Sometimes

Sometimes, I look back at old times. And I just can't believe that I am still 17.

Get Away

I feel a disturbance in my sanity, in my mind, and in my heart. Of all the things that went wrong today, that would have made the old me insane, one of those things persists to disturb my heart. I'm not a slut. But talking to him makes me feel like one. The low and deep mono-tone voice he utters, the glances he makes... it disturbs me. Did he just ask me out? Did I just agree? But it's my job to agree, so now I feel like a slut. I feel like I've betrayed myself to achieve a purpose. I've sold false emotions and sincerity to get people to like me and hopefully to stay longer.

I'm not trying to sell myself, but I feel like I just did. Every second of that conversation was disturbing to me. Why does he persist? Why am I obligated to respond, to contact him, to get him to talk to me? Has romance been officially ruined for me? I feel so disturbed, like I just experienced a moment no one ought to experience. Perhaps, the child walking in on the parents, or the parents walking in on the child. Both, disturbing. Motor neurons moving at the speed of light, 8.00x10^3 m2/s, from the cerebellum to the muscles of your hands screaming,"Cover your eyes! No, cover your ears! NO! COVER THEM BOTH!" I feel disturbed, like someone just stepped into my personal bubble and took a dump in it.

God, moments like this, I wish I was married already. I wish I had already found "Da One". Would he protect me from this awkwardness.. I'd expect that from a marital status. As everyone frolicked around the room, I considered making up a relationship. I guess it's not like I'm that great either. While I know that I'm not perfect, I feel no justification to be..open to just anyone. I guess I'm still a child, and I'm okay with that. I just need to get away

Dear God

Feels like no one believes in me.

Hurt

I feel really hurt. I feel my heart, heavy. It's so heavy. I think this is sadness. Sad to see that this isn't working; sad to see that nothing is working. The ice berg that floated our way. We have to break it. We have to break it before it leaves us. We have to break it and save their souls. God, I wish I knew what I was doing.

Today

Bastard child won my heart.

Telephone

Ugh. I want a new number. I hate phone calls. I don't remember what made me hate them so much. Maybe the awkwardness of the conversation lasting too long. Maybe the eeriness of an anonymous number. Maybe the caller.

Counting Every Moment

Recently this has clouded my thoughts. It took over every open space and every cramped crevice. I like that word, crevice.

I really dislike age. It doesn't mean anything. It counts the years you've been alive but how much you live is uncountable. Consider two babies born. One born three months early, three months too young, three months prematurely. Another baby is born three months after the first baby. Although physically, the two babies started at the same place, suddenly the first baby is older. Then that means that age is about counting every moment you live. Then if you truly are older than someone, you've lived more moments. If age really is counting every moment, then it should have nothing to do with years. Eighty million moments playing a game you'll get bored of. Eighty million moments dreaming that dream you'll forget. Eighty million moments eating that pie you'll digest. I don't believe everyone gets to live the same number of moments. I don't believe age is truly measurable.

I want to live every moment I can possibly live and let it be as old as my age.