Tuesday, July 07, 2009@12:37:00 am
She came today. And left.
She collected her things and we talked. What else?
I picked up my camera. That's what else.
For some sick messed up reason I picked up that camera and snapped away as we discussed why she was breaking my heart, as if I had some sickening urge to document the death of one of the most important relationships in my life thus far.
Why did I do it? I don't know. The fact that I put them up on DeviantArt only adds to the twistedness. And now the look on her face is forever immortalised in those pictures, eating away at me every time I see them. There are no models here, no actors. These expressions are not faked, the emotion is not false. It's ironic because I've always wanted the look of real emotions in my photography, and I found it in the demise of my own romance.
My god, I love her.
And I hate myself for it.
Broken
@12:31:00 am
She collected her things and we talked. What else?
I picked up my camera. That's what else.
For some sick messed up reason I picked up that camera and snapped away as we discussed why she was breaking my heart, as if I had some sickening urge to document the death of one of the most important relationships in my life thus far.
Why did I do it? I don't know. The fact that I put them up on DeviantArt only adds to the twistedness. And now the look on her face is forever immortalised in those pictures, eating away at me every time I see them. There are no models here, no actors. These expressions are not faked, the emotion is not false. It's ironic because I've always wanted the look of real emotions in my photography, and I found it in the demise of my own romance.
My god, I love her.
And I hate myself for it.
@12:31:00 am
I don't usually announce things like this over my personal blog, let alone DeviantArt as well.
But for some reason I feel like it. If I'm gonna be depressed ythey can all be depressed with me.
She has decided that it was time to end our relationship, for both our sakes, and she has left me broken. I don't know how long this will take to heal. I keep hoping against hope that it was a mistake, that we will be together again, that she will somehow miraculously fall in love with me, the way I seem to have fallen for her.
But it is extremely unlikely she will come back to me.
And deep down, I think maybe what she did was right. Even if it does make me want go to sleep and wake up dead.
On the plus side though, the last time she made me feel like throwing myself off a cliff, I ended up producing what I think are brilliant photos.
So who knows, maybe I'll create something mind-blowingly depressing and impressing.
Yes, I realise that I'll probably regret writing all this up here some time in future but I'll worry about it then.
See ya.
'Your Hair Smells of Smoke' - A Song I Wrote
Monday, March 23, 2009@2:10:00 pm
But for some reason I feel like it. If I'm gonna be depressed ythey can all be depressed with me.
She has decided that it was time to end our relationship, for both our sakes, and she has left me broken. I don't know how long this will take to heal. I keep hoping against hope that it was a mistake, that we will be together again, that she will somehow miraculously fall in love with me, the way I seem to have fallen for her.
But it is extremely unlikely she will come back to me.
And deep down, I think maybe what she did was right. Even if it does make me want go to sleep and wake up dead.
On the plus side though, the last time she made me feel like throwing myself off a cliff, I ended up producing what I think are brilliant photos.
So who knows, maybe I'll create something mind-blowingly depressing and impressing.
Yes, I realise that I'll probably regret writing all this up here some time in future but I'll worry about it then.
See ya.
Monday, March 23, 2009@2:10:00 pm
I can feel you’re not asleep anymore.
You crawl out of bed and then tiptoe to the door.
Put on the hoodie with the rips and the tears.
The hall light seems to whisper as it plays through your hair.
And for one,
Second split,
If I had to choose one thing to remember, maybe that would be it.
From the doorway I admire your stride.
I don’t feel as warm, even though we’re inside.
You slide the glass, its cold but you don’t seem to care.
I love you in just a jumper and underwear.
You’re insane,
I can see.
It’s just one more reason why you seem to mean so much to me.
Why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
Creep up behind you, let me have you to hold.
Put my hand on your stomach and I’ll never let go.
Light up a cigarette and we'll stay here for a while,
your hair smells softly of smoke and I can't help but smile.
And it’s strange,
but it’s true.
I don’t care for that smell as much as when I smell it on you.
6AM brings out the colour of flowers,
from here on the couch I could just watch you for hours.
You say I’m crazy and you’re probably right.
I can barely sleep at all when I don’t have you at night.
And the smile,
that you give,
when you catch me staring at you makes me feel like I just don’t need to live.
But why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s not too old.
Strong and attractive with hair and heart of gold.
Whenever I see him my heart starts to race.
Every kind word he says to me’s a blow to the face.
It’s a joke,
And it’s cruel,
He’s the star of your life so I guess that must make me your fool.
Why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
Why do I still stay?
Should I get down and pray
For you to stop using my heart as a ball in this game you play?
Feeling Good
Sunday, February 08, 2009@11:55:00 pm
You crawl out of bed and then tiptoe to the door.
Put on the hoodie with the rips and the tears.
The hall light seems to whisper as it plays through your hair.
And for one,
Second split,
If I had to choose one thing to remember, maybe that would be it.
From the doorway I admire your stride.
I don’t feel as warm, even though we’re inside.
You slide the glass, its cold but you don’t seem to care.
I love you in just a jumper and underwear.
You’re insane,
I can see.
It’s just one more reason why you seem to mean so much to me.
Why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
Creep up behind you, let me have you to hold.
Put my hand on your stomach and I’ll never let go.
Light up a cigarette and we'll stay here for a while,
your hair smells softly of smoke and I can't help but smile.
And it’s strange,
but it’s true.
I don’t care for that smell as much as when I smell it on you.
6AM brings out the colour of flowers,
from here on the couch I could just watch you for hours.
You say I’m crazy and you’re probably right.
I can barely sleep at all when I don’t have you at night.
And the smile,
that you give,
when you catch me staring at you makes me feel like I just don’t need to live.
But why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s not too old.
Strong and attractive with hair and heart of gold.
Whenever I see him my heart starts to race.
Every kind word he says to me’s a blow to the face.
It’s a joke,
And it’s cruel,
He’s the star of your life so I guess that must make me your fool.
Why do I still stay?
When every single day I’m fine until I,
Predictably start thinking of how you want him that way.
Why do I still stay?
Should I get down and pray
For you to stop using my heart as a ball in this game you play?
Labels: betrayal, boy, girl, heart break, love, romance
Sunday, February 08, 2009@11:55:00 pm
For the first time in half a decade or so, I believe, I am feeling it again.
What is he feeling? Ill? Cold? Sweaty? Is he in love? Has he contracted yet another potentially fatal, sexually-transmitted disease?
For the first time in a long time, I have a crush on a girl. I want to write it down here so that I might remember it for as long as possible. It could be gone tomorrow and I want to remember that for at least a few days, I felt happy.
I'd forgotten how good it feels - the butterflies in the stomach and idiotic grin when seeing pictures of them, the helpless insta-smile as soon as you see them no matter what mood you're in, the fact that you can't get them out of your head.
It is 3 AM, I have to go the toilet, I have been having slight fallouts with friends and had date plans ditched by various girls. I haven't slept properly in about 4 days and it is insufferably hot in here, but because of the fact that I can't stop picturing a certain pretty smiling face, I'm perfectly fine.
So no matter what happens, I'm glad I felt like this again.
Chapter XVI
Tuesday, September 09, 2008@9:27:00 am
What is he feeling? Ill? Cold? Sweaty? Is he in love? Has he contracted yet another potentially fatal, sexually-transmitted disease?
For the first time in a long time, I have a crush on a girl. I want to write it down here so that I might remember it for as long as possible. It could be gone tomorrow and I want to remember that for at least a few days, I felt happy.
I'd forgotten how good it feels - the butterflies in the stomach and idiotic grin when seeing pictures of them, the helpless insta-smile as soon as you see them no matter what mood you're in, the fact that you can't get them out of your head.
It is 3 AM, I have to go the toilet, I have been having slight fallouts with friends and had date plans ditched by various girls. I haven't slept properly in about 4 days and it is insufferably hot in here, but because of the fact that I can't stop picturing a certain pretty smiling face, I'm perfectly fine.
So no matter what happens, I'm glad I felt like this again.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008@9:27:00 am
It's been a while since I've written here.
I used to say that I only write here when I'm having a particularly bad day, and as a result all of the entries here seem melancholy and dark. Well, that's not necessarily true. I've had plenty of bad days in the last eleven months or so, but usually I just talk it out with a friend. I'm still not sure why today I've decided to write instead of converse.
My ex girlfriend sent me a letter explaining everything she felt and apologising for her negative actions towards me, asking for forgiveness. Whether I will actually give it is irrelevant at present. What is relevant is that she called me, among various other things, vain and shallow. After a bit of thought, I have come to believe that she is probably right.
I focus far too much upon my physical appearance, even though it is nothing compared to many other young men my age out there. I used to claim that this was due to indecisiveness and anal retentiveness on my part, always ensuring that everything was just so. This is tied in with self-consciousness. I always have the slight feeling that everyone around me is staring at me and so if I have one hair on my head out of place, I shall be judged as being aesthetically deficient. These wonderful, admirable attributes of my personality coupled together seem to result in what appears to be vanity.
Recently, I have picked up the camera and photography has become my passion. At first it was simple landscapes or candid shots, but now I have become focussed, it seems, upon using models. These are not just any models, but only the ones I see fit to be photographed. That is, only the ones I am attracted to (female) or wish I could look like (male). Several of my friends have hinted at using themselves as models, or perhaps their own friends in my shots, but I have always conveniently failed to follow these suggestions up. This is simply because their face is not aesthetically satisfactory in my opinion, or because they do not have a fashion sense I approve of, or simply because they are not skinny enough (or in rare cases, too skinny). This is my most extreme example of what seems to be shallowness, an obsession with skin-deep beauty.
However, if I put the reasoning behind my two obsessions together, they simply turn into one. Self-consciousness leads not only to paranoia of being judged, but also judging of others. A mirror is still a view of someone to be judged by appearance. But perhaps they are one and the same. My vices are not vanity and shallowness, my vice is simply and obsession with the aesthetical and an urge to attain it. My vice is a love and desire of physical beauty.
Now that I think about it I had always felt this way throughout my life (Hollywood didn't help), but it was not until recently when I came to this country that I suddenly had the money, time and unrestricted effort to pursue my goal of looking the way I wanted. Once that was secure, it seems I turned my eyes to the wonderful joyous evils of DeviantArt. It was there that I discovered beautiful pictures of people around the world who were gorgeous beyond my imagination, with perfect faces and perfect bodies, depicted in perfect lighting in perfect settings. Over months, I hoarded what I saw to be were the best pictures from the website, never anything but photography, and almost never anything but photos of models. And then I picked up the camera myself.
This ugly secret (about being obsessed with beauty, oh the irony) runs deeper than I previously realised. Every close female friend I have, I have either dated, flirted with, romantically loved, been physically intimate with, or at least had a crush on. None of them are what I would call ugly, and if I review my track record, being deemed 'not ugly' by me is apparently quite an achievement. This means that I only have attractive female friends, subconsciously selected by me. Does this mean I will never be able to befriend a girl or woman that is not up to par with my aesthetic standards?
This is wrong. Why do I feel this way? I feel sickened by myself. I disgust me. What kind of person am I to be obsessed like this? It's not like I'm bolemic or anorexic, is it? Surely I don't need to see professional help... This is my problem, I need to fix it.
...But what the hell am I supposed to do?
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because on the inside at least, I am hideous.
Chapter XV
Wednesday, October 17, 2007@10:52:00 pm
I used to say that I only write here when I'm having a particularly bad day, and as a result all of the entries here seem melancholy and dark. Well, that's not necessarily true. I've had plenty of bad days in the last eleven months or so, but usually I just talk it out with a friend. I'm still not sure why today I've decided to write instead of converse.
My ex girlfriend sent me a letter explaining everything she felt and apologising for her negative actions towards me, asking for forgiveness. Whether I will actually give it is irrelevant at present. What is relevant is that she called me, among various other things, vain and shallow. After a bit of thought, I have come to believe that she is probably right.
I focus far too much upon my physical appearance, even though it is nothing compared to many other young men my age out there. I used to claim that this was due to indecisiveness and anal retentiveness on my part, always ensuring that everything was just so. This is tied in with self-consciousness. I always have the slight feeling that everyone around me is staring at me and so if I have one hair on my head out of place, I shall be judged as being aesthetically deficient. These wonderful, admirable attributes of my personality coupled together seem to result in what appears to be vanity.
Recently, I have picked up the camera and photography has become my passion. At first it was simple landscapes or candid shots, but now I have become focussed, it seems, upon using models. These are not just any models, but only the ones I see fit to be photographed. That is, only the ones I am attracted to (female) or wish I could look like (male). Several of my friends have hinted at using themselves as models, or perhaps their own friends in my shots, but I have always conveniently failed to follow these suggestions up. This is simply because their face is not aesthetically satisfactory in my opinion, or because they do not have a fashion sense I approve of, or simply because they are not skinny enough (or in rare cases, too skinny). This is my most extreme example of what seems to be shallowness, an obsession with skin-deep beauty.
However, if I put the reasoning behind my two obsessions together, they simply turn into one. Self-consciousness leads not only to paranoia of being judged, but also judging of others. A mirror is still a view of someone to be judged by appearance. But perhaps they are one and the same. My vices are not vanity and shallowness, my vice is simply and obsession with the aesthetical and an urge to attain it. My vice is a love and desire of physical beauty.
Now that I think about it I had always felt this way throughout my life (Hollywood didn't help), but it was not until recently when I came to this country that I suddenly had the money, time and unrestricted effort to pursue my goal of looking the way I wanted. Once that was secure, it seems I turned my eyes to the wonderful joyous evils of DeviantArt. It was there that I discovered beautiful pictures of people around the world who were gorgeous beyond my imagination, with perfect faces and perfect bodies, depicted in perfect lighting in perfect settings. Over months, I hoarded what I saw to be were the best pictures from the website, never anything but photography, and almost never anything but photos of models. And then I picked up the camera myself.
This ugly secret (about being obsessed with beauty, oh the irony) runs deeper than I previously realised. Every close female friend I have, I have either dated, flirted with, romantically loved, been physically intimate with, or at least had a crush on. None of them are what I would call ugly, and if I review my track record, being deemed 'not ugly' by me is apparently quite an achievement. This means that I only have attractive female friends, subconsciously selected by me. Does this mean I will never be able to befriend a girl or woman that is not up to par with my aesthetic standards?
This is wrong. Why do I feel this way? I feel sickened by myself. I disgust me. What kind of person am I to be obsessed like this? It's not like I'm bolemic or anorexic, is it? Surely I don't need to see professional help... This is my problem, I need to fix it.
...But what the hell am I supposed to do?
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because on the inside at least, I am hideous.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007@10:52:00 pm
I thought I'd left it behind. That ridiculous teenager's view of life that could be compared to that of a washed-out, alcoholic, old soap-opera actor. The view in which I've seen it all before, nothing new impresses me and I've thought over all the complicated parts of life so many times and dissected it so many ways that it's such a chore to even begin the form even a single thought about it again. Tonight I had a flash of that again, that which I thought I had left behind almost three years ago. It was almost nostalgic. Had it been a vivid flashback of a happy memory, it would have been almost enjoyable.
There’s nothing like a couple of good heartbreak movies or television shows to tug at the old heartstrings of your own beating mass of bloody pulp. Not only could I relate to the ridiculous events in those audio-visual tales and the resulting feelings displayed by the characters but I of course could not help but think about past events of my own life.
Having reconciled somewhat with my first love I find myself in an awkward position: I don't really have anyone to blame anymore for who I am today. I don't have the energy anymore to go into specifics about what I loathe about myself right now but if you're an avid reader of this rarely updated internet diary then you should already be roughly familiar with what I’m not comfortable with.
Love is a strange thing. Annoying, irritating, and recurring. Just when you think you might be rid of it, it comes back to haunt you. An unwanted visitor in a broken home that has just begun to repair itself into some empty, inferior form of its former self. I’m losing my people skills. Whatever confidence and charisma I once had seems to be lost, replaced with a silence and lethargy that seems to increase intensity the longer I let it drag on. I thought, not so long ago, that a relationship would save me from this situation, would rescue and revitalise me but now seeing friends start and end them makes me think again. Perhaps I’m not ready for another relationship. Perhaps heartbreak hotel is the home for me and when I go out I should look but not touch. I realise how pathetic and depressing that sentiment seems to be but if I force myself not to think of it as such then it seems almost reasonable. Sacrificing potential self happiness in exchange for others' could be seen as going hand in hand with such a situation and I believe I’m well on the way with that.
I still can't help feeling though, that there's just something or things missing from my life at present. And so in my present miserable and tired state of mind, what does one do? I have no idea. One might step out into the cold night air for a short trip to the nearest convenience store to obtain telephone credit. An effort to stay in contact with those who one cares about and keeps one sane and feeling appreciated in this awful desire-selling, fantasy-whoring, happiness-consuming world. On the way, one might flip out a little white stick and take drags of pollution, taking a little bit of death into one's body to kill you just that little bit more inside. I don't even really like it. At one point I swore never to do it and now I do it whenever I feel like swearing. It feels cool to casually kill yourself a tiny bit and take it in stride for the sake of promoting an image, even if you're just promoting it to yourself. It also makes me feel ill. Spit on the ground like a man to get that taste of ash and smoke off your tongue. That’s the taste of self-loathing, the taste of shame. Savour the flavour and then hurl out a big gob of self-disgust.
Another feeling seems to have returned to me, a blast from the past, only this one is so much more welcome.
It is the urge
To curl up into a ball, an impenetrable fist of tears and pain,
To fall asleep
And never
Never
Wake up again.
Chapter XIV
Thursday, July 05, 2007@11:11:00 pm
There’s nothing like a couple of good heartbreak movies or television shows to tug at the old heartstrings of your own beating mass of bloody pulp. Not only could I relate to the ridiculous events in those audio-visual tales and the resulting feelings displayed by the characters but I of course could not help but think about past events of my own life.
Having reconciled somewhat with my first love I find myself in an awkward position: I don't really have anyone to blame anymore for who I am today. I don't have the energy anymore to go into specifics about what I loathe about myself right now but if you're an avid reader of this rarely updated internet diary then you should already be roughly familiar with what I’m not comfortable with.
Love is a strange thing. Annoying, irritating, and recurring. Just when you think you might be rid of it, it comes back to haunt you. An unwanted visitor in a broken home that has just begun to repair itself into some empty, inferior form of its former self. I’m losing my people skills. Whatever confidence and charisma I once had seems to be lost, replaced with a silence and lethargy that seems to increase intensity the longer I let it drag on. I thought, not so long ago, that a relationship would save me from this situation, would rescue and revitalise me but now seeing friends start and end them makes me think again. Perhaps I’m not ready for another relationship. Perhaps heartbreak hotel is the home for me and when I go out I should look but not touch. I realise how pathetic and depressing that sentiment seems to be but if I force myself not to think of it as such then it seems almost reasonable. Sacrificing potential self happiness in exchange for others' could be seen as going hand in hand with such a situation and I believe I’m well on the way with that.
I still can't help feeling though, that there's just something or things missing from my life at present. And so in my present miserable and tired state of mind, what does one do? I have no idea. One might step out into the cold night air for a short trip to the nearest convenience store to obtain telephone credit. An effort to stay in contact with those who one cares about and keeps one sane and feeling appreciated in this awful desire-selling, fantasy-whoring, happiness-consuming world. On the way, one might flip out a little white stick and take drags of pollution, taking a little bit of death into one's body to kill you just that little bit more inside. I don't even really like it. At one point I swore never to do it and now I do it whenever I feel like swearing. It feels cool to casually kill yourself a tiny bit and take it in stride for the sake of promoting an image, even if you're just promoting it to yourself. It also makes me feel ill. Spit on the ground like a man to get that taste of ash and smoke off your tongue. That’s the taste of self-loathing, the taste of shame. Savour the flavour and then hurl out a big gob of self-disgust.
Another feeling seems to have returned to me, a blast from the past, only this one is so much more welcome.
It is the urge
To curl up into a ball, an impenetrable fist of tears and pain,
To fall asleep
And never
Never
Wake up again.
Thursday, July 05, 2007@11:11:00 pm
This is not a love song. this is sunday bloody sunday.
that was not a whining session, that was a firefight and i kept firing.
I snapped at you. i got angry at you. when you left i barely even whispered 'bye'. as you walked away i stared into the endless abyss of the window of the train, which soon turned into a reflection of an angry boy staring into his own angry eyes. i glared at any body around me who dared to even glance at me and took out my music. i listened to all the songs that i had that would keep the adrenaline flowing, keep the anger fuelled. songs that you sort of like, songs that were too hard or angry for you, songs that reminded me of you.
you can't help who you like, i should know. even when i think i've finally stopped feeling that way for you, you still can make me hurt inside because you like him. you've kept this going for a while and i think it's too long to keep letting it slide. you have to come out, confront, accuse, get annoyed. it's what i would do. of course, look where i am. you are in fact a far more likeable person than i will ever be. the advice i give to you will never properly benefit you if you followed it. the advice i give you is about me wanting to protect you, to save you from things i have encountered, to save you from things i have seen others do, that i have seen myself do, and to save you from things that remind me of my own downfalls. you're a sister, a friend, a lover, an trainee and a part of me.
you scare me because of your mistakes and your approach. it was the same approach that my first love had towards life, towards problems. perhaps that is also part of why i feel all the ways i do about you, who knows.
but i do know that i felt bad inside today and so i had a go at you. now i feel terrible.
you tear me up inside in ways i cannot explain and do not wish to understand.
you are my little complication, and i love you.
Chapter XIII
Friday, June 22, 2007@9:58:00 pm
that was not a whining session, that was a firefight and i kept firing.
I snapped at you. i got angry at you. when you left i barely even whispered 'bye'. as you walked away i stared into the endless abyss of the window of the train, which soon turned into a reflection of an angry boy staring into his own angry eyes. i glared at any body around me who dared to even glance at me and took out my music. i listened to all the songs that i had that would keep the adrenaline flowing, keep the anger fuelled. songs that you sort of like, songs that were too hard or angry for you, songs that reminded me of you.
you can't help who you like, i should know. even when i think i've finally stopped feeling that way for you, you still can make me hurt inside because you like him. you've kept this going for a while and i think it's too long to keep letting it slide. you have to come out, confront, accuse, get annoyed. it's what i would do. of course, look where i am. you are in fact a far more likeable person than i will ever be. the advice i give to you will never properly benefit you if you followed it. the advice i give you is about me wanting to protect you, to save you from things i have encountered, to save you from things i have seen others do, that i have seen myself do, and to save you from things that remind me of my own downfalls. you're a sister, a friend, a lover, an trainee and a part of me.
you scare me because of your mistakes and your approach. it was the same approach that my first love had towards life, towards problems. perhaps that is also part of why i feel all the ways i do about you, who knows.
but i do know that i felt bad inside today and so i had a go at you. now i feel terrible.
you tear me up inside in ways i cannot explain and do not wish to understand.
you are my little complication, and i love you.
Friday, June 22, 2007@9:58:00 pm
Irony. Sad irony. It's sadly ironic, I suppose, that it happened like that, with that girl. Sadly ironic that I feel this way after getting what I wanted. I've always wanted it. Even in kindergarten, I’m sure. I wanted it to happen when I was 15 before I was legal. It was the thrill of doing something wrong in different ways, and when that passed, I wanted it before I was 18. I thought it wouldn't happen before I was 19 but I was wrong.
It happened in the middle of the night, in the dark, on a bed, at the bottom of a vodka bottle, at the end of a laughing fit, which was a reaction to an unfunny joke. And as the only one sobering up after the experience, I was the butt of that joke. She doesn't even really remember it. They say that once you've had it you have this glow about you, and people always know. It's not true. I don't have some glow or aura about me. The glow comes from when you've experienced it with someone you're close to, someone you're in a relationship with.
I know it's not the same with girls as it is with guys so no I don't feel empty, no I don't feel hollow, no I don't feel robbed. It definitely wasn't as enjoyable as I thought it was going to be. Almost like the way Disney glorifies a kiss, only I would rather have had a hard-earned kiss from someone I wanted rather than what I got from someone I didn't care for. No, I don't feel any of the feelings I mentioned above. What I feel is a strange sense of regret. I’m not crying out for another chance, my regret isn't that drastic. I just feel that I should have been with someone I really cared for, if not a lover then at least a close friend. I understand that I now have made it before finishing my eighteenth year and I am grateful for that. I know that I always thought I would lose it to someone I barely knew and didn't really like, and it really didn't bother me but it's irritating to note how reality is so different from imagination.
Interestingly enough, now I crave for someone to be with more than ever, if only to experience what I did, but with someone I care for. How different will it be? Might I count that as my first time, as opposed to my experience a few nights ago?
C'est la fucking vie à l'université. Ha. A completely unintentional pun. Oh, the irony.
I'm going to bed. Alone.
It happened in the middle of the night, in the dark, on a bed, at the bottom of a vodka bottle, at the end of a laughing fit, which was a reaction to an unfunny joke. And as the only one sobering up after the experience, I was the butt of that joke. She doesn't even really remember it. They say that once you've had it you have this glow about you, and people always know. It's not true. I don't have some glow or aura about me. The glow comes from when you've experienced it with someone you're close to, someone you're in a relationship with.
I know it's not the same with girls as it is with guys so no I don't feel empty, no I don't feel hollow, no I don't feel robbed. It definitely wasn't as enjoyable as I thought it was going to be. Almost like the way Disney glorifies a kiss, only I would rather have had a hard-earned kiss from someone I wanted rather than what I got from someone I didn't care for. No, I don't feel any of the feelings I mentioned above. What I feel is a strange sense of regret. I’m not crying out for another chance, my regret isn't that drastic. I just feel that I should have been with someone I really cared for, if not a lover then at least a close friend. I understand that I now have made it before finishing my eighteenth year and I am grateful for that. I know that I always thought I would lose it to someone I barely knew and didn't really like, and it really didn't bother me but it's irritating to note how reality is so different from imagination.
Interestingly enough, now I crave for someone to be with more than ever, if only to experience what I did, but with someone I care for. How different will it be? Might I count that as my first time, as opposed to my experience a few nights ago?
C'est la fucking vie à l'université. Ha. A completely unintentional pun. Oh, the irony.
I'm going to bed. Alone.