Fiction #2.

I’m not here to ask for sympathy, or for them to realise that they can feel sorry for the girl who has it all. Rather, I’m here to say that none of us are really any different. Cut me and I’ll bleed, touch me and I’ll feel. Just the same. When you strip us to the core, we’re all alike. We yearn for the same things.

I couldn’t have told you this from the start but I wanted you. I want you. I want everything about you that no one else has ever wanted to give me. People see only that I’m the one who has it all, including the boy who looks like he was made to be my other half and vice versa. But I don’t want him. I don’t want his looks, or his car. I couldn’t care less about his lips or his touches. Why do people roll me into the stereotype and expect me to dress a certain way, act a different way? I’m just like this girl, that girl, every other girl. And I want you. Why don’t you see?

I want the boy who asked to be let in instead of the one who barged into my life. I don’t want the boy who grabbed my hand like it belonged to him, but instead, softly tucked my hair behind my ear when it fell over my eyes. I want the one who looked into my eyes and stayed, despite reading my heart. I don’t want the boy who bought the world and expected me to fall into his pocket the same way; the one I want showed me the world like no one else could. When the hands of the clock keep turning, and looks are no longer important, love will take on a completely different meaning, and I wish you’d be the one who wants to find out what love will be then.

This isn’t a fairytale. It’s just a tale.

Fiction.

I’ve never deserved her. The fact of the matter is that she has always been the best there is and will ever be, and I’ve gone and screwed it up. How could I have been so ridiculous as to drive her away? She’s like the type of girl that I’ve never bothered to devote a single thought to because I thought it was better to face facts; a girl like her was never made for a bloke like me, and I shouldn’t waste my time and energy. Plenty of other fishes in the sea not made with perfection in mind that I could hope for. I’ve been told I’m fairly good-looking, after all. One day I’d have a girl who’d be mine.

And then we met. Became friends. Best friends. Who needed the guys? She sat there with me, gaming like our lives were made for it, listened to the same music that I did which no one else even wanted to put up with for five minutes, and she laughed! At my dumb jokes! Why didn’t I say anything when the hurt crossed her beautiful face? I knew she was only teasing with laughter in her eyes when she said I couldn’t have her, but I had been so venomous, and so cruel. I had chosen my words well, and she had reacted with such hurt and shock. But she had struck me where it hurt the most. I thought I could’ve been her friend, and had shut off those feelings of ‘what-if’. Obviously, it was all me lying to myself and I was wrong. Oh, I could’ve saved it, saved us. Why did I walk away..?

(TBContinued one day, perhaps…)

Did he tell me to turn left or right here…?

Why is it that people can’t be realistic and optimistic at the same time? I had known that it wasn’t gonna be easy but I am a phony, trying to juggle on one wheel with one arm behind my back. And everyone just wants me to get off the stage.

I get the feeling that this house of cards are gonna come falling down. Hard. And as I sit around waiting for it to happen, I have no way of stopping it. The best way I can describe it is being torn, not knowing where I should be, when I should be there, and ultimately, how to get there.

Guess I’m stuck.

I know that things are so much clearer when you’re on the outside, looking in, shaking your head at how things can go so bloody wrong. It seems so damn easy, and the solution must be staring them in the face, right? But I also know that it’s another thing to step into the other person’s shoes, see what they see and really feel what they feel. So I’m not about to judge.

* * * * *
It’s one thing to be lazy about doing my readings for class; it’s another thing altogether to completely forget that I have one due in a few days. How the hell did I manage that?

* * * * *

Still sorting out my holiday plans while flight tickets are running out. I’m super organised, yes.

Chocolates and the thief.

I managed to find time to hit the markets down the streets for lunch before a hell lot of rehearsals today (I played MC for a function) and found a coffee stall that makes extremely pretty andddd get this, uses REAL GRATED CHOCOLATE chocolate to top cappuccinos and hot chocolates. I saw them making a cappuccino and immediately decided that it was not a good time for my usual long macchiato.

But wait. That’s not the best part.

They asked me if I wanted milk, white or dark chocolate.

Oh. my God. Whatsortaheavendidtheyfallfrom?!

By the way, the coffee was fucking amazing. *wink*

A little later, as I rushed back for my rehearsals, I left my chocolate fudge brownie cupcake on the table backstage. I returned hours later, exhausted, seeking solace in chocolatey goodness, and I gasped. It was mortifying. My cupcake was gone. Wiped out with a tell-tale bit of chocolate left on the paper bag. Fck me*. I said eat my Oreos, NOT MY FUCKING CUPCAKE, PEOPLE. I paid 3 bucks for that, you thieving bastard/bitch. You could’ve at least let me take a bite, for crying out loud. ARGH.

May red ants bite you where it hurts most!! Grrr…

Funny how I’m not the least bit grateful that they didn’t take my purse which was lying on the table, but am royally pissed about my demolished cupcake. Sigh. What priorities I have in life. =P

(*intentional misspelling because I don’t mean it literally)

When are you gonna read my mind?

I know I shouldn’t but when the creator/author/whatchamacallit gets it right, I love stuff like this:

The Week of Depth – Scorpio 2 November 3-11

You have a measured and serious view on life, but like to have fun as well. You are highly competitive and can be jealous and envious although never showing anyone these emotions. You are financially aware and do not overspend on things you do not need. It is hard for you to open up emotionally and talk about what is bothering you. You are fascinated by different forms of escape and when used in a healthy way love television, movies, music and books, but addiction is also common to drugs, alcohol, sex and violence. You are fierce when it comes to protecting yourself and loved ones. You are a faithful lover, but can be secretive and controlling. You enjoy the pleasures of table and bed. Strengths: Serious – Steadfast – Sexual Weaknesses: Depressive – Worrying – Escapist

It’s even written in proper English.  *geeky smile*

Although, pleasures of table… yum. Donotplacekinkyconnotationstothat.

I think we can all agree that when you’re so bloody bored and need something fairly mindless to entertain (not to the extent of blowing your mind, darlings), Facebook quizzes can do the job. Occasionally. If the spelling mistakes don’t piss you off. Such is the life of a grammar Nazi; to be annoyed by little errors. What a fucking predicament.

Anyway, I’m not about to discuss how true it is because those who know me can decide for themselves. And then you can also take this quiz here on Facebook.

Close your eyes.

At 3:30 am last night, I was lying in bed on my stomach, thinking about you. Whilst a big part of me was just exhausted and upset, the part that wanted to find your name in my phone book and press ‘call’ only wanted to hear your sleepy voice. I wished that you were lying on the other side of the bed, even if you would only be asleep, unaware of the world.

‘Goodnight, sweet dreams.’

Really bad analogy.

I know this really sounds beyond wrong, but I’m like a kite. Yes, I’m a plain old triangle-shaped kite that you just throw on the floor once you get home from the park. But never mind what I look like; I’m a bloody kite. So we all understand what kites are = I need to get out in the big open sky and be flown. Weather permitting, I want to be let loose in the wind, even if in reality, there is the same big old string wound around to keep me floating within proximity. Never mind the fact that the string could snap, or birds could come flying by and smack me across the (sur)face, or God forbid, a big fucking plane comes crashing right down and I happen to be in its path; I don’t really care cause in essence, I NEED. TO. FLY.

Right.

Now that I’ve got that clear, I need to convey that to my parents. How? Without them wanting to kill me, of course. And snap my wings forever.

What stage is this?

I’m not ashamed to say that I’m a big fan of the Twilight series; not so much the movie as the book. The first time I read it, I remember being so amazed, thinking that Bella HAS to be some kind of long lost sister of mine. How is it that she has the same thoughts as me, criss-crossed with such insecurity and self-consciousness? Throw in the really ugly feelings of unworthiness and unattractiveness and you have us. Both of us. But that is, of course, my sole opinion. Who knows what Meyer was thinking as she was writing the book?

Anyway, it was whilst I was reading the movie companion which the boyfriend bought for me that I came across the words of Catherine Hardwicke, the director. She described how girls could relate to Bella in that we all could remember when we were giggly, searching for opportunities to walk past boys in the hall. Then I realised, my God, I don’t recall how that feels. I feel rather robbed of something that I know I’ve felt countless times: the elation, adrenaline rush, trying to feel my feet, look normal and not stop in my tracks at all or worse, trip on my feet. It was altogether stupefying; why the hell would I even want it back? That crazy combination of feelings that assaulted us girls head-on has left me high and dry, and for some weird, incomprehensible reason, I wish I could feel it all over again. Perhaps it’s the simplicity of it all; how sneaking peeks at the boys I secretly admired could leave me fighting smiles; how one glance from a boy could keep me excited the entire day; how they could break your heart but find yourself mended so quickly. How I wish that things were so, so easy all over again.

But in its place, what I have is this feeling of warm familiarity, when I know that I can reach across to hold his hand, and lean against his chest as he drives. How he kisses me on the forehead like no one else does, and remembers the little things that I mention and forget the next day. I looked at my shelf today, filled with memorabilia and presents and photos, and I wished he were there to hold me close. He always seems to find the patience to listen to me ramble on and on about nothing important, whilst interrupting with smart alec comments now and then. Sometimes, we don’t need to ask questions to hear each other’s answer because we know it already, complete with facial expressions and hand gestures in our heads.

That doesn’t mean though, that there aren’t times when I feel like my heart has really, ultimately been broken, and that I’ll never see it whole again. Then he makes me forget that I had even experienced an ounce of sadness, with my heart suddenly intact once more. At times, we have those moments when we speak about a time before we even met each other, and it all seems so forgettable to me, maybe even incomplete. Is this what it’s like? To have someone have this hold over you that life couldn’t possibly get as right as right can get now?

Boys in the morning.

I had a strangely sweet dream about domestic married life. Obviously, this was in the future; not that I spotted anything that managed to tell me what year it was, but I fancy that it won’t be tomorrow that I’ll wake up in a bed that’s not my own next to a man whom I clearly recalled from the dream as being my husband. Though I still can’t remember what he looks like.

So like I said, in my dream, I awoke on a Friday morning in a bed with pristine white sheets and bed covers (mine are cream, hence not my bed), next to this man. It was seemingly habitual that I’d wake up before my… husband (it is strange, yes), and I toddled off to get ready, look decent. Then I went to the kitchen and got a mug from the cupboard, filling it with red bean soup. Yes, it was this specific.

I woke the husband up and gave it to him with a smile. Apparently, it was his favourite, and his surprise for the day, as was customary every Friday. I gave him a kiss and for some reason, I remember this part clearly as…

none of us had morning breath. BRILLIANT! Hahahha. Though, I would think that by then, I would have brushed my teeth since I was ready for work. So perhaps more accurately, my husband (haha) did not have morning breath. Yeah.

Heheheh.

* * * * *

When I told the boyfriend this, he said that he would’ve preferred the kiss to carry onto something more related to bedroom gymnastics. My eyes narrowed at my sugar-sweet dream being completely violated with 18SX suggestions. BAH! Yes, the ‘every seven seconds’ has clearly got to be fiction, but are boys all the bloody same or can they stop thinking for just one instance without their dicks?

Epic. fail. =P