brok n k yboar

my k yboar is brok n so I an't typ a lot of wor s that I woul lik to say. I hav to o hom work on my fath r's laptop, or ls opy an past l tt rs from oth r pla s, whi h just tak s a long tim to o. It f ls lik a m taphor of som sorts. I, also, am brok n. Not all my k ys ar working. I'm falling apart, yknow? I on't know. I'm t rrifi of th futur . I on't know.

the dear & empty things

I'm here because I have an inordinate amount of homework and not enough time. Of course I'd rather procrastinate by writing a freaking blog post than just make myself start all this work.

Y'all, I'm tired. Deep within my body there's this resignation. This exhaustion of the soul. The breeze that runs its fingers through blades of grass, making the hairs of the earth stand on end; the hollow echo of leaves settling in-between gasps of wind; the golden sheen of disappearing sunlight painting half of everything with momentary effervescence; the vacuum of silence which exists directly in the moments after the sharp humming of cicadas has ceased. These things exist inside me, always. The thrumming of birds' wings in my mind and heart; the soft panic of watching leaves run out of my grasp down a spinning stream; the tightening and tightening of springs just beneath the lattice of my ribs. There's an avalanche inside me, something about the lines swallowing up my mother's eyes, about the overwhelming thread of his voice, about the inadequacies tucked away in my fingertips and need for light. Someday I will pass on, leading these things by the hand into some further light, or darkness as it were. The demise of my frame would not be nearly as tragic as the disappearance of these dear and lovely things.

10 things i hate about you, adapted

I hate that it's so easy to talk to you and that we sometimes say the same things at the same time. I hate that when I hear you talk about the things you care about, my chest gets all warm because you sound like the way my brain does, words moving faster than makes sense and going in every direction all at once. I hate that you left in the fall and said we'd still be friends but then stopped talking to me. I hate that it hurt. I hate that I overthought everything you'd said to me and every situation, trying to find where it all went wrong, and I hate that you moved on and did other things with other people like I meant nothing. I hate that you left me feeling unworthy of love. I hate that you came back just as I was getting over you because I hate that I forgave you so easily. How could I not? I hate it when people are sad, and you were. I hate that I let you back into my life, that I let my guard down again, that I forgot history is cyclical. I hate that you apologised for the things you did and meant it. I hate that you were so kind to me because all I needed was kindness and validation and you'll never know how much you helped me stop hating myself. I hate that you answered all the questions I threw at you and that you seemed so genuine and willing to make it work this time. I hate that it didn't work this time. I hate that you said it would work, you said it would work, you said it would work but it didn't. I hate your stupid laugh and your freaking curly hair and I hate that we have the same squinty-eyed smile and I hate that I look back at that picture my friend took of us and hate that we'll probably never take another one. I hate that you have more friends than me, more places to turn, more people to rid you of loneliness. I hate that you're good at time management and good at the things you do. I hate that I wasn't enough to keep you interested, that my lack of interest in sexual behaviour made you rethink the whole thing. I hate that you said our different values wouldn't change things, but then it did. I hate that I told you to not worry about me and my feelings, to not get into a relationship you weren't fully invested in. I hate that you weren't fully invested in it, even though you told me you were. I hate that I believed you, that I let myself believe it would be different this time. I hate that you didn't want to hurt me, that you were so worried about screwing me over for a second time. I hate that you screwed me over for a second time. I hate that after you hung up the phone after we decided it wouldn't work, I couldn't stop crying. I hate that I cried at school the day after, that I cried so hard driving home from school I could barely steer straight. I hate that I feel so dumb for caring, and I hate that you didn't care more. I hate that I feel like I can't be loved. I hate that it feels like there must be something wrong with me that would keep any attempt at intimacy at bay. I hate that when I told you not to worry about my feelings, you didn't fight more. I hate that you gave me something to hope for and then took it away. I hate that I let myself be vulnerable and that I actually told you how I felt about you because that was so hard and I don't think you understand that my heart was beating a thousand miles a minute and I hate that it was. I hate that I finally said hey I like you and that you said it back and that the very same day we were talking on the phone about how we wanted different things. I hated hanging up the phone because it felt like I was losing something soft and beautiful in that goodnight. I hate that you apparently have moved on, and that I have not. I hate that it's valentine's day and I want nothing more than to forget everything you ever said to me. I hate that we're the same in too many ways, and I hate that you told me the truth. I hate that the truth wasn't what I expected. I hate that I was hurt more than you. I hate that I like you, and I hate that you left. I hate that I can't hate you, that I don't hate you, that I won't hate you. I hate that I'm writing this dumb post instead of talking to you, because I know you won't ever see this.

late

I have almost no motivation to do any school work anymore. I'm horrible at time management. It's 2am and I desperately would like to sleep for about 2 weeks straight.