I don’t know if it would change anything, I don’t even know if I would want it to. But from time to time, I find myself wondering: what if you knew?
Would I be the one wearing your jackets? The one that you’re waiting for when class is over? The one that you’d sit down with at dinner and who you’d tell how your day went? The one that you’d miss whenever I wasn’t with you? The one that could make you as happy as you’ve always deserved to be?
The thing is, you are happy. She makes you happy and I’m happy for you guys, believe me. You’re good for each other and I’ll leave it at that. I’ll never do anything to interfere with what you guys have, that wouldn’t be right. I know that. But, deep down, I still find myself wondering, what if you knew?
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Would you chose me over her? Probably not, there’s no way. She’s a 10/10. I’m, well, not. She’s with you, I’m not. If you knew, you’d probably think I was insane with no morals. You’d probably avoid eye contact with me for the rest of the school year until I leave this place behind, hopefully forgetting about how terribly difficult it is to see you across the room, wanting to be there with you, but knowing that, with your arm around her, you’ll never even consider me to be more than an acquaintance.
I hope you don’t know that I’m talking about you. I hope you’ll never know. But from time to time, I find myself wondering: what if you did?
I knew you before, but we had never talked. I knew of you.
It was just recently that I met you. When you looked at me, I blushed. I felt something I couldn’t describe.
You had my number from a while back and you texted me that night… You told me how we had this connection that was rare and beautiful.
You said that you wanted to get to know me better. I said I wanted to too.
I had heard bad things about you, but I didn’t believe it. And in the end, it wasn’t you who was at fault, it was me.
You made me feel special, loved, happy.
We talked for hours. I told you my insecurities, you told me your secrets too.
But, apparently, I scared you off.
I remember saying “I’m scared that if you get to know me, you won’t like me anymore.”
You promised that would never happen, that I could never scare you away.
Well, you lied. In less than a day, you got distant. I got scared; I reached out.
You went from saying things that made me feel adored, to saying nothing at all.
I couldn’t stand it, I knew I should have let you be, but I couldn’t.
“Do you still like me?” I asked.
“Yes, but your feelings are kind of suffocating right now,” he replied.
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Thank you,” you said.
Suffocating…
You had told me you wanted something that would last, you told me to be clingy, you told me you wanted to be with me for a long time,
Yet in two days of talking, you call me suffocating.
How can you say you still like me but you want me to leave you alone?
How can you have said that I was the perfect girl for you, then turn me away the next day?
I’m suffocating…
It’s hard to breathe the absence of love. It’s not that I loved you, I guess I just loved the thought of you. I thought you were perfect.
“Love’s like oxygen. You get too much you get to high, not enough and you’re going to die.”
You built me up, maybe it was part of your manipulating trick. You built me up so much, made me feel so special, then stripped it all away.
We’ve only known each other for three days, it’s almost impressive how you manage to hurt me this bad.
I can’t breathe, I feel empty.
Like a void, a wound, a puncture in my chest.
I’m gasping for air, yet I’m still suffocating.
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They warned me about you, told me how your kindness was just a way of manipulating me into getting what you wanted.
But the sad part is, I went a long with it, I feel so hard for you that I would have given you what you wanted.
I’ve cried, I’ve stayed in bed for almost a day… all of this for you. My spirit builds up so high when I get a notification on my phone. Maybe it’s you. It never is.
You broke me.
And yet you say you’re the one suffocating.
But at the root of it all, it’s not you at fault.
You gave me a chance; I blew it.
I came on too strong maybe? I tried to talk to you too much maybe?
I’m sorry I made you feel suffocated.
If only I could have been better. If only I could be better.
I have a family friend who is staying with me over the holidays and she has a young son who still believes in Santa. He was scared I didn’t believe in Santa, so my mom told him that I still believed in Santa. He said that if I didn’t write a list I wouldn’t get any presents from him, so I had to write out a list and send it to my mom so he could see it. It was fun to write, so I thought I would share it:
Dear Santa,
This year for Christmas I want a dirt bike, tall boots, more riding gear, new earrings, clothes from American Eagle, a car wash, buckeyes, new tires, new rims, stuff for my car, a Kat Von D contour palate, a snowboard, plane tickets to Tennessee, squared toe boots, clutch/gas socks, anything car related, and CD’s for my car.
There once was a thing named freedom. The gods created it for everyone to hold on to from birth and throughout their life, for all of us to rely on. It was a given right and we thought it was safe to stay.
It was a world of peace, as it was supposed to be. A world where we would talk and learn and see the places we wanted to see and know the things we wanted to know; it was a free world.
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There was also a thing named envy. The gods didn’t create it, people did. Why? No one knows. Because the people were bored? Because they were intimidated and jealous? Who knows? But, what can we do? Envy is the flawed human trait, one of them at least.
When envy spread across our peaceful world and the people first tasted its sour acid rain, freedom started to fade. First, the people claimed the world and its land. Then, they saw the beauty of nature and took it. They saw the beauty of the birds and took it, locked them in and traded their freedom for amusement. They kept taking, claiming, and destroying. One day, the greediest of people, saw another person and took them.
Freedom has been on the brink since then. Our world has never been the same since we started taking other people’s freedom for our own comfort. Some of us want it to be the way it used to be, some want this to be a free world again. But, some of us are not enough of us.
So many things I want no one to know, but I want everyone to know at the same time. I want to scream them out into the void and have someone find my words and listen. A complete stranger, one who won’t judge me, though, I wouldn’t really care if they did.
I have so many things I want to write out. Emotions, frustrations… life. But, I can’t formulate the words to say to the people I want to listen, nor can I figure out how to write them on here.
So, I bought a journal. A small, leather journal that I write all my thoughts into.
I tried journaling a number of times in the past, but it only lasted two days maximum. Now, I can’t put my journal down. I write and write, sometimes words of gibberish, but they fill pages of my thoughts, pouring out of the pencil and onto the lined pages.
Now, I make sure to grab my journal and pen every night before I go to bed and I write. I write until my fingers feel numb and the lead wears down.
I guess it feels nice having an outlet to express myself. One that feels like I’m talking to many, when, in reality, I’m the only one who gets to read it. It makes me feel safe and exposed all at once, a type of feeling I never thought would be so rejuvenating.
