There is something wrong with my girlfriend. I know it. I don't know
what's wrong, I just know that something is.
She can be so kind and caring and loving one minute, and the next. . .I might as well not exist, for all she seems to care. What am I saying? Of course she cares. She - she just has a lot on her mind, that's all.
I mean, if someone has EMT shifts, cheerleading practise, homework and finals to study for, then of course they're going to be acting strangely every now and again. Only. . .it's not really every now and again, is it. . ?
I've seen her writing in her diary, lying on her front by the river, scribbling furiosly fast, but with special care. The pink glittery pom-pom on the end of her pen bobs up and down as she writes, occasionally shedding bits of fluff. You can tell when she's been writing for a long time, there'll be pink fluff everywhere, all over the pages, all over the floor, on her hands, and even in her hair. She looks so beautiful then. So, so beautiful.
I once went over and asked her what she was writing. She didn't even hear me, so I sneaked a peek over her shoulder. I caught these sentances, written in her spiky handwriting, much like Jamie's.
"I look at the picture of us that is sitting on my bedside table. We look so good together. Two heads of blonde hair. Two sets of blue eyes. Two perfect, matching, mirrored smiles. We look so happy."
I couldn't help sighing with happiness. She heard. She jumped up, and snapped the diary shut quickly. She demanded to know what I was doing. I said I had been looking for her. She then asked if I had read anything. I shook my head no. She looked very relieved, then linked arms with me and we walked off.
Tell me that's not weird. I mean, I love her, I truly do, but I worry about her. All this strange behaviour. The unexplainable mood swings, the way she snapped at me. . .what's wrong? Why won't you tell me? Please tell me. I want to help you Val.
She can be so kind and caring and loving one minute, and the next. . .I might as well not exist, for all she seems to care. What am I saying? Of course she cares. She - she just has a lot on her mind, that's all.
I mean, if someone has EMT shifts, cheerleading practise, homework and finals to study for, then of course they're going to be acting strangely every now and again. Only. . .it's not really every now and again, is it. . ?
I've seen her writing in her diary, lying on her front by the river, scribbling furiosly fast, but with special care. The pink glittery pom-pom on the end of her pen bobs up and down as she writes, occasionally shedding bits of fluff. You can tell when she's been writing for a long time, there'll be pink fluff everywhere, all over the pages, all over the floor, on her hands, and even in her hair. She looks so beautiful then. So, so beautiful.
I once went over and asked her what she was writing. She didn't even hear me, so I sneaked a peek over her shoulder. I caught these sentances, written in her spiky handwriting, much like Jamie's.
"I look at the picture of us that is sitting on my bedside table. We look so good together. Two heads of blonde hair. Two sets of blue eyes. Two perfect, matching, mirrored smiles. We look so happy."
I couldn't help sighing with happiness. She heard. She jumped up, and snapped the diary shut quickly. She demanded to know what I was doing. I said I had been looking for her. She then asked if I had read anything. I shook my head no. She looked very relieved, then linked arms with me and we walked off.
Tell me that's not weird. I mean, I love her, I truly do, but I worry about her. All this strange behaviour. The unexplainable mood swings, the way she snapped at me. . .what's wrong? Why won't you tell me? Please tell me. I want to help you Val.
