The Grooves of His Skin

The longer you know someone, the more you begin to realize some very intricate details about them. Why is this exactly? Well, if you would ask me, I would say that you’re too used to each other, and you find yourself looking for something new. Every second I spend in his presence, I recognize the things I already know. I know that his toes are very boney, and his legs are particularly skinny. His shoulders fill out his body with their muscle, bringing me shelter and comfort. I could trace my fingers along his body completely blind, and I would comprehend every direction, every feature, probably even better than I can my own. He is the other half of myself and I know him in ways I cannot describe, but you see, it comes to this point that I know him so well, it’s almost too well. I need to find something new, and if you look hard enough, you can almost always find something you have never seen before. Lately, I find myself study the direction that his hair grows. I look at the pores of his face, to evaluate where he would have acne if he had hormones like I do. I could imagine that sounds rather strange, but I could also say that our relationship is very different, at least I’ve been told. Now imagine this: each of us have the individual pattern of our skin. Each are different, there is not one person with that same print. That is the one thing that is particularly special to him. I believe that if I took the time to study this hard enough, I would have created the strongest connection with him that I ever could find. I can match the love that radiates between each grove of my finger print, as I trace it along each familiar part, finding love in each of his. We were specially made, this is a fact, but not everyone seems to realize that we were specially made for each other.

That Awful Name.

I’m young, right? Too young, a lot of people would say. “Fifteen year old girl, and she’s sexually active, wow, she must be such a slut.” Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it a million times. It never seemed to stop me. After all, just because I’m having sex does not mean I’m a slut, or a whore, or anything like that. But that is not what this is about at all.

As I’ve said about a million times, I’m in a very serious, loving relationship with a boy who is seventeen. I’m am a sophomore in high school, and he is a senior. I think it’s fair to say that the two of us are helplessly in love. But of course, like any other group of teenagers, we lust for each other too. There are times where him and I are left alone, and the atmosphere becomes warm, and somehow the sexual tension pulls the two of us together, regardless of the intentions. That’s naturally expected, especially at this age, with the hormones that we have. My boyfriend and I have had sex quite a few times during our relationship. I know how this looks. I used to look at other people this was. The situation changes when it’s personal, I guess I could conclude. As an outsider, you witness these kids around you, irresponsibly having sex, making children, all of that. It’s frustrating to be cast into that group under simple assumption, and you’re put into the position where you can’t exactly lie, because it’s not something you want to do. People already assume you’re sexually active, because you look happy, or “too happy,” which is simply ridiculous. My best friend for instance, refers to these kinds of couple as “looking like sex.” I guess she has made that perception based on the fact that when a boy and a girl are so close in their relationship, they’re so together. Do you know what I mean? They move like one person. And that’s understandable because the connection between two people after sharing something so passionate can be very apparent. I seem to be losing my purpose in this. My point it, I suppose that people look at my boyfriend and I, and they see a connection that is as strong as the sex that we have. But I hate that sentence too because it’s not just sex. It’s not just some guy that I met that I decided I wanted to have intercourse with. This is someone who puts the joy in my life. He’s the definition to my happiness, even though I know better than to make a person you’re pure happiness. It happened anyway. He’s the one that will do anything for me, just because I ask, or even when I don’t. He never ceases to surprise me. He makes me bad days better. The power in our love is more than just sex. That’s my point, I guess. I don’t have sex with my boyfriend. I make love to him. We don’t just fuck, put our clothes back on, and go on with our lives. We undress, we kiss, we make love, and when it’s all said and done, we enjoy the silent, beautiful moments where our naked bodies lie so close to each other. That’s our favorite part. The passion, the connection, and the beauty is what makes this more than just another stupid, careless, horny couple. We are set apart from the rest of these people. People notice, and I’m given the names. I’m the slut, the whore, the whatever other awful name they can come up with. And it’s awful. It’s hurtful. It slaughters my self esteem. People should not be seeing me that way. There is a lot more to me as a person. No person that has ever established that label with my name will understand the explanation I just gave of a very distinct difference between what they see, and what is actually going on. So the names will continue. I just wish they would stop. They’re tearing me apart.

It’s Bad Again

This thing happens sometimes when it feels like everything is falling, including myself, and I don’t remember how to function, or focus or anything really. I’m trying to write because I don’t want to keep sinking but I don’t have anyone to talk to about this because everyone just abandons me or thinks I’m crazy and it keep getting worse, and I don’t know what to do. Excuse my run-on sentences but I feel so trapped, and I want to crawl up in a hole and die. I’m trying really hard to stay focused and I have to pretend I’m okay for my mom but I’m not and I need help but I don’t know what to do and I’m just gonna go now, because I’m lost and this isn’t helping me.

About to Break

I know we all reach that point every once in while, where everything anyone says gets on your very last nerve. Unfortunately, those closest to you seem to get the wrath of your anger more than anyone else. It’s like all the nit-picky little things you don’t seem to like about a person annoy you ten times more when you’re reaching your breaking point. I’m about there. I just snapped at a friend when he tried to tell me “how I feel.” I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually know. But this is nothing new, he does this all the time. It just seems in the past week, a lot of things have happened that have pushed me to the edge, and those stupid little things my friends do to annoy me have me on me wavering between complete explosion and a surreal lifestyle. This is when I become thankful for the long weekend coming up. I need to get away from everyone. My boyfriend included. But I need him right now too, so I don’t know how that could even be possible. Life is too complicated to comprehend right now. I’m sorry for the complaining.

What is love?

I ponder these irrefutable topics on a regular basis. Love is a question that should never be answered. It never makes any sense, and it never works the way it should. However, I am positive, regardless of my age, that I know what this “love” thing is. Yeah, sure, laugh it up. “Oh, the fifteen-year-old is in love” ha ha. You know what? Yes I am. I believe with all of my heart that I am in love. I don’t know that I have ever been given a pure example of what exactly this “love” thing is, but I still have enough common sense to comprehend the way I feel about this boy. I also believe that I have loved many things in my life. For instance, I love my mom, and the rest of my family, my friends, certain teachers, competitive cheerleading, creating music, creative writing; all of these things have occurred to me as “love”. It’s passion; a warm fuzzy feeling that fills you up from the inside, completing a certain amount of happiness that each of us needs to live our lives. I believe I have finally determined the difference between this concept of “love” and being “in love”. The way it feels to be in love is near indescribable. I will try my best for you, but I don’t quite know how.

When you meet a this certain person–your soulmate, for all intensive purposes– a field of energy pulls you to this person. The attraction between these two people forms from solely a physical connection, to an emotional bond. I’m sure you’ve heard it described in comparison to magnets. Essentially, that is exactly what it is like. Over time, you feel as if every force in the universe has the intentions of pulling you in the direction of this “soulmate”. When you reach this realization that you are in love with this person, every cell in your body is filled with euphoria compassion, understanding, passion, and in bits, lust for a connection beyond an human intelligence I am aware of. All of these emotions bond into one concept we refer to as love. The “in” part could almost refer the infatuation. In such a short amount of time, love aligns every moment you’ve ever known. You need them, they need you, it’s a constant cycle of need. They complete every sentence, every thought, every second and not a single thing makes sense without them. As more time passes, you realize there is no possible way you could ever live without them in your life. So what if I’m fifteen-years-old? Have I not just presented that I am in love. I am so in love. For those of you with no belief in this emotion, or even the idea of a soulmate, please do not give up yet. I am one of the few, but so lucky people to have met the love of my life at such a young age. You can ask me, “How do you know?” You just know. There is no other feeling to compare. In love is in love, and nothing can ever change that, ever. 

I love him. I love him more than I can explain, I will take any ridicule I receive for this confidence, but I know that I am in love with him, and there is no other person that I would like to spend the rest of my life with than him. He is the love of my life. I have can answer the question I have presented as my topic. I know the meaning of love. it is the most beautiful thing in the world. 

Here’s a Thought:

The idea of natural selection stands to eliminate the unnecessary/weak traits of a species. Over time, this is to create stronger characteristics. Now, everyone wants to complain about how there are not enough people in the world who trust each other. This is true. But this theme has become more progressive over time. Did anyone ever take the time to think that this lack of trust has been a result of natural selection? What if our genes realized the way humans were constantly screwing each other over and gradually removed the trait of trust in others from the personality of humans? Couldn’t that be possible? It’s a really interesting thought, if you over analyze it like I just did.

Mini Hospital

The human body is kind of like it’s own little hospital. Did you ever realize that? In biology, we talked briefly about stem cells, and their ability to become whatever cell they need to be, whenever they are needed to be. When a part of your body is ill or dying, the stem cells come to the rescue, kind of like little doctors. Isn’t that interesting? There is a whole hospital running around inside of you.

I went to pottery for the first time today, and I thought of R***** the moment I walked into the room. Not to mention his picture was hanging about the door. Mr. D was talking about how he had a meltdown on R***** last week, and imagine the guilt he had felt when he found out he had killed himself, and I thought to myself, “Yeah, imagine that.”

Short-Tempered

If I could climb inside your head, just for today, that sure would answer a lot of questions. Your random angry outburst and unexplainable frustration makes a lack of sense to me. But then again, I can’t make sense of something I’m not aware of. Obviously, you’re angry, I know that you’re angry at something. This is probably something that has absolutely nothing to do with me, but somehow, you’re taking all of this out on me. That’s basically what happened with R*****, except I don’t see you committing suicide. You’re not that angry … At least I hope you’re not. I asked you to talk to me and you tell me your don’t want to. Well then, I guess I can’t help you. I pity you honestly, because there is nothing fun about keeping everything bottled up inside, but you’re taking it out on me and I don’t appreciate that. You’re my boyfriend, you’re suppose to love me, not hate me without any kind of explanation. But I guess, if you don’t want to speak to me, then there is nothing I can do but wait patiently for you to finally tell me what’s going on. I fight back because I worry about you, and I’m sorry, but you know I’m short-tempered too. 

I Wish.

My ex treated me very poorly, I’m not even going to attempt to sugar coat that, but he had some qualities traits that not a lot of guys have. Maybe that’s why I held on for so long, but that’s not the point. Every time he was here, he always wanted to be with me. Always. My current boyfriend is the best person I have ever met. He is the epitome of perfection, but sometimes I find things that my ex could offer that my boyfriend can not. I’m feeling lonesome right now, and he left my room to go play Black Ops 2 with my thirteen year old sister. In times like this, I think to myself, “I wish you could be like N*** for just three seconds.” But only sometimes. The other times, I find it hard to complain. I love this boy very much.

Stupid Mailbox.

It’s about 25 degrees outside right now, which is much much better than it was yesterday, but it is still so bitterly cold outside. I got off of the bus today, and I walked to my mailbox to grab the mail and it was empty. This made me a little irritated to be honest with you, because it was so cold, and I just wanted to get inside. When I opened the empty mailbox to find no mail, I couldn’t help but think, “Well, I just wasted some valuable minutes of my life.” I guess that goes to show how lazy I am, but it’s true. I probably could have done several different productive things in the time it took me to walk to the mailbox, find it empty, and then bitch at the mailbox for being empty. What a waste of my time.