waiting for the twinkling sound of my phone when a ‘1 new message’ appears in my inbox. I am not sure what’s worse- me feeling absolutely sorry for myself that he hasn’t texted me back within the past 3 hours or me actually believing that he’d take some interest in me and send a reply. I’m pretty sure it’s the efficiency of Korean dramas to make you feel so pitiful about your failed loves and likings that’s compelling me to write this. I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he thinks of me. And you’re probably wondering why I’m gushing about this anonymous person and posting this up online. Truth is, I don’t know why either,

Either I’m a completely normal teenager with dysfunctional hormones or I’m completely insane. Regardless, I find myself in a completely awkward situation in which I cannot seem to get myself out of. And it’s not helping that my dysfunctional iPod won’t allow the new episode of Boys Over Flowers to upload, which consequently delays my prepping for McCollaum’s test tomorrow even further. It’s 9:30 pm and I have merely 125 text messages left to last till the 18^th of April, which ensures that I will once again go over my plan, resulting in yet again, another epic dispute with my mom. And since 6:03, I’ve been waiting for the twinkling sound of my phone when a ‘1 new message’ appears in my inbox. I am not sure what’s worse- me feeling absolutely sorry for myself that he hasn’t texted me back within the past 3 hours or me actually believing that he’d take some interest in me and send a reply. I’m pretty sure it’s the efficiency of Korean dramas to make you feel so pitiful about your failed loves and likings that’s compelling me to write this. I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he thinks of me. And you’re probably wondering why I’m gushing about this anonymous person and posting this up online. Truth is, I don’t know why either,

Either I’m a completely normal teenager with dysfunctional hormones or I’m completely insane. Regardless, I find myself in a completely awkward situation in which I cannot seem to get myself out of. And it’s not helping that my dysfunctional iPod won’t allow the new episode of Boys Over Flowers to upload, which consequently delays my prepping for McCollaum’s test tomorrow even further. It’s 9:30 pm and I have merely 125 text messages left to last till the 18^th of April, which ensures that I will once again go over my plan, resulting in yet again, another epic dispute with my mom. And since 6:03, I’ve been waiting for the twinkling sound of my phone when a ‘1 new message’ appears in my inbox. I am not sure what’s worse- me feeling absolutely sorry for myself that he hasn’t texted me back within the past 3 hours or me actually believing that he’d take some interest in me and send a reply. I’m pretty sure it’s the efficiency of Korean dramas to make you feel so pitiful about your failed loves and likings that’s compelling me to write this. I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he thinks of me. And you’re probably wondering why I’m gushing about this anonymous person and posting this up online. Truth is, I don’t know why either,

They come and go,

As color changes the sky,

How seasons do,

As the days go by.

They give you flowers from spring.

They embrace you in their arms,

As they fight the arriving winds,

To keep you safe and warm.

Then.

They slip through your fingers,

As if the wind carried them away.

So hard to find, so easy to lose.

Like autumn leaves, they never stay.

Your tears pour with the rain.

Your heart left with splinters,

As they leave you in the cold.

This love… like winter.