December 2010
30 posts
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My dreams consist of people i barely know, fleece blankets, nests in tall barren trees, night time, conversations that appear in books, clothing that doesn’t exist, and confusing scenarios that cannot be remembered.
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Once in a while you get brought to the front of my mind, and I am forced to think about you. And i feel something. I’m not very sure what i feel. But you make me feel something that no one else can. Some hidden feeling gets brought to the surface, and i feel like running. I feel like screaming. Very loud. I feel like getting lost. I feel like crying. But I don’t do any of these things....
I guess you could call it a “thing”. That’s probably what it is. Just a thing. Like anything else..
I have a thing for him.
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I remember when butting in line was the worst thing you could do to someone.
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To Lucy Barfield
My Dear Lucy,
I wrote this story for you, but when i began it i had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it....
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there are infinite reasons why i shouldn’t tell him, and one reason i should.
He hates girls who give bad hugs.
I am afraid of hugs.
I wont talk to you. I wont look at you. I wont even try and be friends with you. But i will think of you every second of every day, hoping that somehow you will think of me too.
