Everything is illuminated now.
How could I have been so foolish?
I'll chide myself,
Send myself to bed without supper,
Call myself a stupid, stupid child.
I should've spotted this betrayal from a mile away,
(more) But no,
I thought you were someone I could trust.
He has a loving family. He has friends. He has his books, and you know how books bring him great joy.
You can see his happiness in the little things: the sparks dancing in his eyes, th(more)e sweep of his eyelashes when he shuts them in contentment, and the way his mouth quirks upward when he's amused and trying to hide it.
He smiles and says he loves you back, so how can he not be happy?
Your brother is dead (and your mind replays the moment when you saw him kill himself over and over) and you know he was not happy.(less)
There's a saying that some people are born with greatness, while others have greatness thrust upon them. Contrarily, I believed that you had to achieve that greatness yourself. Since the beginning, I was told that I had to become someone special. Someone unique, starlit; someone who could shine. Someone(more) who would streak through the emptiness of society like a comet. Better than everyone else, in every way, until the day I die.
I was told that I had to try my hardest, to never give up. I needed to learn as much as a could and grow as much as I could. I was told that, in order to become a model person, I needed to undergo things that no one else could go through. Or should go through, now that I think about it.
Driven by such ambitions, I tried. I tried so hard, I almost died. All my life, I was driven to do my best. I struggled, I cried, I succeeded; it was like a never-ending cycle that no matter what I did I could not escape.
(Something went wrong during the process.)
(And I guess) I lost sight of what I needed to accomplish. I thought...
(That I...could be anything...)
I thought I could be amazing. I thought I could be a hero, someone to look up to. I thought I could do so many things, so easily, better than anyone. I thought I was shining like the sun. I thought myself among the stars. I thought I was unique, bright, one of a kind. (They told me, they told me.) I thought I was destined for greatness.
when i was watching puella magi madoka magica, i was wondering when the hell is madoka going the become a magical girl because i thought is THAT kind of magical girl anime and it's been that many episodes and i was wondering are you gonna be a fucking magical(more) girl yet or not? and then it turns out that she was already a magical girl and it was just that dumb bitch homura messing with time so apparently, madoka has been a magical girl for almost the whole series and they decide to tell you that near the end and like wow it looks like a fucking kid's show but it is a fucking tragedy and why would you want kids watching a tragic story? so i guess, it apparently isn't a kids show with all the depression and the killing and the ugly ass witches and the kyouko sakura suicide while killing sayaka and sayaka is a dumb bitch that kyouko sakura shouldn't have to take her life for and she should've just friggin left sayaka to die alone, but apparently, she didn't. the worse one is hitomi who was the cause of sayaka's depression 'cause she stole her crush, but it's also sayaka's fault that she didn't make a move on him quickly just because she thinks he won't want to date her lifeless body. actually, madoka is the worst, everything is her fault and i don't have enough words left to explain, so i won't. so anyway, madoka only cares about homura, but in the end she didn't even save her. the best characters are like kyouko, mami, homura, and kyuubey. kyouko, mami, and homura shouldn't have died, but apparently they did. only homura and kyuubey survived but she's the only magical girl left. everyone forgets madoka.(less)
I was going to writing something
But it never came to me,
I was going to say something,
But it never left my mouth,
Never drifting out to sea,
I was going to dream something,
(more) But it was shattered and shot
I was going to love someone,
I'm a very fickle person. I fall in love (my naive definition) quickly, I judge easily, and I never want anything after I've got it.
I chased after you for 4 months. . I'd never gotten a boy that I'd wanted before and you were my fantasy that woul(more)d never come true.
But for some reason you liked me, the girl who meows at air and dances through supermarkets. I don't allow myself to be happy just yet; cynics don't get to taste happiness.
It took me 4 months and an asking out for you to believe you liked me, and yet I pick our relationship apart piece by peace. I pull at every thread that comes undone and I wait for the fabric to fall apart.
I wait for everything to crumble like it usually does, but a part of me holds on to the reverie that I will still be sitting at my computer talking to you next year.
I don't want to grow tired of you. I don't want you to grow to loathe me. I want to smirk at myself in the mirror next year and think to myself, "apparently not."(less)
It was supposed to be a quiet day. The 'deal of a century' had been closed and the contracts were finally signed, so by all means it should have been a peaceful, albeit monotonous, day of sorting through mail and filing loose papers in the office.
(more) Of course, using 'should' almost guarantees that the universe will send you the exact opposite of what you're expecting.
So, even though I should have been taking an extra half hour for lunch or should have been flirting shamelessly with the sexy new secretary, I along with my coworkers were building a barricade worthy of a revolution in order to keep out said sexy new secretary, my boss, and a host of other employees who had developed a nasty hankering for our flesh.
One company asshole broke through our barricade, swiping out desperately. He let out a single pathetic moan, before I buried a pair of scissors through his left eye. He slumped over.
Heaving with adrenalin and rage, I yanked it back out just as quickly. This was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, goddamn lazy day at the office.
Somehow, Danny and Nate managed to convince me that Mila Taylor was head over heels in love with me.
Reasons why I liked Mila Taylor:
She had the sexiest death glare.
She had bright red cowgirl boots.
(more) She was tall with dark brown eyes.
She mixed up her truths and lies until you weren't sure what was real.
Reasons why Mila Taylor never would like me:
I was kind of short.
I had glasses, not even the hipster kind.
I played the trombone.
Guys like me did not talk to girls like Mila.
"Go for it. I heard she's single," Nate urged.
"You're screwing with me," I said doubtfully, watching Mila say something to her little clique. They burst out laughing, but Mila had a straight face.
"Man up." Danny advised. Of all people, Danny was not one to tell me to 'man up.' Whenever he encountered a spider, he screamed like a girl.
"Go," Nate pestered me, so I got up and went, feeling like I was running the gauntlet.
I approached the unapproachable Mila Taylor.
She glared at me and I almost recoiled. "Who are you? Oh..wait...Brent?"
"Yeah, that's me." My palms were sweating.
"What is it?" Mila continued to glare as her clique stared at me with glassy, mascara-ed doll eyes.
"Um...I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime?"
A girl choked out a giggle and the clique looked at each other with amusement.
"Sorry," Mila said instantly, not missing a beat. "I already have a boyfriend. He's six foot three with an eight-pack and hipster glasses."
My face was flaming. "I can play the trombone."
"He plays the flute. Very sexily."
I left to the sound of teenage girl giggles.
"How'd it go?" Nate demanded.
"Did she like you?" Danny winked.
There was nothing he could think of that would make the situation any better - or worse for that matter. He'd already clumsily spoken the words and watched in slow motion as they shattered the silence that was close to becoming awkward: "I used to, I mean, I think(more) that - well, I kind of feel that, erm... you're quite rude!" he'd bumbled.
Sarah had remained composed and rather tranquil for a good five seconds or so before her eyes began to push her eyebrows into her hairline (this was always a bad sign) and Percy winced in anticipation of the incoming wave of vitriol. "I'm rude?" Sarah almost screamed, "I am the very opposite of rude! I'm..." She stalled, trying to think of an appropriate antonym, "lovely!" she exclaimed. Percy parted his lips which was an obvious mistake as Sarah immediately continued "No, don't apologise, I'm not in the least bit bothered." pouting slightly she allowed her eyebrows to return to their default position. Percy once more opened his mouth "Sarah, please don't be upset, I didn't mean it as a criticism, more of a casual observation, that's all!" he was flat-out lying at this point, and back-peddling had never been one of Percy's strong points, "You are lovely!" he said ending with a smile.
Sarah's face, and more importantly her eyebrows, remained unfazed. "Percy, I think you're the one who is rude" she said in a soft, childish tone "Probably the rudest man I have ever met!". She left the room with a stomp of indignation and Percy could see that she was hurt by what he had said, something he had never expected; this was Sarah - the girl who was always so brash and tough, or so he had thought. (less)
When I was a kid, I thought all stories had happy endings. I thought that heroes always showed up when needed them, that everybody got saved. When I was a child I thought that dreams came true and that I wouldn't be left behind. I thought 'surely someone will(more) see me, surely someone will notice that I need saving too'. I thought that things would be easier in one, five, ten years, that everything would work out and that I would not have to fear crowded streets. I thought that I would not have to be afraid of closing my eyes, that eventually the faces would fade away into memory and nothingness.
Thought I was going to practice, had my gear, my helmet eager to be worn, my glove wanting that ball in it's leather and my cleats a bit tighter than last year but still excited to run. Sliding shorts, shorts, Rage Against the Machine shirt, sports bra, god damn(more) I was ready.
I was so fucking ready. We dropped off the boys' lacrosse team and then headed to our field, turf 1 like we use to almost always use last season. Coach is already there, his hair looks shorts and I notice he is balding when he calls me over.
"I know you've been gone for two weeks, but with your grades you can't practice."
"The sports director said he would talk to you, said to be ready to come to practice today and that I could practice."
"I heard nothing from him."
I sat in the dugout, talking to Ray about how much I hated the coach, how much I missed Coach Dan, texting my boyfriend who was with him grade in New York, beating myself up over not being able to practice.
It was such a waste of my god damn time.
I thought I was practice, apparently not.(less)