I Miss You Like Pearl Harbour Missed The Point

Stream of consciousness writing: This blog post is so totally going to miss the point."Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?I can't take my mind off of you...." That was from The Blowers Daughter, by Damien Rice.Your stupid black shoes which you don't lace up properly. Your goofy smile. The way you smell after coming out of the shower. The way your voice sounds when you sing. Chatting. (Or RR, as you called it.)Smsing.Shall I be psychotic and smile at the way you held out your water bottle to share it with me? Yes, I shall. Your hands. How tall are you? I found myself wondering about that. I like the orangey night light. I love it when you're real. When you're talking, telling me stuff. What you like, dislike. I like it when you look into my eyes and listen.I felt so crumpled when you were talking about your girlfriend, knowing that it may never be me. Just the same way I felt when I picked up the phone the second time that morning, and it wasn't your voice saying: "Good Morning."I couldn't look into your eyes after that. Made up some lie about how you'd be perfectly happy with your fictitious CHIJ girl. Tried to make myself feel better by telling myself you're too young. L said that it's funny, the way I try to convince myself that I'm in the "high" of making a new friend. Can you tell? I hope not. Two of the loneliest things in the world: Being sick, and having a crush.

10 October

"It's daddy's birthday today. And on the 18th, it's our anniversary."
Your voice cracks.
You look down. Away.
Your eyes are red.
"This part is the hardest."

I just realised that moving on doesn't necessarily mean forgetting.
Though, it'd be nice if we could.
Forget.

Pandora's Box
It's just wrong. And I'm going to close this box. Now.

Before more damage is done.

Good night.