vivre sunday

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…you call.

Dammit. You’re like a cocaine habit I can’t kick.


teenage angst?

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I

hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

I think

Posted on: June 13, 2009

I like my imaginary version of you more than I actually like you.


Posted on: April 20, 2009

When something good or bad happens, I want to tell you, and I imagine what your reaction would be. Would you be supportive, would you not know what to say? Would you ask questions? Would you relate it to your own experiences?

But then I convince myself that I don’t need you. I don’t need to tell you the ups and downs of my life because I don’t know where I stand with you. That kind of relationship won’t work with us, and I don’t want to be emotionally dependent on you.

How long can I go on like this?

All I want from you is to feel me. I’m asking you to hold my heart in your hand. But I’m never going to say a word. All I really want to do is love you.

Love? I think that might be going too far.


I hate that whether I am happy or annoyed depends on whether he texts or calls me everyday. If he doesn’t text me back, I keep waiting for it. I am way too interested.

When is it considered a date?

Who pays? Agh!

Totally AWKWARD.

I need to fix this so he doesn’t think I’m a total loser. But at least he still called me, right?

Dropped In

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When I’ve written

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