I fall into the sun and burn away~

My brother has left for the army. My family is, to be expected, empty. They are sad and emotionally distraught. They are worried, scared,  missing him.

I, being the unemotional freak that I am, feel nothing.

My brother is considered a, pardon my french, ‘fuck-up’. He is 22 and living at home. Getting B’s and C’s through high school and never really attempting at a better college, he was scraping up a shitty associates degree at the local community college. He has no job, but as the heir or first-born son, he can do no wrong.

Do not get me wrong, I am not bitter. He is my brother and I do hold love for him, but I believe the army could be good for him. It could really shape him up into a better man. He is a young (emphasis on young) man. It is only basic training, after all. I can’t seem to understand why they are making such a fuss. My sister and I are in agreement there.

On another, smaller note, I am contemplating on whether or not I should cut my hair up to my shoulders. My hair is rather long. It is down to my mid-back and is dark (DARK, but not black) brown. It is also wavy. It’s lovely, except for the ends which are rather horrid, but troublesome to take care of. I tire of the constant care and wish for it to be shorter. Opinions, please? Perhaps a picture may help but I’m far to lazy to take one of those at the moment so next time maybe.

I’m not an art major, but I have taken Art I and Art II. I am now in Art AP 2-D Design. My art teacher thinks me good enough to enter scholastic. I’m not so sure, of course but ah, well. I’m creating a portfolio on a concentration. A concentration is a series of twelve like pieces on one subject.
One person is focusing on the subject trees, another dachshunds, another on phone booths in odd places, another on masks, etc.
I was thinking of gathering a small group of girls to dress in different time periods of black and white french fashion and taking group photo shots of them having a night on the town. I would mix in several medias as well of course. It would show them getting ready, too.  I thought it lovely, but then I of course got into other ideas like doing body paint to create mosaics on the skin and creating lace (not thin, cotton lace but thick, sturdy lace) pieces to stick on the body and positioning the body in rather obscure positions as such odd positioning often fascinates and captures judges.
I would love opinions on this.

The first options would be titled ‘Noir et Blanc: French Fashion Entrenched Upon’.

No idea about the second though.

Anyway, Bonne nuit or goodnight.

Updates on my days.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I do apologize for staying away for so long but school has tied me up inevitably. Piles of homework, work, volunteer work, extracurricular activities and attempting to exercise…. But perhaps I’m making excuses. Ah well, food for thought.

Recently, a male who I once dated, and who I am still close friends with, decided to ask me to ‘be his girlfriend’ once again. He has ‘been in love’ with me for two to three years now and has asked to date quite a few times. We have attempted a relationship before and it hasn’t worked out. Though we are not relationship material, we are fairly good friends. I have told him much of my life, including what types of sex I enjoy.
When he asked me out this weekend, I gave the excuse that I wasn’t looking for that type of relationship. I said one day I was going to look for a Dom, and that he wasn’t really it for me.
He told me my excuse was weak, and I just told him to look up the intricacies of bdsm.

He then said to me,
“This bdsm shit, I would actually love to do. That seems interesting but I’ll start off from the bottom and move up.”

Now, I don’t know if perhaps I am looking at this from a strange angle, but I feel offended and affronted. His response was entirely inappropriate.At least, I feel this is so. I mean, come on. ‘Bdsm shit’. That’s rude.

But whatever, I’ll deal with that later.

My rabbit of several years also died. You can imagine how despondent I was from that.

I did see ‘Possession’ in theaters as well. It was quite good, though the graphics at the end of the movie leave something to be desired.

Tomorrow, I am visiting Appalachian with my family. I do hope that goes well.

There’s really not that much to add. I’m rather boring actually.

I’m learning to solve a Rubik’s cube. I am one algorithm away from solving the whole cube. Encouragement is helpful.

I really should try to post more. I just read a lot and get extremely distracted very easily.

Love to all my readers and fellow bloggers.

Cheers to the weekend.

 

My sister’s boyfriend lied and told her that his parents thought she took drugs.

My sister has had a recent disaster…well, not so much a disaster as recent breakup. She is older than me and goes to Appalachian State and is in her freshman year. Her and her boyfr- exboyfriend of several years (since sophomore year) recently had a break up.
And when I say break up, I mean break up. It was absolutely terrible. His family and my family are both completely dumbfounded, befuddled, plain confused and shocked.
For now, I’ll call my sister L and her boyfriend C.
What you should first know is that C has emotional problems. His mother is ‘crazy’, to put it lightly. She is overbearing and insensitive. Over the years of their relationship, she has done everything in her power to keep them apart. Having gotten pregnant at fifteen, she has had C with her throughout his life and her own. She formed extreme attachments to C, which is understandable, but the extent in which she tries to keep C under her wing is scary.
His father is a man who was in and out of jail. He was never around and was always very cruel to C. An example being that C had always been close to his father’s father, but when his father got out of jail, his father ended C’s relationship with his grandfather. Even when C’s grandfather became extremely sick and was dying, his father did not allow C to see him , even though his grandfather requested it on his deathbed. Yes, his father was that terrible.
Also, C had a very close relationship with his mother’s father as well since his mother’s father helped raise him. This grandfather is a very well-liked man in my city. He is a respected now-retired officer turned private investigator and he has a lot of friends. And when I say friends, I mean contacts.
So while not the worst life, it was difficult, I suppose.
My sister is a great girlfriend though. She was extraordinary, wonderful, awesome and she had huge boobs to boot. She did his homework throughout highschool. She made him food when he was over, brought him cupcakes to school that read ‘I love you’, and was an all around the perfect girlfriend. When people spoke of their relationship, they thought she was the great catch and wondered why she was with him. He had no friends at his old highschool, the same my sister and I attend now. The only person he had constantly was L.
Not long ago, C’s mother had another child with C’s stepfather. She had a daughter. When this child was born, you can imagine the attention shifted from C to the new child. His mother and stepfather began treating him with disdain and indifference. He felt abandoned.
Another piece of information you must understand is that my sister’s best friend–a girl I will call P who is in my grade who is a very, shall we say lightly, immature girl who is very opinionated–and her exboyfriend were always at odds with each other. The played tug o’ war with my sister’s affection which was extremely tiresome for her. They constantly bickered and complained about each other to my sister. C felt L spent far too much time with P and vice versa.
Also important; In her Junior year some months ago, P got into a nasty habit of taking pills. She was caught at school during a massive bust with them and was suspended. Since she was a minor, her case was not released to the public and is not accessible. The case is still ongoing.

Moving on…With the added weight of his sister’s birth and subsequent abandonment of his family, C, being insecure and needy, felt pushed aside and desperate by this point so he concocted a very bad plan. On a weekend where both he and my sister were visiting home from college, he decided to text my sister and say that his grandfather, the PI, had got into P’s case files and found out that she took drugs at some point. He then said his grandfather told his mother and that they accused L of also doing drugs. My sister became furious, as she knew that sort of thing is illegal, and proceeded to tell our family and P’s family (so P could tell her attorney). We, believing the fib since it seemed like something his mother would do, raged and raved about it for an hour, squabbling on what to do and what to say. C ‘reasoned’ with her and stated that he had ‘convinced’ his parents that she did not do drugs, but he had to convince them by saying that she did not hang out with P anymore (which wouldn’t make sense as they had photos together on facebook of a recent rendezvous together). Obviously, he wanted to make it so that she would not hang out with P anymore…
My sister, still believing the lie, told him that she wouldn’t stop hanging out with P just because of that. She told him that she told P and that P told her attorney and that P’s attorney was pissed and said she would get his grandfather in a lot of trouble. He, realizing his folly and the extreme damage such a lie could do to his grandfather’s reputation, career, and their relationship, he spilled his guts and told her it was all a lie to get attention.
L, rationale extraordinaire, told him that he was a fucking lunatic and that they were over. She then cried for an hour, feeling embarrassed, heartbroken and as if she had wasted several years of her life on one boy.
His mother and grandfather were informed along with us. We were totally astonished and bewildered.
Not only did he destroy the relationship with L, but also his grandfather who is taking a lot of heat for the lies C created.

I can’t even begin to describe the absolute horror and anger I felt for C. I wanted to obliterate him. While I no longer feel any burning emotions for him, I can say with no sense of guilt that I still feel displeased with his actions. I do not hate him, but what he has done to my sister is unacceptable. If anyone would like to try to convince me not to run over to his house and pour acid into his eye sockets, I would appreciate it.

On a side note, the democratic convention is soon and I am quite near it, only twenty minutes away from center Charlotte. I went downtown today and saw the stages and stands being set up. There are police from several counties all around and news broadcasters are buzzing around like annoying flies. My own mother is actually working convention shifts (dreadful things that they are…) and is going to be less than a mile from where Obama is actually standing. I think it’s cool, but my mother isn’t so hyped up. She is voting for Romney, though, so…

I have a dirty story to tell tomorrow but I suppose that will have to wait. I’m tired.

The burns feel nice.

The Third Degree

Breathless,

She says she can’t do this.

 

“Try,” I choke out, and stroke the fire.

 

“You’re singeing the edges of my lashes.”

It blazes, surging even higher.

 

“Made of glass,

are you,

my fragile lover?”

 

“No.”

So sure of herself,

confident.

“You were the first,

“And the last,

“But I’ll survive this,

“For I am made of steel and iron.”

 

My sanguine past,

Stained my white dress.

She found it wholly hideous.

Saltine tears streamed,

From the corners of my eyes,

And down my face.

How she looked away.

 

“Move forward, once-upon-a-time lover,”

She mumbles, solemn.

“There is nowhere else to go.

“The sea is behind you,

“Ready to consume,

“To swallow.

“And before you,

“I laid out a path of glowing coals.”

 

“Letting me wither, lover?”

I whisper.
“Will you not just reconsider?”

 

“No, your love is just too small,

“You don’t,

“Can’t feel enough.”

 

“Okay,” I say.

“Alright.”

And turn away.

Walking straight across the flames,

and yes, lover,

I felt it all.

I felt the heat crawl,

up my legs,

beneath my dress,

into my chest,

to wrap itself,

around my heart.

Old Lover, are you satisfied now?

I have started school. It’s dreadful. I’ve had quite a bit of homework so I’ve been unable to type a post. I’ve even done a few other’s homework. Good friend award to me. Here’s a photo of some English homework I did for a friend. It’s supposed to be a tombstone. It loses it’s attractiveness because of my shitty phone but whatever.

It says “Elizabeth Bassett, Born in 1652, Mother to three. A woman bewitched by lies, she died with jade in her eyes.”

The end line was supposed to be clever since Elizabeth was accused of witchcraft and Abigail thought her a jaded, bitter woman.

They say memories are like water.

They are very wise.

My head is down, focusing on reviewing the work my teacher assigned to the class  which I had already completed when I hear her voice ask, “May I go to the bathroom?” Looking up, I see my teacher nod his balding head at Maeve, who still has her hand still half-raised. She stands up, smoothing her dress of wrinkles and grabs her bag, moving to the door.

I watch the way her plain white dress brushes her lightly tanned calves as she walks. The jean jacket she wears as a cover for her shoulders looks out-of-place with the time period but I like it on her. Her rust-colored hair was straight-ironed and pulled back by a headband, just dusting past her shoulder blades. Her sandals, a deep beige, twist around her ankle and look lovely against her skin tone.

I notice she isn’t wearing the bracelet I bought her but she is wearing the silver purity ring she received from her mother two winters ago. It almost makes me angry, but not quite, not quite. Having been avoided and ignored for the past week and feeling that it was time to end her strange emotional discrepancy, I narrow my eyes and get up to follow her. Of course I ask my teacher first if I can get something I left in my locker that I need for my next class, who then prompts me for my finished assignment first which I quickly show him. He accepts my work and shoos me out of the room.

When I am in the hall, black flats traipsing on the blue tiles, I breathe a sigh. I don’t know what I will say when I find her. Perhaps I won’t even go to her locker where she surely is. Perhaps I’ll go to my own where I will fiddle with the lock for a while before going back to class. But no, no, I will speak to her if only to clear up some things…

My heart picks up in tempo, beating in time with the light tap of my feet on the linoleum floors. Rounding the corner, I glimpse at Maeve’s skirt tail as she disappears into the restroom.  I trail after her but wait outside, stalling at the water fountain where I push the button but do not drink from. I listen for the sound of the toilet being flushed, the stall door opening, and the sound of the tap running before I slip inside.

She doesn’t notice me, not yet.  She is focusing on her hands, scrubbing her palms and under her nails, nails that aren’t really there as she chewed them off. I see in the mirror above the sink that her brow is furrowed, her lips down turned and it makes me smile, just a bit.

“Trying to clean off your fingers, are we?” I say, finally.

She doesn’t jump, but her eyes do fly up straight to mine in my reflection.

“I-Faryn, what are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” I answer honestly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

She hesitates, turning around to face me to whisper, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

I raise my eyebrow, a signature ‘asian thing’ I am known for.

“There isn’t,” she repeats more firmly. “I’ve already told you. I’m straight, I like guys. I’m dating Steven and you’re with Col.”

“Ha-ha, heh, ha, ho-oh, hee-ha. That’s funny, Maeve, really funny. And I’m not dating Collin, he just follows me around like a lost puppy. I would think it cute but I’m actually a cat person.”

My attempt at caustic humor doesn’t amuse her. She gives a huff, pressing further into the into the sink edge.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to talk to you. We aren’t friends, we aren’t anything.”

And after that lovely statement, she shoots off, hurling out of the restroom as if a Helion was in her heels. Well, my mother always did call me a devil child…

I chase after her, shooting my hand out and grabbing her fleshy wrist before spinning her around and pushing her against the lockers. She can’t even think if moving and there is no one in the hallways to hear her. There are cameras, of course, and she could shout, but I didn’t particularly care at that moment.

Letting go of her wrists, I press myself close to her instead, my curves encompassing her own. She is several inches shorter than me and when I lean my head down, my hair curtains around us so that all he can focus on is me.

“Are you sure?” I whisper softly, letting my breath fan across her face. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly parted. I can feel her shiver against me and I can smell the vanilla of her hair.

I lift my hand, curling my fingers around the shell of her ear, grabbing a lock of hair that I gently tug on while my other hand rests gently on her hip.

“Are you sure, Maeve? Truly?”

I watch her swallow and open your mouth to answer. Nothing comes out except for a small croak that sounds almost like ‘yes’. I almost laugh but hold it off.

Straightening my face until I am once again stoic, I graze my lips across her brow, brushing them along the fine hairs. The touch is fleeting and feather light.

 “Maeve,” I murmur silkily, attempting to adopt a sultry voice.

I move further down, carving a path to her delicate ear. My lips teeter at the edge of her ear and When I blink, my eyelashes brush her cheekbone.

“Maeve, Maeve, Mae,” I say again, as if her name is a sin.

“I could worship you. Your stringy hair and your  burnt red cheeks. Your pallid skin and narrow lips. Your foolish hopes and silly dreams. You could ride out the rest of your high school years in the comfort of knowing all of you is being cherished and taken care of. Your body with all of its needs and wants, I would worship. You only have to let me.”

She whimpers, quietly where I almost don’t hear her, but I do. I pull away abruptly and drag her back to the restroom and into the handicap stall where I proceed to press her against the wall again and hike up her dress to reveal-

I miss her and I wrote this out because of that. She was so beautifully plain and she thought I was funny and sexy. That was enough for me, I suppose.

Strangely enough, I felt as if I wore the  ‘pants’ in our relationship which wasn’t unpleasant. Though, I imagine I won’t be doing anything similar soon.
I am forbidden from her presence. What a lovely mother she has, I must say…

As you can see, I tried to make this passage as appealing as humanly possible. My memory is foggy but I, of course, filled in the blanks. It turned out like this. Try to enjoy. Maybe even next time I’ll add in a hot, lesbian scene. Who knows.

Ah, and, school is definitely starting soon. I expect it to be tedious and hard as I have all honors or AP classes. Wish me luck.

Let nothing own the skies but the wind.

Virgin Crypt

I locked it away
just how you said
deep in my chest
hid it behind my rib cage and breast
left it to rot and waste away
gathering dust
And when that began to hurt too much
I buried it next to our picket white fence
just the way you said
planted a rose bush directly over it
fertilized it with whispers of faith
and when it rained
I only prayed for the sun
And when it finally shone
I moved it to a mason jar
just like you told me
set it next to the butter and honey
I tied a bow around the lid
let it quiver at summer lips
only to trash it next winter
My mother once made me swear
that I would solely keep
what is holy sacred to me
I tried to heed her words
as if it had worth
But I ended up letting it go as if it had wings

The beauty of thee, a flower plucked from a cliffside near the sea.

High school is a strange place. Most of the students at my school are very well off and are very sheltered. It is both inspiring and disheartening to see their naivety and innocence. Young adults, like those in my high school, are petty and care little for serious subjects. That is not to say all, but is merely a general stereotype. 

I’ve been there, I still am. I am young and impressionable, barely an adult and still clawing my way to reach the full capacity of my mind and self.

Distantly, I can recall the feeling of craving to submit, to wholly let myself go, to attempt the ultimate. I have generally a dominant personality but to relinquish that in a bedroom (or even possibly outside closed doors) would mean you have my absolute trust. Being betrayed by a dominant is no easy thing to swallow. Of course, I was new to anything of that like. I fumbled and stumbled, but we almost got comfortable, attempting.
Trust is easy to break and is truly a bitch to even attempt to fix. The effort to try is taxing and I have little patience for it, in this case. Having trust issues to begin with is also a point that is not easily ignored.

Perhaps that is why I’ve focused on another woman for the moment.

That day I was very off. My mood slightly somber and my voice particularly subdued. When he texts me at three in the morning, I don’t really feel in the mood but I sneak out of my house anyway, being eager to please since I was so new to ‘submitting’, to meet him at the end of my street.
He stood under the street lamp, lit with an orange glow. I thought he looked wonderful, plaid pajama pants and all. He doesn’t live that far away, which is why we just walk.
The clothes are off in minutes when we finally end up in his bedroom (except for my tank top and bra as he was far too impatient, which I hadn’t minded as I was strangely self-conscious that day) and the foreplay isn’t very forthcoming that night. I can recall the feel of him whispering into my hair after I ask him the magic question of what do you really want.
I want to feel you around me, now, he says. And with my ears pounding to the beat of painful drums, I comply to his wishes, all the while feeling a twinge in my chest.
I end up on my back, the couch (couch because he don’t like beds) beneath me. My hands are tied above me with (being new to kinks) a strange fabric that digs into my wrists and chafes them slightly. The room is dark except for the illuminated screen of the computer in the corner.
My knees are hooked around his shoulder and he has his eyes closed when he enters me. I don’t feel anything from the breach, nothing but a dull ache. I wait for it to go away, to get adjusted, but it doesn’t. He starts to move, picking up pace.
So pretty, he gasps into the dark. He isn’t looking at me when he says this. He knows not to use those words as they bring up an older memory, one where I was younger and in far more pain, when the sex was not consensual and the same words had been gasped. I panic, wondering why, and say the safe word. I’ve never had to before and that was the first moment it had been needed, new as we were.
He ignores me.
So I say it again, louder. I’m ignored. I pull on my makeshift wiggle my hips, repeating the safe word. He gives a low moan and opens his eyes to look at me and tells me he’s almost done, to just wait, pretty. He knows what will happen when he says this and I do exactly what he thought I would. I melt into a pile of pained goo, fragmenting myself from reality. I quiet and stare at the ceiling, unmoving and blank-stared.
I block out the way he thrusts into me, the way the muscles on his stomach clench, the lock in his jaw and the echoes of old pain I feel. I make grotesque shapes out of the popcorn ceiling and think about anything but the now.

When he’s done and I’m untied, finally slipping on my panties only to follow with my pants, he asks if I’m okay.
I want to slap him or yell or scream or cry, but I don’t. Yes, I say robotically, and I let him walk me home.

The next day, when I see his facebook status, ‘had a good lay last night’, and as everyone whispers about what I’m like between the sheets in the school hallways, I feel a little bit of myself crack and break away before I slip into a haze of unaffected stoicism.

What a way to end something, hm. I think it would have been easier to just ‘break up’, as they say, even though it wasn’t truly dating.
Trying to get back at him by making him think I was pregnant was also a ruined ploy. So I just had some fun with the rumor mill and passed around that he usually only lasted a few minutes in bed. While it didn’t make anything in my heart (cheesy expression) feel better, it did provide some aid for my bruised ego.

My lesbian tendencies are now that much stronger because of that experience, strangely enough. But I do wish to try to get into BDSM more seriously. It had been tentative before, and my first experience had been ruined then. I’ve been off the market for serious sexual relationships, which is fine since I’m young.  And though Maeve (this girl) is wonderful, I doubt we will ever go anywhere truly serious.

Where to go from here.

I’m actually kind of terrified. My last experience, full of timid touches and experimental kinks which turned into a raw abuse. Though this turned me away from BDSM for a while, I couldn’t stay away with the new wave rolling in. Communities seem like a big help though. Hopefully I’ll learn as I try to find something that works for me.

By the way, my Internet has been down for a few weeks now. It still is. I’m actually bumming off my neighbors as they, through a few lovely conversational exchanges, gave me their password. I’m not exactly tech-savvy, but I get along well with electronics. And yet, this problem has me stumped. We bought a new wireless router and, whoa and behold, it doesn’t work quite right. I would talk about the problem with the IPA, the WPA, the SSID and the awful LAN cords but I have a feeling I’d bore you. Just know that I doubt you’ll see much of me around.

Every tree (truth) has a forbidden fruit.

 

Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? Fallen into an abyss where the abyss, in turn, falls into you? Transcended your mindful limits that only permit the barest of highs and entered into the cloud realms? Found yourself following their lips, licking the sides and corners of their mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelops filled with the essence of pure passion and then have them delivered back to you on the ends of butterfly wings that lift you and send you somewhere you’ve never imagined?

Have you ever experienced a kiss that made you want to fly to the moon and camp on the outskirts of the dark side, tiptoeing the line between what is right and so absolutely wrong? Kissed as if you could forge the signature of the sun? As if you could find eternity in that one kiss? As if you were a tree blooming out of season? As if you’re exchanging ash and smoke in each puff of overused air that is exchange and your teeth are made of hot coals? As if your lips together had captured the autumn hues?

Have you ever had a kiss that seemed so wrong right that you would encroach upon the territory of a god to have it?

Every tree (truth) has a hidden root.

“Why can’t people love me the way I love them?” He asked, eyes unusually bright and scintillating, voice cracking as he said the word ‘them’. Her heart leaped into her throat at that and she felt her stomach drop. She had known he would ask that but that did not make it any less tiresome to answer. How many times would she have to bite her tongue and speak words that left a bitter taste in her mouth?
Her slim hand reached up and curled tenuous fingers in a dark lock of hair. She tugged tenderly at the end, smiling softly yet grim creases were found in the corners of her eyes.
She sighed tiredly, expression fully understanding as she gazed at him with warm brown pools. “Oh, my dear, I don’t have any satisfactory answers for such a question. But truly, can you honestly say you’d like a love so bidden and tamed? Love is wild, meant to be free. We are drawn to it like moths to a flame, bees to honey. To taste the forbidden is in our nature.
“We hope for that which cannot have and perch ourselves on cliff sides. We only know how to fall though, you see. We give water to deserts even though we know the sand will only absorb until not a measly wet spot is left and then the sun will steal the rest. Greedy are those that the stars crafted. Swathed in a groomed sheep’s clothing.
“We love but are not seen. We have chapped lips that crack if we try to sing. They know but ignore us, let us fester like blisters beneath scar tissue, yet still do we love. We love and love, yet ask for nothing as we love some more. Because we are creatures of habit. Take one variable from us and we fall to pieces.
“Our love is shadowed. Cloaked in the hearts of rabbits. A thorn made of black blood on the purple stem of an orange rose. Dripped from the sky onto a painter’s canvas, left in the rain of salty and bitter tears.

“Do You understand, Now?”

He nods hesitantly but she can see the confusion lingering in his gaze.

He fancies himself in love with me. Is that why he asked me such a stupid question? He gives his heart away so easily. How careless of him but I can be gentle.
I hold it in my talons with care and fly away with it, out of his sight so he cannot see when I fly straight to the sun where I’ll drop it and watch it burn black. He thinks he holds mine in return but that one is only a glass replica and it is covered in gasoline. It matters little to me. He can paint it however he wishes. He’ll try to light my flame but it will only blow up in his face, I’m afraid. (Afraid, yes. Sorry, afraid not.)

What would You think of me now? A child who once loved the world and wanted nothing more than to be loved in return, now can’t stand the thought of being even barely grazed by the world’s bare hands. You’d think me weak, of course. Weak as a bone bleached by the sun’s unforgiving rays, splintering and cracking so easily.

The idea has merit, surely, but it remains untrue.

What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?

So. Holy shit. People seem like a little family on here. At least the categories I find myself in. It’s really nice to see personal-but-not internet connections.
Can you tell how surprised I am? Here’s to the future of blogging, then.

~~~
I’m just going to jump right in it then.

I’m not a lesbian, per say. Gender is just nothing to stress over for me. I can admire beauty in all of its wondrous forms. I’m just an eighteen year old, high school student living in a small town (population: 105,000) who is transitioning from adolescence into adulthood. These are my experiment years. When someone catches my eye, it’s no shame for me if I look, nor is it wrong to act. It’s insatiable, see, my appetite. I thank the hormone gods for that one.
Recently, my attention was drawn to a girl. Not an issue for me though I was slightly flustered by how much I was drawn to her. Everyone knows of her around my high school as she is one of the few sets of twins we have, though her sibling is the more rambunctious one. Teachers love her and her mother was a volunteer pastor at a youth church I once attended. A purity ring sat primly on her delicate, little finger and she’s has an all AP class schedule. Try to imagine that the few times we spoke, our personalities never really hit it off. Truthfully, I found her boring. She’s nice enough but very forgettable.  There is nothing truly eye-catching about her.
Her scraggly, curly hair is the color of rust. Her cheekbones are a tad too high. She has dark blue irises with puffy under-eyes and her lips are thinner than what is universally considered attractive. Petite figure with a nice set of hips. Nothing really appealing and nothing truly displeasing. I had never thought about her more than twice.

She sent me a chat on Facebook, which is a site I hardly go on, so it was merely chance that I saw the notification appear on my iPod. I’ve said maybe ten words to her in my whole life so I was a little shocked and slightly weary. It was nearing the end of junior year and I figured it was a mite late to make friends, but I answered anyway. It went a little like this:
 Her: Hi
Me: Hello.
Her: We used to go to church together, remember?
Me: Ah, yes. The huge one with the pretty chandelier.
 Her: The very same.
(insert useless small talk)
Her: So hey, have you ever talked to Collin J—? (A lovely boy, by the way, emphasis on boy.)
Me: I had a class or two with him, why?
Her: He kind of wants your number.

Hold your horses, your ponies, the whole damn cavalry. Stop, cease and desist. I thought we were a little bit older than that. I thought we were past the phase of getting our friends to talk to the girl we like for us. Did I go back in time? Has my soul entered my twelve year old body once again? Or is this just how an obviously pubescent boy gets his bedazzled arm hooks? I am about to inform this girl that there is no way I would even consider handing out my number, sacred above all, to some boy who can’t even speak to me about his schoolyard crush.

 Her: He doesn’t actually know I’m doing this but he’s been talking about you for a while and well…it’s getting annoying.

That is not an excuse. I still refuse to hand out my number through the internet. What if she passed it around and I started receiving strange phone calls? I don’t think so.

Her: Please? He’s really sweet and I don’t think I can handle another minute of him pointing you out as you pass by our classroom on the way to lunch.

Sorry, sweatheart. Your pleas don’t affect me though your charm was taken into account. Unmoved, I am about to log out when I chance a glance to the corner of our small chat window. A picture of a girl standing beneath a half-dead maple  who has a smile that’s just a little too wide and eyes that look translucent in the spring shine.  Before I even Know what I’m doing, my fingers have typed away ten little digits that seal my fate.

And hers.

Will continue later!