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i had the strangest urge to kiss the top of your head

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it feels like i'm on a moral decline.
materialism, vanity, envy, these things are no good. i know this. but it's just so hard to shake the idea that maybe...if i was beautiful enough, life would be better, people would love me easier, i'd be wanted, i'd be appreciated, i'd get what i wanted, my heart would be less battered, and i'd matter.
do i know better? of course.
ugly people get laid, boring people still fall in love. beautiful people get old and turn ugly like everyone else. nothing gold can stay. yada yada yada. is it getting through to me? of course not.
i want that pretty face, but i can't have it so i buy a pretty dress. i want that perfect body, i don't have it but i still spend too much time looking at my own reflection, trying to see what they see, if they think i'm beautiful. nope, not yet. if ever. who loves me? no one. is it because i'm ugly? no.
but as hard and hopeless a task as it is to change how you look, it's even more difficult to change your personality. and try as you might, you can't change your soul.
would it help if i stopped looking at the ground? if i knew what to say and how to say it? if i made eye contact? if i flattered you more? if i fucked you every now and again?
i don't think i'm making my point very clear.

i'm still having so much trouble accepting the fact that i am not unique.
you kind of overdone, too, by the way.

it baffles me that she's dating him. she's supposed to be gay. and it's not like a disappointed "oh but i wanted her" kind of thing. it's just that...i feel so much more alone. am i really on this island by myself?

i read some stupid book for teens a couple years ago, by...steven levithan? i forget. anyway, there was one part that i really loved. and i still think about it. it went like this:

How To Be Alone
remember that any given moment
there are a thousand things you can love.


i try to remember that. but sometimes i forget. like how you try to be grateful for what you have, but you can't help wanting more. sometimes...sometimes i forget not to be lonely.
i used to be better at this. or maybe i just didn't know anything else.
there's nothing like the stinging welt of almost.

lately i really, really miss my mother. and it's not in a "i want to be taken care of" sort of way, because that's not what she was to me, a caregiver. i just don't feel like i could ever truly be independent from her. it's not that i need her, it's that she's part of me, so how can i walk around without her? i spent twelve years being raised by my wonderful grandmother, but the separation from my mother put my existence on hold. i feel like i didn't grow up, like i didn't exhale, like i didn't live until she came back. and now we're separated again, and i know it's different this time, but i'm taking it so hard, i feel like life is not giving me enough time with her. and all i do when she calls is make her feel bad. what's wrong with me? i don't feel real.

the vibe has gotten considerably more orange.
autumn is so welcome in my life. she warms my heart and chills my hands. she carries with her feelings of hope, anticipation, nostalgia. the leaves rustle like laughter, flutter and shimmer, and the air smells crisp and damp. fairy wings and golden trees, i am illuminated. she makes me feel in love.
but my heart is still left hanging.
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[User Picture]
On October 15th, 2008 06:56 pm (UTC), dead_inside13 commented:
Funny. I always remember that the beautiful ones aren't eternally happy by looking at you. I try so hard to steer clear of those horrible things too. I'm slipping pretty badly.
I'd mother you if I could, but having one "childe" is difficult enough; and you would be the second one who was three years older than me. Besides, you're much more rational; you're more the mother at most times it feels like.
Do you obsess about pasts that aren't your's? Feel cheated out of futures that you feel should have been your's? Lie awake at night with the whole world on fire and the sound of agonized screams and the synthetic feel of your knuckle and nails breaking something beautiful yet hideous? Maybe that's just me. I sometimes feel freer to talk on your journal than I do on my own.
I can't wait to visit you. I miss you so much.
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