NOW do you remember why you don’t trust people?
I want the beach. I don’t think people understand. I need it for sanity.
I want to smell the salt in the air. Feel the sun on my face. I want to feel the breeze.
I want to drive down the road to the beach. That beautifully desolate road that seems to stretch on forever with seemingly no end, that finally leads to something truly sublime. I want to stick my head out the window and escape for 30 minutes while the combination of the speed of the car mixes with the wind coming in from the Gulf, creating a beautiful white noise that blocks out everything while I look into the sky and see every star imaginable, because there are no city lights to obstruct my view on this island.
And this will happen. Even if I have to go by my damn self, by God it’s happening.
That moment when you want to hang out but all your best friends are either out of town or with their significant others..and you’re sitting alone on the couch stiiiiiiill single.
Sometimes I should be doing homework. Like now.
Sometimes I think I should post about bullshit I know nobody cares about. And I would rather nobody read, but I typically don’t.
Sometimes I think I’ll tell you about it today, but I’d rather not burden you.
Sometimes I think my problems are worth mentioning, but they’re not.
Sometimes I think today was the day this happened, or that happened; but it’s probably better left not thought of.
Sometimes I think of how much better we’re getting along, and how much I miss you.
Sometimes I think you still care. But you don’t.
Because you never really did.
Because I do.
Because it hurts to remember.
Because who cares?
Because I can handle it.
Because it makes me feel like a vulnerable, whiny bitch.
My friend recently said something about a girl who “had a dancer’s body.” My question is, what defines someone in order to have a “dancer’s body”?
Most people would say they’re average height, lean build, and thin. But I’ve seen short and heavy girls dance and move with more heart than a scrawny girl ever could.
It’s depressing that we put labels on ourselves and others as to what we’re capable of. Who’s to say that one person is more capable of dancing than another? Or singing? Or acting? Or swimming? Or modeling?
I think if you have it in you, it’s a talent you were given to share, whether you have the stereotypical body or voice for it or not.
No one defines you, except for yourself.
No one defines what you do, except for your actions.
You…you are the fucking worst.
If you’re not mad at me.. Why did you block me on twitter? Being fake is just as trashy, smartass.
I’m tired of being sucked into the middle of everything. I didn’t even do anything but be friends with someone I was already friends with. I keep my mouth shut because I know better.
Also, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you what I was doing at all because its not any of your damn business. I don’t like liars. I’m not a liar. So don’t make me out to be one.
You’re probably the one person I could care less about being friends with. You’re not someone I need in my life. I don’t need the drama. I don’t need the exhaustion. I don’t need your bullshit.