sunday morning

In the shower I wait till he puts conditioner in his hair before sinking my fingers in, thinking of teddy boys. He makes the face but lets me have my way. I slick the sides back and mold a DA at the nape of his neck. I attempt a curl over his forehead, but the weight of the conditioner makes it flop against his wet skin. I grin, hold him by the chin and turn his head from side to side. He blushes; I groan. "You would be so sexy as a greaser!" He shakes his hair loose and steps under the water.

saturday night/sunday morning

The girls sit on the bed or the floor. I'm naked as the day I was born and so is the White Rabbit; PR is like 15-year-old Travis with his pants at half-mast. Everyone is talking, solidly drunk and happy. We tease each other, kiss each other, take shots of Jack and share cigarettes. We're still young. We're dumb. I know it.

I love it.

Niobe's ending her blog.

Well, she says it's a break but that she "might not" be back. You know what that means.

I'm legitimately upset about this.

Which I know is selfish and possibly kind of stupid but this is my blog and I can say what I want here.

I'm really going to miss her.

I find an old picture of you I'd forgotten about and for a hyper-split second I can almost smell you. Damn, fuck.

Tonight I asked Katelin if she thought you were ever coming home, when what I meant to say was if you were ever coming back.


I want to forget about you. I want to forget all about you.

That Doesn't Seem Fair

You told me if I ever needed anything, anything, that you would be there for me, that you would do whatever you could to help me.

Well, now I need you. I need you. But you don't love me anymore.

You're taking back promises.

today

SoCal in my section
questions about cologne
I say, "my sweetheart moved away"
(SWEPT OFF, LIKE GARBAGE IN THE ALLEYWAY! and I need more grace than I thought)

it felt strange.

new year's apple

I hate myself.

I am the stupidest girl who ever lived. I'm stupid. I can't do anything right. I can't take care of myself.

Last night I dreamed I tried to kiss you but you pulled away from me. Just as my lips touched yours, you got up, crossed the room, and took a swig out of the whiskey bottle. Then you sat down again and said, "Do what you were going to do."

The blood runs down my leg. Now I'm going to have a big, fucking, thick scar there because I pressed too hard. Because I forgot that you don't have to press that hard with razors. Because I'm stupid.

I hate myself. I always suspected that I wouldn't learn how to run my life just because I got older. And I was right. I don't do this well at all.

I hate the cut on my leg. I hate myself. I'm awful. I'm just so awful.