She took that one deep breathe in. Another smoke, another puff.
She’s been waiting for everyone else to fall asleep, but as she waited, she couldn’t help it. Then she felt something around her waist. Arms. Comfort.
“Where have you been.”
“I just came back. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she turned back to give him a kiss.
“How are you doing tonight?”
“I’m good hon, I’m good.”
He pulled her close, pulled his nose into her hair, “I’ve missed you tonight.”
“I’ve miss you too, baby.”
She took his hand, and pull him inside.
They went into her room, and that was it.
2:52 am • 15 July 2012
It’s felt like months since she’s talked to him. In all honestly, it’s only been an matter of weeks. Weeks without his face, without his arms around her, without he smell, his touch. She missed him. And he missed her. But there was nothing they could do about it. The distance was too far, and he was stuck there. In training.
And that was just it, they missed each other. That was all there was too it.
8:57 pm • 1 February 2012 • 1 note
They say she’s bad news.
She’s the girl that guys should stay away from. She makes them fall in love with her and just drags them along. She fills them with hope, and uses it to her advantage. Always in the end, leaving them used, depressed, and wanting more and more.
She’s the girl that the guys warn their friends about. The one that has that reputation. The one that’s done this and that. The one that is an untouchable, because she’s been touched by so many before.
But who’s to believe. All the guys’ friends tell them that she’s bad new. She shouldn’t be pursued. She shouldn’t even be considered. She’s a mess herself, and she’ll just mess you up even more.
She’s bad news.
But who’s fault to blame? Hers? Or theirs?
She’s become their booty calls. She’s adapted to the temporary satisfaction of their desperate calls. She’s grown to the inconsistency, because no one will be her consistent.
When she’s lonely, who else does she have to go to?
So, they all say she’s bad news. She leads them on, one by one, and makes them fall in love. She keeps them stringed along, and they say she doesn’t care.
She’s the one they’re all warned about. She’s the one to say away from.
But what else is left for her if they all believe in those words? Nothing.
So she strings them along for that temporary satisfaction.
It’s an endless cycle.
3:43 am • 13 January 2012
He’s lived his whole life on the brink of everything. Barely getting by school. Barely getting by with low-wage jobs. On the brink of starvation, of drug abuse, of alcohol abuse. He lived his life on the edge, and he never cared what they thought.
Through his whole life it’s been tough, but he got through it. He got through every bump, every pinch, every fall, he’s picked himself up from being the lowest of the low.
Which brings him here. 50th floor of the the second highest building in New York City. In his office, looking down on the night happening right before him. While, he was stuck. Working. Grinding. Paper after paper.
He looked back on the adventures he had as a young adult and wondered where all the excitement has gone. Everyday, he has this wondrous view in front of him. And never once has he opened the window.
He misses the smell of the fresh air in the night. It was only 9pm, but he was already missing everything else happening in his life, with his wife, with his family.
He just wanted to smell that fresh air.
Slowly, he creaks the window open. A gust of wind enters, and he could feel chills going down his spine. He takes in a deep breath.
It wasn’t enough. His body wanted to be engulfed in that crisp spring air.
He steps out. One foot after the other. Trying to keep his balance.
He steps out. And contemplates it. Jumping. 50th floor.
He steps out. He takes another breathe. Nostalgia hits him. He’s 16 years old again, taking in his first puff of a cigarette. And he breathes out.
And then he takes another. He’s 20 years old, passed out in front of his parents house, overdosed with alcohol and drugs. The wind blows him a little, and he’s back to reality and looks down.
He’s 28. He remembers meeting her.
He’s 30. He’s back on track and getting married.
He’s 35. He’s taken over his parents business.
40. He’s CEO.
His life flashed right before him. The painstaking memories of all the fights with his wife come back. The disappointed look in his children’s face as he tells them he has to miss yet another trip, another movie, another game.
He wished he could change things. But he can’t.
He breathes in. Closes his eyes. And disappears.
1:52 am • 12 January 2012 • 1 note
And he says it repeatedly…
“je t’adore, je t’adore beaucoup. est-il en la tete? je suis votre tete?”
I like you, I like you a lot. Is that in your head? Am I in your head?
Considering her french was horrible at the time being, she wondered if she heard right. With the alcohol running through her veins, with the night coming to an end, her mind tricked her. Did I actually hear right? He was in her head, he was all she could think of that night.
It’s been months in on this thing that has been going on. Studying abroad was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be filled with adventure, with excitement. It was supposed to be filled with party and adventure and random hook ups and unmemorable nights. But this was a night she was wondering if she was going to remember.
Their hidden relationship has been going on for a while, he was wonderful. No one knew exactly what they’ve been hiding, because the secret was part of the excitement of it all.
But after a while, she let her guard down, this is a summary of the long story they have been through, but the story could wait, as it is still happening now.. in the present. But she didn’t expect things to get so serious, especially toward the end.. where she’ll be leaving in a few weeks.
He looks at her, and kisses her, “Is it in your head yet? I like you, more than I expected to.”
”Things weren’t supposed to get so serious,” she looks up at him nervously.
“Je sais” I know, but I can’t help it. I’ve gotten so comfortable with you.
“Oui, je sais. Moi aussi. Parce-que, je ne peut pas. I must go soon.”
She told herself she wouldn’t let herself fall for a guy, especially one that was supposed to be just an adventure, a hook-up.
After a few minutes, he falls asleep, and she goes back to her room. Her bed, she wishes she would just let herself fall asleep in his arms. But she can’t. She won’t let herself.
She lies down for a moment and wonders.. Will this feeling wear off? Is this just something I’ll feel right now, because it’s late and I’m buzzed? Will I be back to my normal self in the morning and feel nothing, as if tonight didn’t happen? Will this be the end of this feeling, of letting something in? Or will it all wear off, and it’ll all be forgotten? She closes her eyes and falls asleep.
3:04 am • 24 May 2011
They don’t know me. None of them do. I sat there, amongst 50 people, each one said to be a close friend, a “brother”, a “sister”, each one who had said they are a part of me.
I sat there, reluctant on what I should do. I’ve spent so much time and money on these people, they are supposed to be my friends, my family. But yet, after so much time “spent” together, all the “moments” had, all adventures done with, I realized I hadn’t really taken part of anything here.
These people were not my friends, nothing close to being family. It was my turn to speak, my turn to say what I have thought of everything that’s happened my last four years with these people.
Everyone looks at me.
I have spent four years with you guys. I have loved every moment, all the adventures, the memories. Everything we have been through will not be forgotten for the rest of my life. You will always be my family, you will all have a piece of my heart. I love you guys, and I’m said to leave, I’m sad to go. But as we all know, it’s been four years, and it’s my time.
I would say that, but inside I would be saying “You all suck. You say this is a family, yet look around as see how many different groups there are in here. Not everyone is close to each other, not everyone hands out with one another as much as we say we do. Our pictures are false, they give a pretense to others that we are all so wonderful and amazing. Yet, I see no amazement. We have all judged, backstabbed, left each other behind. This is no family, and I cannot wait to leave, to get out and forget all the fakeness. I’m glad I’m done, it was just wasted money and time. Bye” And I would leave.
But of course, I’ll end with I can’t believe it’s been so long. Time has passed by too fast. I’ll come visit, I’m going to miss you all so much
With what we say, there’s a whole lot of other meaning behind it.
2:32 pm • 2 April 2011
Cliques become Cliches
Class ends. It’s 1pm, she decides to go eat. All her other friends are in class, so she ate alone. It’s something everyone ends up doing at least once in their college experience, eating alone. She sat in the grass, near all the greek letters out in the lawn. As usual, she observed.
On one end, it was the “multi-cultural” fraternities and sororities. They’re hanging out, in their shade, having fun. Just mingling, of course.
On the other end, it was the “greek/white” fraternities and sororities. They’re doing the exact same.
On the far right, she noticed the service and business fraternities, just minding their own business.
Then she thought, why are all these people in these organizations? What’s the point of being in it when they don’t even talk to each other. They’re basically in the same kind of group: they rushed, they pledged, they party, they socialize with one another, but yet they’re segregated from one another, the greeks don’t talk to the asians, the asians don’t talk to the business, and vice versa for all of them. Isn’t the point of being in college supposed to open your mind to new people and experiences. Sure, they each got their new experience, but they’re not integrated.
As she thought that, she overheard two freshmen talking.
“I wanna rush this year,” said the asian girl with the big hair.
“Yeah? Which one,” her friend responded.
“I don’t know. I asked one of the girls in the asian sorority about her sorority, and she said that it’s a fun experience. It’s a lot of hard work, but at least she ‘earns her letters rather than buys them’”.
“Oh, I don’t know, I think I might to greek. They seem to have a strong bond.”
“You’re really going to pay all that money for it?”
“Well, I don’t know if I want to be hazed. You hear all the stuff they go through.”
“Yeah, I know, but they get closer that way.”
“Not really, the greeks seem really close, and they don’t go through all that stuff.”
They walked away before she could hear anymore.
What’s even the difference? They all end up partying and just flirting with guys in the end anyways.
It’s lunch time. Already, it’s spring and the sun is bright and warm. She goes to her usual table. Everyone’s talking around her, but she can’t seem to focus. Noticing everyone else around her outside her table, she looks around.
On the far left, she saw all the “smart” people hanging out. Just talking, it’s lunch time.In the center, she notices all the “jocks” and “cheerleaders” goofing around, having fun.To their right, she noticed the “band geeks” eating and talking.It went one, clique to clique, group to group, everyone talks amongst each other, but not with one another.
High school, college.. it doesn’t leave us. In high school, we notice the difference, you wish you could talk to the people in the other groups, the other crowds. You wish you could step out of your comfort zone and befriend all these different characters. But when given the chance to do so in college, you repeat your patterns. And nothing changes.
1:44 am • 31 March 2011
It hits her, she stopped caring. She stopped giving a shit whether or not she had anyone to hang out with. If she spent the night alone, she spent the night alone. If she was third wheel, she was third wheel. If her friends cancelled, they cancelled. She became tired, tired of becoming frustrated and waiting for people. Waiting for people to change, to pick up the phone, to pick her up, to help her.
In this world, she couldn’t take it anymore. It was time to step up, show the world who she really was. If she was in a bad mood, she’ll be in a bad mood. It didn’t matter anymore, it doesn’t matter anymore.
And she’s in the steps of picking herself up from the pain and stupidity of it all. She’s just going to live her life the way she wants. Talk back to stand up for herself. Step up for those who need help. And say “no” when she doesn’t want to do something.
Life’s about choices and she’s made hers. She’s tired of being everyone bitch, of being the one that’s there for everyone constantly, the one that always picks up, always responds. She’s tired of it all, of being so nice, so lenient.
She’s tired. And the world fails to realize it, but she’s going to show them.
2:15 am • 27 March 2011 • 11 notes
I don’t know what else there is to say to you. There is nothing left to be said. As I think about it, I feel as if I’ve chosen the asme path I was given all those years ago. But at the same time, I feel like I’m moving forward because I know how to deal with the situation. But honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what I want. I have no idea if you’re right for me, or if I’m just letting my sisters and everyone else’s judgements finally get to my head. I have no idea. I apologize for the hurt I’ve cause you and I’m sorry if things are filled with confusion because I know I ended it out of the blue. There is no real explanation, there is no real way to explain why I don’t feel the same way as I did yesterday or the day before that. Because I liked you, I really did. I would also look up at you and smile when we’re lying in my bed, I would gaze up and you and think this guy is pretty amazing. He’s a dork, but he’s pretty amazing. I didn’t care if you were a virgin, I didn’t care if you have no game or didn’t know what you were doing half the time, you were pretty real, pretty honest, and you were just you. What more could I have asked for?
But then there’s the point where the guy switches over, and I usually watch them fall as I still stay high in the air. But this time, I fell, I was on the way of falling but then I caught myself. I caught myself and that’s where I lifted myself up again and just let things happen. I gave up as I usually did, I gave up quick. That’s my way of preventing hurt, preventing pain, I run. I bolt in the soonest chance I get.
Then there’s the thing, I let the world get to me, and with everything happening in my life right now, it all got to me. With my aunt passing, with my mom gone, with school becoming useless, with ‘sisters’ stop caring, and it was just me and my thoughts filled. And I had nowhere to go, but leave and try to start new again. Because once I find a wall, I turn the other way, I don’t try to find a way around, I don’t even try to break it down or climb it. It’s a horribly big wall.
So what could I do?
Maybe I made a mistake of giving up so easily, but in my own way, I did try and in your own way you did too. But it’s not who you are in the end in the fight, it’s who you were all along. And that person was who you were to me, and it just wasn’t meant for me. Just be honest, but real, but I’m unsure if you were.
All I could say is I’m sorry, but I don’t want to apologize for what my decision, because that’s all me. I’m sorry for any confusion or hurt I caused you.
9:09 pm • 25 February 2011
A Story About A Girl.
Reputation is everything. High school never leaves us. No matter where you go people will judge you. There will be the popular crowd, the losers, the nerds, the smokers, the drunks, the overachievers. High school was that. In high school, everyone knew everything. Everyone looked at you with distain if they heard you kissed someone at a party, or “hooked up” as they say. You get the reputation as a slut, they don’t care if it’s true or not. And things take a turn.
It’s like Easy A.
“I’m not perfect, but neither are you. I make mistakes, as do you.”
And the only difference is that you learn from yours, and I…haven’t.
It’s just another Thursday night. He’s look at her from across the room. She approaches him with confidence, the alcohol’s in her system and she’s in a good place. They talk, they flirt, they hold hands, they drink more and more, and she blacks out. She wake up on a couch. What happened, she asks yourself. Turns out she made out with him.
It’s another Thursday night. She’s texting him.
-Hey, what are you up to?
-I’m drinking with some friends right now. Why aren’t you out?
-I have to be up early tomorrow. So are you drunk texting me right now? lol.
-No, I’m just buzzed :D So when you going to sleep?
-Soon I guess. Call me when you get back, let’s hang out.
-It’s going to be really late.
-I don’t care, just hit me up.
Three hours pass. She has alcohol raging in her system.
-Heyy, you up??
-Yeah, come over.
-You come over!
He comes to her room. And she just wants to talk and hang out. He’s such a good friend for hanging out so late at night! Her beer goggles are on. He’s cuter than she last remembered.
Next thing she know, he’s in your bed on top of her, kissing. He’s grabbing this and that, and she didn’t know how they began kissing. But there’s alcohol in her system, she’s horny, and he’s here. So why not. And one thing leads to another, and they fall asleep together in the end. He’s not asleep though, he’s watching you, he’s horny still. He wants more, he keeps trying.
“Stop, I want to sleep.”
“No, come here,” and he pulls her closer again.
Why is he here? Why am I doing this? She thinks this the whole time they’re kissing. But she don’t stop kissing him and she doesn’t know why.
It’s a Friday night. She’s hanging out with some friends. Surprise, surprise, she’s drinking. 10 shots in, she starts getting a little tipsy. And he’s holding her hand. They’re dancing, it’s fun. And she starts making out with him. He’s so wonderful. She looks at him and smile.
Imagine all these, but each time a different boy. A different person. She wasn’t always like this. She used to be the type of girl that wouldn’t kiss a boy unless she really likes him. She used to be a prude, but in a good way. She was innocent back then, she was naive and sweet and nice.
But they all called her a slut behind her back. They knew stuff about her that she didn’t even know. She never did those things, she would never. It was his fault, but she shouldn’t blame him. She let it happen to her, but she didn’t say anything against it.
He told them that they did stuff. What kind of stuff? She didn’t even know. She herself never got the full details, while the rest of them just talked and talked. No one told her anything, no one asked her if it was true. They all talked, and she wondered why.
High school was horrible for her. Her reputation began her freshmen year, and she could never get rid of it. Because once talked about at her school, it stuck. It stuck to you like the Scarlet Letter. Every time there was a dance, she would hope to be asked, but no boy asked her. She never knew why. She was attractive, she was nice to everyone around her, people believed her to be popular. Yet, why didn’t anyone ever ask?
One day her sophomore year, she decided to ask her close guy friend. He told her that it was an unspoken thing among the guys in her school. No one asked her because they heard what she’s done. But in reality, she’s done nothing. And whatever that boy said about her was a year ago. Words really do stick sometimes.
Alcohol was introduced her the beginning of her junior year. Everyone was a little more mature then, people were nicer, more forgiving and understanding. Three years with each other and friendships were built. Boys began asking her out and inviting her to dances, at parties everyone would be nice to each other and just hang out. But beneath it all, they still called her names.
They say after losing your virginity, sex wasn’t a big deal anymore. She didn’t even remember her first time. She got so belligerently drunk one night, she blacked out and woke up in next to her friend, naked in his bed. That was that. No one knew.
She swore she’ll never let that happen again.
It happened again within a year. Everyone found out.
After that, her rep became true. But it only happened twice. Twice in her high school life, she’s only hooked up twice.
In reality, if you look at it, she’s just another high school kid in this generation, having fun and being a little out of control. But kids grow out of it, they learn to be more stable and control of themselves.
In her mind, she considered herself a slut. She thought of herself to be a whore. She convinced herself that that’s all boys wanted from her, which leads to her commitment issues. She over thought every action she ever made and she blamed herself. She let boys kiss her whenever they initiated it, she didn’t know how to say no. She lost her dignity, her voice. In her mind, she was just an object. As alcohol became a part of her lifestyle, as did the random boys.
And as college came around, so did she.
There’s more to every story. Listen to every side. Our society is too hard on people when they make mistakes, but people usually learn from them. There’s more to her story, but it’s not my story to tell.
She wasn’t like this before.
[probably one of the worst stories I’ve written, there’s more to it.]
4:38 pm • 13 February 2011