vintage black
Friday, June 22, 2007
I crashed hard yesterday. As in HARD. REALLY, REALLY HARD. So hard I could've died. But I didn't. So I live to tell this tale of nonsensical and, forgive the term, bad imagery.
The other day, I was happy. The day was one of the rare happenings in my life, and I could've sworn I was happy enough to overlook all the petty attempts and snide remarks that people were throwing my way. But as I should have learned by now, fate would always go out of her way just to tick me off, and I don't know why, and hands me down one good reality check. Before white flashes delivered me to unconsciousness, I remembered looking down at my shirt, and yours, and then black.
I hate.. "people who are made of plastic." I remember it quite well. It stung for some reason, but I'm not one who would be categorized as "made of plastic" (or part of "people"), to be honest. But why do I bother with this, it's just a measly homework. Moving on, moving on..
It stuck still. I'm tried since forever to change, to become something else than this. So I could've made a little bit more pavement for my bridge. All I wanted was to talk to you, and somehow, it's always you or me that's continuously creating these holes.
So now, I have a hand up high, and eyes straight, directly looking at you. Anxiety was running high again, and I was questioning my move. It was always easier to ignore than to do something and end up a spaz. But here, a new something for you. And for a second, I felt my eyes water, I don't know if it's because sweat was making it's way down my eyes and playing with it or something else. My hand lowers to a slight extent - and I recognize a sign of acceptance. I smile. And I got one smile back.
And I'm not happy about that either.
I had my eyes closed when it happened.
smiled at the sun again @ 7:09 PM,
