I still see you sometimes. Wandering through the dark streets of
today, to tomorrow where I'll fling my arms around you and never again will
we part. Never again will we separated by those who don't approve.
You don't know how much I've suffered, just waiting. I gave up sleep for you, to fill fluffy pink notebooks full of my deepest secrets. They all involve you.
Somehow, through all my self-consciousness, and pain, and humiliation, I've had a kind of hope. A hope that maybe I could just once brush against your skin (which is silky soft from your body wash).. Just once.
But my pain hasn't ended. Not yet. I still can't speak hat I've been trying to say to you for years. You've gone. You ran away from this town, leaving behind the little people. Namely me.
You have no idea the panic that came from just hearing your words. Going away? Forever? That caused hours of sitting alone with nothing but thoughts. Nothing but me.
I hate me. I feel as though I've driven you away. I've always acted strange around you, rushing my words and blushing, ashamed of my thoughts.
I'm not sure if I'll ever learn to breathe properly again. Whenever you walk by I take a deep breath in, like I'm breathing you in, hoping you won't notice. But I think you remain oblivious. It amazes me, really. I thought it was obvious with my heart beating so fast.
But we weren't destined. You and I. What would people think? What if they saw us? I know image is important to you. Sometimes I wish it wasn't. Sometimes I wish I could just kiss your soft, glossy lips in front of everyone, And then at other times I think, I scream, "I WANT TO BE NORMAL!" and I am ashamed. I'm always ashamed. Of everything I do, say, think, am.
There's a boy down the street. Sometimes he stares at me through his window longingly. Maybe I imagined his special affection towards me, or the way he looks at me. But I like to think of it that way. I feel nothing towards him. But I like to think there's someone else who suffers my pain, the pain of longing for someone unattainable. Sometimes I just want to sink into a hole and die with no one. I feel so.. wrong. Girls like me date the boy next door, and spend their life picking out lip glosses and blushes that don't smudge. But the truth is, I'd rather wear pants with an elastic waistband forever than live without you for a minute. I want to know you, I want to live you, I want to breathe you and your soul into my flesh and make me better. Make me you.
You're so self-assured. At least on the outside. I wonder how you do it sometimes. I wonder how you live day to day, cool as a cucumber, just letting life take you through an easy life.
Sometimes, I want so badly to be with you, but I'm afraid of what I might do. I'm afraid I might make you fear something for once, and it would be me. Me and non-water-proof mascara. You would avoid me, hate me, and what scares me most of all is that maybe you love me. Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe your love aches deep inside like mine does, and maybe I'm just in pain for no reason.
I burned that fluffy pink notebook. It now lies in my fireplace like charcoal, black and crumbling. I'm ashamed to be so ashamed. You gave me that notebook so carelessly. You forgot my birthday, remember? So you bought it for me. It couldn't have been more than a dollar, but I loved it. I was afraid to put ink in it. I just held it close for weeks. Now it is filled to the brim. Well, it was.
But there's nothing I can do now. You're gone, and all I can do is hope I die before you find out. You will, I know it. You're smarter than anyone ever knew. I knew though.
Maybe I'll marry that boy. No, I'd rather jump after that fluffy pink notebook, into the flames. Which would be more painful? Which would punish me more for never pursuing the chance I had?
Maybe you'll never know. Maybe it will keep locked inside of me forever and blow away with my ashes. I'm not sure which is worse.
I hope I drown in my tears.
That way, I'll never be ashamed again.
Then I'll speak the words I dare not speak.
I love you, Quinn.
You don't know how much I've suffered, just waiting. I gave up sleep for you, to fill fluffy pink notebooks full of my deepest secrets. They all involve you.
Somehow, through all my self-consciousness, and pain, and humiliation, I've had a kind of hope. A hope that maybe I could just once brush against your skin (which is silky soft from your body wash).. Just once.
But my pain hasn't ended. Not yet. I still can't speak hat I've been trying to say to you for years. You've gone. You ran away from this town, leaving behind the little people. Namely me.
You have no idea the panic that came from just hearing your words. Going away? Forever? That caused hours of sitting alone with nothing but thoughts. Nothing but me.
I hate me. I feel as though I've driven you away. I've always acted strange around you, rushing my words and blushing, ashamed of my thoughts.
I'm not sure if I'll ever learn to breathe properly again. Whenever you walk by I take a deep breath in, like I'm breathing you in, hoping you won't notice. But I think you remain oblivious. It amazes me, really. I thought it was obvious with my heart beating so fast.
But we weren't destined. You and I. What would people think? What if they saw us? I know image is important to you. Sometimes I wish it wasn't. Sometimes I wish I could just kiss your soft, glossy lips in front of everyone, And then at other times I think, I scream, "I WANT TO BE NORMAL!" and I am ashamed. I'm always ashamed. Of everything I do, say, think, am.
There's a boy down the street. Sometimes he stares at me through his window longingly. Maybe I imagined his special affection towards me, or the way he looks at me. But I like to think of it that way. I feel nothing towards him. But I like to think there's someone else who suffers my pain, the pain of longing for someone unattainable. Sometimes I just want to sink into a hole and die with no one. I feel so.. wrong. Girls like me date the boy next door, and spend their life picking out lip glosses and blushes that don't smudge. But the truth is, I'd rather wear pants with an elastic waistband forever than live without you for a minute. I want to know you, I want to live you, I want to breathe you and your soul into my flesh and make me better. Make me you.
You're so self-assured. At least on the outside. I wonder how you do it sometimes. I wonder how you live day to day, cool as a cucumber, just letting life take you through an easy life.
Sometimes, I want so badly to be with you, but I'm afraid of what I might do. I'm afraid I might make you fear something for once, and it would be me. Me and non-water-proof mascara. You would avoid me, hate me, and what scares me most of all is that maybe you love me. Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe your love aches deep inside like mine does, and maybe I'm just in pain for no reason.
I burned that fluffy pink notebook. It now lies in my fireplace like charcoal, black and crumbling. I'm ashamed to be so ashamed. You gave me that notebook so carelessly. You forgot my birthday, remember? So you bought it for me. It couldn't have been more than a dollar, but I loved it. I was afraid to put ink in it. I just held it close for weeks. Now it is filled to the brim. Well, it was.
But there's nothing I can do now. You're gone, and all I can do is hope I die before you find out. You will, I know it. You're smarter than anyone ever knew. I knew though.
Maybe I'll marry that boy. No, I'd rather jump after that fluffy pink notebook, into the flames. Which would be more painful? Which would punish me more for never pursuing the chance I had?
Maybe you'll never know. Maybe it will keep locked inside of me forever and blow away with my ashes. I'm not sure which is worse.
I hope I drown in my tears.
That way, I'll never be ashamed again.
Then I'll speak the words I dare not speak.
I love you, Quinn.