Diet Soda and Crackers
The Subversive
…
Lily writes on her journal. Inane thoughts and random ramblings.
…
Let's admit it. I'm not the type of girl any guy would wanna be with.
I'm no one of those girls in a pub you buy drinks for, let alone ask my number.
I'm not that pretty, (stop rolling your eyes…(Oh Merlin, that sounded thick.))
I'm not that smart either (just a little articulate (Damn it!!! How come these things don't come off the way I want to???))
And I'm a mean bitch. (Ugh. I won't even try to justify this one…(I stuck a barbecue stick through my goldfish when I was seven…(It was dying anyway! (EUTHANASIA IS NOT MURDER!!!))))
So I can't really seem to get why James, of all people, of all the fat-headed arrogant bastards in this castle, would, quote, "fall madly in love with [me".
What the fuck?
Even in writing it reeks of disgust and uggghhhhh.
Urge to vomit now.
But my point is, James Potter and I will never be an item.
Ever.
He's like on of those people you see, good-looking (yes, I admit he's good-looking), with a strong, undeniable air of self-importance, with his trophy girlfriend latched lifeless and bitchy to his waist.
Goodness. Boys like him are supposed to date pretty and dumb girls. Hah. (see, me evil bitch).
I have this theory that looks and brains are inversely proportional. Or boobs and brains. Heh. Hehehe.
(I'm pathetic.)
Or, or, brains are inversely proportional to the amount of make-up you put on your face.
Fuck.
Haha.
So anyways. My point is that James needs to stay the hell away from me.
As I've told, I'm a nerd (wannabe), a bookworm, evil mean bitch who deserves no sort of romantic affection for or whatsoever.
JAMES LILY DISASTER.
DISASTER CHAOS
CHAOS ANARCHY
ANARCHY END OF THE WORLD
Get my point?
Fine. Suppose you do get James and I together (what a laughable concept). What's gonna happen?
Two weeks tops and I'll bet my whole allowance for one year he'd have moved on to the next girl.
See? That's the way a boy's mind works.
Tell me I'm wrong and I'll curse you to oblivion.
They get bored with one girl, on with the next. It's like they have a checklist of some sort. Ugh.
And if it's not girls it's food. Or Quidditch.
Girls, food and Quidditch.
A man's purpose summed up in three words.
Goodness.
So fine. I'll choose to grow old and alone.
Fine!
It's not like I'll need anyone anyway.
It's not like there's really a guy out there who'd fall in love with me – the bookworm, the nerd, the evil bitch (wannabe.:D)
It's not like James and I would ever get married.
It's not like he's really, helplessly in love with me in the first place.
Fuck the world.
For once, let me be emo.
I'm here, drowning in diet soda and crackers, pouring my heart out.
Jumping off the Astronomy Tower tonight.
Reviews are appreciated.