"Nothing's constant" she says, walking away. "nothing lasts, because the second something starts to feel permanent, like it might go somewhere, it ends."
"that's a sad way to look at your life," he says, smiles tracing the corners of his mouth
"if i hadn't started walking away, you would have, one of us would have left," turning, facing...confronting
"how do you know"
"watch me" she turns again and leaves him standing.
"i'm not following you...i'm not here to prove you wrong,"
"you're right...you're not here to prove me wrong; you just proved me right," a single trembling smile, a single tear traveling down her cheek, a single wave, turn and a single girl walking away, down the street and out of sight.

"i want to see you.." "really? prove it" "how?"
"i don't know" he traces his finger across the glass, "i don't know how to anymore."
"then I guess you don't want to see me, do you."
"i do...i do want to i just dont know why...so how can i do that to you again?"
"you'd find a way if you wanted to, these words are nothing unless you do something,"
"what do you want me to do?" "don't ask" "then how do i know?" "figure it out"

a smile reflected in glass..."stop talking to yourself" "you're talking to me," he points, fingers hitting the mirror instead of flesh, "stop rehersing and call"

dial tone...hitting numbers....ringing...ringing "hello?" "i want to see you" "when..." "now" "come over" ..."i miss you" "i remember" a click, voice...leave a message...a beep.
he hangs up and looks at himself. "told you..." told you...

She lies in bed with her laptop on...surprise surprise...her lap. Her hair is scraggly, glasses slide crookedly off her nose; legs curled underneath her and socks bunched around her ankles.
Her make-up is in slight shimmery streaks across her face from her somewhat pathetic attempt to make herself look healthy today. Failed attempt, she's snuffly and sick and has to work tomorow afternoon. She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to see him, because she's angry with herself for letting herself care. She doesn't care about him anymore and regrets it in the first place. (This is ammended if anything good happens with that situation but she doubts it)
She read someone elses blog today. Someone she knows, but wasn't friends with because they never really got along. Not for a lack of trying on her(my) part, or maybe because of...she never really liked sharing her boys...as horribly awful as that sounds so hopefully this wont get read by anyone. She does feel some satisfaction that she was bundled into the "her boys" section of the online photo album (who posts photos online? needlessly narcissistic).
Her nose is starting to sting from blowing it too much. She thinks she has sinus pain but doesn't really know where her sinuses are located and ...well duh therefore doesn't know if she has sinus pain. She's not sure if this blog is as pointless as that one she read today...is what she says as pointless as recounting shaving her legs in the shower before work? She likes to think that even if she were writing about shaving her legs she'd make it more interesting than "i shaved my legs because i thought my foot doctor might be hot and therefore wanted smooth legs"...first of all...she truly believes that a hot foot doctor is an oxymoron and therefore does not warrent shaving your legs before seeing one. And, just because she can, she's spent far more time talking about shaving legs than the other girl...just because she can. She hopes that if he reads this he just laughs at what a loser his friend is...but in a good way cause she thought about him while typing some of it.

She wakes up to a sunny day. Her throat is sore, her eyes are half open. She tidys her room and watches John Travolta. Stupid movie...can't stop watching it.

Blood flows like water,
blurring her thoughts,
heart pounding faster
as the lights around them
shine down.
Murky thoughts drowned in a haze of alcohol,
love blinding,
hate immenent,
power lost,
nothing gained.
Thoughts sped up
fast forward,
see everything,
blinded by her love,
drowned by her loss,
murdered by her decision to stand by and watch.

She can't sleep.
She sits up in front of a screen,
surrounded by darkness,
wearing a white t-shirt.
Hair messy from tossing and turning,
Ears ringing with music not yet listened to,
Memories fading,
past the screen and into the night.
She looks at her desk,
cluttered with things,
her clock sits next to her watch,
both vying for attention,
but she doesn't notice the time.
A bottle of moisturizer, her drivers liscence,
bracelets, books...a ring.
Cd cases and a lock she hasn't returned to the gym,
her space is so full, she cant even see the deep brown of her desk,
she would turn on the tv, but she already knows nothing is on,
would read that book but she knows how it ends.
Phsycic? ....jaded.

She seeks refuge in the only place she can. Her blog. She hates the word blog, it sounds like nothing but here she is pouring her heart out. Yet again, she's so confused and doesn't know what to think about him. She would email him and confront him about it, but knows that probably wouldn't be the best choice. She feels betrayed, and knows his betrayal wasn't on purpose, but at the same time that makes it worse.
Christmas party...he didn't say...coffee...he didn't say...made his February...rebound....breakfast....talks...emails.....jokes....wine....books....films....tshirts....nothing....reading into every look....her fault...empty....hugs....smiles....laughter....txts....an ommition can be a lie...and she hated a lie the most, so how does he live by that?
she's embaressed more than anything, believing that he could care, but then why would he? Why, because apparently three months, only three months ago he was in love. And she was thinking of him.
She loves being that girl who these people learn from, and each time they take a little bit more of her with them. So what happens when she has nothing left to give. This is pathetic, she's only 18 and feels like nothing.

Ok, so maybe she over reacted and that email wasn't exactly necessary. But her friends back home are important to her and she figured it was better to tell him as oposed to not saying anything and getting angry about nothing one day. Which, she supposes, is what happened today, she got angry ...really angry, over essentially nothing, but it was a lot to her at the time...and still is, she just has it in perspective now.

She wonders what to do. Why do people fall in love in the first place, why do they want to and what happens to them when they do.
She's not sure if she's ever been in love. She's said it because that's what people do, she's felt something like it, but not sure if she's felt IT before.
Sometimes when she thinks about forever, she see's someone's face, but she's not positive who it is.
"till death do us part" is a long time, and far away at the same time. She's not worried about that part, but she doesn't know who would love her until he dies. Who would want to witness her life just so she knows someone was there to see her live, to prove she had a life.
Maybe that's all it really is, a narcisistic way to make ourselves feel wanted, and if that's all love is she wants nothing to do with it, because she hates feeling like she has to have someone to validate herself as a human being.
At the same time she really wants a boyfriend these days, and she doesn't know why, because she's never felt like she wanted someone to be there for her before. Boyfriends have always tended to fall into her lap without her making much of an effort, so when she had a boyfriend, she had one, and when she didn't she didn't. Never bothered her before. So her question now is....where the hell is he????

Writers block is going to be the death of her. Like a doctor who get's queasy at the sight of blood, what good is a writer who can't write?

She hides so much behind her smile,
feelings she had before,
feelings she might have again.
Her wants for the future,
her fears of her past.
She's terrified of what might not happen,
She thinks so much,
forgets nothing.
She wonders what people see when they look at her,
wants to know what they think when they kiss her,
dies to be good enough for them
and part of her wishes she couldn't care less,
but she does and so she'll keep trying
to impress everyone who doesn't care,
casually ignoring those who do,
begging for love,
maybe never finding it
but always looking,
and so she'll smile,
and not let them know what she's thinking.

She reads blogs sometimes to see what other people write about. She reads them and wonders if people tell the truth. She knows she writes a mixture of lies and reality and wonders if they do the same. Her lies are her wishes, mingled with her life.
If people all lie in the stories they tell about their own lives, what legacy are the blogs leaving if theyre all half false? Proof of lives not lived and when we die, these will be floating around nowhere, being read by no one and we will be forgotten.

OK SERIOUSLY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HER...

..........maybe.......though she hates to admit it, like the movie he was telling her about, that night just meant more to her than it did to him. It's her problem clearly...and hers to get over. So now what?

She's content...she had a big day in court (damn those policemen, never letting her buy her drugs in peace...just kidding, she had a school assingment) the law fascinates her, and she could spend hours just sitting there listening to the lawyers. Just one more thing that makes her horribly dull but be that as it may, she still finds it interesting.
She's worried about her friend and is waiting to hear back from her. She doesn't have class tomorow and so she will work at home all morning. She's looking forward to it, she always seems to be far more productive at home...or at least in the past few weeks. She's trying to think of something witty to write but the words won't come...she used them all up trying to impress her grandfather; how pathetic.
She wore her hair wavy today...it's so easy to not have to straighten it and sort of empowering because she can just accept the fact that she's not attractive and get on with her day. Straightening her hair means she thinks it helps and frankly it doesn't. She's not sure why she thinks she's ugly. Her mother is so beautiful, and she know's she used to be, but for the past few months every time she looks in the mirror she just hates what looks back. She knows her grandmother was wrong and that it doesn't matter really how she looks, but she can't helping thinking: will he never love her if she doesn't get pretty? ...She's not being self pitying or anything, just thinking "out loud" even though no one reads this and it's the furthest thing from out loud. Annnnnnnyway...more lates.

She thinks about him, even though she's not entirely sure who he is. She pictures them at the restaurant, dancing under the stars. She wants to tell him everything.

She had dinner with her grandfather, mother and Bob tonight. It went well;but, she drank too much wine and feels dizzy. Her mother danced with her grandfather after dinner. The dimly lit room spun, and she realized that she would never have a dance like that. Tears ran down her face in their purest form...not crying for attention, happiness or sadness...simply crying because there was nothing else to do. She hid the tears from everyone, and realized that a part of her grew up tonight. She did not draw attention to herself, and feels better because of it (though the fact that she's writing it all down suggests that she's just as self centred as ever). She wanted to call him and tell him what she was feeling but she couldn't. She'll never forget the way her mother looked like a little girl dancing with her father. She'll never have a father to dance with.

Part of her wants to email him, just to see what would happen. But it is our choices that make us human, and the humanity in her would not want to risk the havoc that emailing him might result in. She wonders if he ever thinks of the hell he put her through. She thinks of him daily, but is not haunted anymore, just accepts what happens and hopes that one day she'll be able to tell the only one that matters what happened, and hopes that he'll love her anyway.

I sort of have a crush on Tiger Woods...who knew cause I hate golf. ...Just an added props to him for winning today.

She's thinking that maybe she's making this situation too complicated for herself. If she wants something to happen, perhaps she should just go for it and screw the consequences. She can't believe she's considering this, and puts it out of her mind.
She wonders how it would feel to kiss him, to have his arms around her for a moment. She's dreamt about it and played it out in her mind before but when it comes to actually doing it, she just can't bring herself to take the chance.

Her grandfather's visiting. She's happy he's here, she loves him so much. She adores his outlandish humour that's somehow coupled with quiet dignity. She'd do anything to make him happy. He told her mother she looked thin today and unexplicibly now, she feel not good enough since he didn't say anything to her about her appearance. She hates how shallow that sounds but it's true. She's never felt good enough around him, ever since he said she should suck in her stomach when she was six years old. She wonders how she can love someone so much when she never feels good enough around him...always desperate to make him love her even though she knows he does.

She didn't pay attention to her horoscope yesterday. Not sure if she believes them, she's not going to take them too seriously. If it was right, then she missed her chance, if it was wrong then maybe her chance is still waiting. She checked his horoscope too...it made sense because it didn't make any sense...just like him.

She's sad and a little tipsy. Those talks with her mom always do this to her. She feels like she missed something by not having a father, though writing that feels like such a betrayal to the other men that helped raise her. She loves her grandfather's and is terrified of losing them, ironically she lives half a country away and doesn't see either of them very often. She's never experienced a loss like that...and isn't sure why she's worrying about it so much now...must be the wine. She should stay sober for talks like that with her mother. She misses her family...she wants to talk to him and doesn't know where he is.

She's chilled, relaxed, stretched and sitting. She talks to her friends, she laughs and she had a pretty good day.
She's worried about school still but is working to fix things, she's excited to see him on wednesday, she hasn't seen him in such a long time...not since the summer.
She sings along to Damien Rice. She's trying to think of soemthing to write. Her hands are getting older; she can see the bones move as she types. When she breathes in deeply, she gets that hollow between her collar bones. She's almost 19 and she's taking control. She'll be successful, she'll figure herself out and she'll have a good summer. (she'll work on the long term later....)

She's confused. She doesn't know how to play this. Probably because this time she's not playing. So liberal, always thinking she has all the time in the world to love. How ironic that she's found it now and doesn't know what to do. All the confidence in the world is wasted. She knows it't not love, it's comfortable, it's laughter and possibility. It's new and might turn into something real.

Who does she write about?

She made new friends, she walked home, she listened to music, she worked, she ran, she wrote (she mispelled things) she was whistled at, she thought, she laughed, she had a cookie, she wondered, she smiled at everyone, some of them smiled back, some didn't, she picked off her nail polish after she swore she wouldn't.