I went to a historical cemetery that was down an abnormally small road with not one, but three signs clarifying that it was in fact a public road. The road led to no where, just a dark rail road crossing that promised a dead end. The cemetery was crumbling and old and filled with graves that were crumbling and old and people who were likely forgotten, except for tonight, they were remembered by two trembling girls and one other who wasn’t afraid. It was the wind that made it scary, the howling wind that sounding exactly as chilling and terrible as you would think. We left and then they left and I realized I’m only sad when I’m on my phone, so I left my phone and I read instead. I read what I wrote, long enough ago that I can’t really remember it, so reading it was like reading it for the first time. I felt close to myself. I’m such an introvert now in this new place, but still clinging to being an extroverted that I can feel painfully alone. I found a sketchy anime website so I can watch Nana in Japanese. I’m going to buy a teacup to put in my fish’s tank. I’m going to buy a saint medallion and wear it for the rest of my life, and tomorrow I will be happy and live with purpose and not wallow on my extra long twin bed.
There is a James Dean quote where he’s responding to being asked if he’s in love, and he responds with the most perfect reply. He says he’s in love with artists and ancient philosphers, that he’s given these people his soul. In doing so he can’t love anyone or anything real, he’s given it all up for a ‘metaphysical relationship’. He is the ultimate idealistic lover. Its so beautiful, and I feel it. I feel it so deeply. Anytime I find myself in love with someone real I always wind up lying on a field somewhere and wishing I was in love with an alien. Or Orion, or James Dean. Its all I want, to not love and be loved by this real person right in front of me, but to fall so deeply and so passionately for someone long gone, or someone who isn’t even real. I don’t know why I do this, why I feel this way. Its so odd, but it brings me such a great comfort, loving someone who I know will never, ever love me back. But it makes me happy, it fills me with something so outrageously honest. It’s the greatest feeling in the whole world, being in love with dead poets and book characters, falling madly for the stars, or for a lost alien boy looking down at me wishing I were in love with him. Maybe its just an extension of my deep need to be an enigma. I want nothing more than to escape into mystery and obscurity. I want to be something no one can figure out, a girl who only loves the stars. It seems odd that I could ever be happy like this, ever be happy loving someone beyond my reach, but its what I strive to do. I want to fall head over heels for an idea. And I get what James Dean meant, about sacrificing real love. I can’t connect and I can’t relate but the second I start to, I just want to disappear into a love affair with my own imagination.
It’s a full moon out tonight, or maybe it isn’t, I could never honestly tell. Sometimes the moon would seem so undeniably full and then you check the calendar and tomorrow is the real full moon, today is just the dress rehearsal. Its brilliant either way. I looked into the moon for so long my eyes started changing. The moon can do that. If you look at it long enough the world around you goes all blurry and the moon starts shifting right in front of you. You can see it happening, like you’re going crazy because this whole planet is swirling. I’ll admit that I was going out there and staring at the moon in my Nana’s sweater because I wanted to feel sad. I never cried about the most recent trauma in my life. Usually I do. I cry about everything if its the right time. I cry especially hard if the moon is involved. But I haven’t dedicated a single tear to this, and I feel bad about it. I feel terribly awful about not crying. But I can’t lie to myself or to the moon or God or the groups of people who walked past me. I didn’t cry. And I won’t cry. And I’ll be okay, I’ll just pretend I’m not okay and write more of these and reblog more gifs of 90s anime characters smoking cigarettes and I’ll throw his ring into the Colorado River along with his promise and mine, but in the end I’ll be fine. Just fine.
It's been a long time since someone has had a crush on me. A long time since I sent my friend to talk to your friend to tell him to tell you that I told her to tell you that I maybe thought you were cute. And then the message coming back through the grapevine being positive and receptive and shy and we see each other in the halls and dont know what to do because now we both know but we’re pretending that we dont and theres no more anxiety and no more being unsure but we still are because it's new and fascinating. Theres building this whole new routine out of your life to make way for this stranger. But there is above all, a bubbly, overjoyed feeling that never goes away no matter how old and mature you think you are. When the message comes back with a hint of ‘I like you too’ you’re not a scholar or a president or an uptight stickler, you're nine again, and the world couldn't possibly be anymore perfect. Yes, you get carried away with expectations and listen to love songs prematurely and then you talk to them a little bit and discover their star sign isnt compatible with yours, but right now they just like you back, and they have a perfect name, and despite vowing to be a cold hearted woman for the rest of your life on this night, you're gonna let your mind go a little bit wild, and you're gonna agree to the blind date, and you're gonna smile at him when you pass and pretend that you dont know what he said, in the same way he will. It's a nice detour from the confusion you’ve been wallowing in, because the cure for a broken heart is a handsome stranger.
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