She wishes she could have a do over. She shouldn't have said goodbye first. She shouldnt have done that at all, and now it's too late to take anything back. Obviously she's over reacting, obviously this red apple for some unknown reason tastes like it's yellow. Obviously this song that Damien Rice sings is not for her, but it could be. She knows she's over reacting. She feels too much, so much that she shouldn't be allowed to feel in the first place because she reads into it all. Teenage angst is over rated. She should be cool and calm and not freak out about everything.
Tomorow she will be calm,
Tomorow she will wait,
Tomorow she will accept what happens,
Tomorow she will try,
Tomorow she wont fail,
Tomorow will come for her,
Tomorow will last for 24 hrs.
Tomorow will be here in 3 hrs and 15 minutes,
Tomorow can't be avoided,
and when it comes she will put tonight behind her,
like he probably has.
But it's tonight so she will eat her red/yellow apple, and worry.

Excuse me, I believe you have my heart...may I have it back?
She'll sit, talking when she should be kissing,
Listening when she should be hearing
and giving when she should be taking.
She'll keep giving listening and talking until she's sure she should be doing otherwise.
She'll wonder instead of know,
She'll be fine, knowing she's not, until she knows what's happening to her.
She'll remember everything insignificat and forget all the important things they said. And when they're ready, there they'll be.

She stood across from him, not wanting to look up and move on from that moment. The warm light in the room made her confident and nervous at the same time. She let the nervousness take over and looked at her feet, letting her eyes move over the carpet to the the gleam of the window to the shine in his eyes. A tilted smile greeted her, a step forward and a hand that traced the outline of her face, a thumb that brushes away tears she didn't know were there. Life began to be real, the background swirled and her world was unrecognizable.

Her new favourite song (for the moment) is Cannonball by Damien Rice. It's like the perfect love song right now. Mostly because it contradicts things, "Love taught me to lie, life taught me to die"...Now that she thinks about it...maybe it isn't a love song, she's not sure what it is now so she's confused.
She dreamed of him last night, the rain outside makes her remember how she felt in her dream. Rain does that, makes you go back to the past where you felt safe. Sunlight makes you dream of the future. So right now she's thinking of the past. Which is fine, she likes those days....though she's not sulking about it, she's in a good mood, mostly because the rain isn't snow. It's like that day in Oakville she remembers perfectly, staring out the window at her magnolia tree, making a note that spring was finally there.
She recalls the scene in The English Patient where they run through the rain with Ralph Feines so he can feel it on his face. She almost regrets watching it because it's going to be one of those movies that stays with her forever...and she has enough of those.

The English Patient is, by far, the saddest movie she's ever seen. She's relieved she watched it with her friends because it was horribly depressing. She normally likes movies like that, the ones that prove love...but in some ways it was hard to understand their love, until the end anyway. Then she understood it, and now cant stop thinking about it...going to be a long day.

Maybe she...

She believes in love,
She sits here half dressed
waiting for it.
She knows she's young,
she has so much time,
But why waste it on the wrong people,
Just because?
Maybe she's a little bit lonely,
Maybe she's trying to create drama she doesn't need,
Maybe she's old fashioned (but probably not)
She knows she just wants to find out the truth so she can stop wondering.

She's sitting, sleepy...wants to go to the gym. Life is complicated and she's never had these types of problems before. She's never been out of the loop like this and she is tired of it but is scared to ask in case she messes anything up.
She loves the drama but hates the risk. She's never cared before but doesn't know if it's time to care now. She walks away feeling eyes on her, but not the right ones.

What? she thinks...what does she want? what is she thinking about.
She's thinking about him and wishing she were'nt. She's doing homework and talking to friends. She's thinking about her hair, her jeans. She's pre occupying herself with thoughts of nothing. She wants to clean her room but not until she's finished her work.
She wants to work but not until she's finished cleaning her room.
Excuses.

Moms

Her mother is turning into her grandmother. She moved here to escape the fiddling with hair, constant nagging, asking the most pointless questions...is it an Italian thing? Or just the women in her family?
She swears she'll never be like that.
She loves them both to death but honestly, for someone who has always been so high and mighty about not being like her mother, she's doing an amazing immitation of it.
It's like living with her all over again.
Lord love a duck.

From a day that she didn't particularly want anything to do with, she suddenly feels better. From an empty inbox, to "you have mail," from wanting everything, to needing nothing.

On a side note, she's getting her hair highlighted on Friday, blonde blonde blonde...again finally. Her Thursday classes might be cancelled...5 day weekend on the horizon. Life looks pretty good, live her life instead of waiting for the good part.

About a Boy

She likes them, they're funny, she'll talk and laugh and smile and toss her hair. Her eyes sparkle, she'll be sarcastic because she knows she can be. She'll play dumb until she feels like shocking them. She'll talk about lipgloss and clothes and then throw them off and talk about cars. She'll play her game because she can.

And then she'll turn around and walk away because there's only one of them for her.

Lalalalalalalalalalalala.



And that is all she has to say. Except that she watched A Clockwork Orange last night and frankly...most disturbing movie ever...other than...well that whole underlined sexual undertone in the disney Hunchback of Notre Damme was pretty messed up to but anyway.

You

Here it is...the first person entry.

Were you writng that about me?

You'll never read this

And I'll probably never ask,

And I know it wasn't about me,

But I'd like to think that it might have been,

That you said my name.

Yellow Apples and Moisturizer

She's tired, long week. Wants a yellow apple but doesn't want to go downstairs again. Should go wash her face...she just got home from the gym.
No one wants to read that it's pointless but it's what her life's been about for the past five minutes. She thought about him a little bit today. The crush is wearing off...dare she say it...replaced by feelings? Anxious instead of giddy, excited instead of nervous...this is what she's reduced to. Writing about it because she can't talk about it. Life isn't about talking, it's about sharing, and if there's no one there to listen then why talk?
She smiles and turns out the lights.

Where did spring go?!

She wakes up and it's winter again. She misses the seasons of Ontario, knowing what the weather would be like without having to listen to the news every morning. She misses the lake, and walking around downtown...she doesn't miss the past, but she would like it to be a part of her present. She'll be back soon enough, and when she is, she knows she'll miss Calgary, because that's just the type of person she is.

Night time

She's tired, she's eating an Oh Henry bar (the lack of self control astounds her...she takes a bite)
She flirted tonight, but not with the person she wanted to. Practice, maybe, but she still comes home to a messy room by herself. It was tidy earlier.
She's not sure what happened.
She worked out after work.
She has school tomorow.
She's listeing to The Used right now.
She's thinking about him and wonders if he thinks about her before he goes to sleep.

The Begining

She starts to type again, realizing suddenly that this blog idea is better when she's not talking in first person. She wonders if he's thinking about her, and wishing that he is. Not knowing is half the fun, the torture is waiting for it...anything to happen. Sometimes she feels like her life has no meaning that she's powerless to change anything. If she could tell the world one thing, it would be that it should love her. Weird, self centred...maybe...but then again she's the one writing about herself like she matters.

Wishing the person she cant mention were here with her...mentioning the person she wishes would come back. And then we all get on with our days, forgetting to wish, and wishing for dreams of each other to come true.

She thinks it's so funny to be taken seriously as she writes about herself like she doesn't exist. She thanks him silently for giving her the idea to write like this, seperating herself from all the drama that isn't real, but means so much to her. Sitting here, remembering a night that fades away from her thoughts but always in her memory. She watches the sun, lower in the sky now...missing him but not knowing who he is.

She wishes she could sing or play an instrument or something useful like that, since she basically lives for listening to music right now. She'll write about it someday she thinks. Stayed home to work on homework today, behind but she'll pass... think... hope...she'dbetter anyway. She wants a cigarette but she's in a towel and isn't allowed to smoke in the house. She doesn't even smoke normally but she still has the cigarettes they bought together. Her mother and stepfather keep taking them to smoke with their martinis at night but they don't like du Mauriers...so why are they stealing her memories of that perfect february night? She thinks it's ridiculous that they're trying to ban smoking in public places, but when she really thinks about it she agrees with it...and only says it's ridiculous to get a reaction out of people. She saw him smoke himself to death, watched him hang on for years and is still haunted by the sight of him lying on a couch waiting for a miracle...waiting to die. She can't decide if she's a hypocrite or just a pleasant contradiction of herself. Hopefully the latter because if not, she wont be able to look at herself in the mirror anymore.