{hurt me; the jezabels}

bloggity, blog blog blob

haven't done a blog in a long while, so I thought it was time! 

this past week/month/year/existence has been below average as per usual. I just want someone to I don't know, be around, have around when I need them. whatever, I don't know. I'm just lonely but hey, what's new right?

well, there is something that is new and which could grow into something more of a friendship where lips touch lips and hands wander and touch. but I'm not going to focus on that possibility too much because honestly, I don't even think I like him. I just fall in love with anyone and everyone who gives me even the slightest slice of attention. it's quite sad really. but I guess I should give you all the low down on this boy. 

I do maths with him, have never had a proper conversation with just the two of us before, he's incredibly awkward but that just makes him really cute and attractive and that's bad, he is really sweet and this leads us to the next stage of coming to terms with my slight attraction to him {if you can call it that ...}

he read my words, he read my thoughts; he read my writing. he fell in love with my words, he told me how they made him feel, how indescribable they were, how warm he felt, how he didn't think words could bring such emotions to the surface. I cried at his words, as he might have with mine. just a simple message, out of nowhere, a red [1] appearing above the inbox symbol on Facebook and that's where it started.

that's the beginning.

but what more is there? what will happen? what will be the next chapter? we talked all night after that first message. he told me how he was reading the hunger games, but got bored and bought the audio book. I told him he was lazy, he laughed. I told him about Sylvia Plath and 'The Bell Jar'. I told him her tragic life story in a shortened paragraph, not skipping on the part where I say 'she's probably my favourite person in the world'

I wonder if he put much thought to that after I said it. she's quite an odd person to hold so high up on a favourites list. I wonder if he linked that fact that the only way I can express what I'm feeling is to write it down, to describe it in obnoxious detail, to express myself through metaphors and relatable anecdotes. I wonder if he could feel the fear in my typed words, the anxiousness, the wariness. I don't know how to be. I don't know anything. what I do know is the feeling of a weight, holding me down, stopping me from even stepping into that realm of feeling more, of feeling ... connected.

I'm not motivated to do anything, read, draw, write, do homework. curling in on myself and placing my thoughts in topics it shouldn't be take up my time instead. leaving things to the last minute and feeling the rush of possibly getting in trouble, of not finishing, of not being the student I was 12 months ago, is an unhealthy rush. I'm going round in circles and only burying myself deeper and deeper into the depths of normality, of routine, of adulthood. but I don't want to grow up. I want to break free, I want to explore, be my own person, break all the rules, leave everything behind and just start anew. change my name, get a fake moustache and marry a woman of the name Jolene and we'll be a Mexican Duet singing couple. 

I just want to not grow up. 

take me to n e v e r l a n d

so I don't have to grow up.

so I can get lost in the music, get lost in the noise, in the sound, find a stranger, give them a fake name and laugh when I say my real one half way through the night, stumbling over words that aren't my own. smiles and heart beats but no attachment, just plain lust, give me that for the rest of my life and I'll be happy, happy, I'll die happy please, just let me d ...

his name is Blake. he wears a coat that I swear is Burberry. he's sweet, he has inboxed me three times since the beginning. he asks me if I'm alright.. I guess you could say he worries about me, that he thinks about me. maybe he even saw the hidden story behind me telling him Sylvia was probably my favourite person in the world. maybe he saw that. or maybe he just saw me.

maybe he just saw me.
when no one else could see, or understand;


and to be seen means a lot more than anyone really knows. 

x alex
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