Because it is time.

lovememily.blogspot.com

Nicholas Sparks is a son of a bitch.

He's a bad writer and a liar.
He just sucks as a person in general, I think.

But I feel like we could be good friends right now. 
I have writers' block and he hasn't come up with an original idea in his entire career as an author, so we'd have a lot to talk about. We'd sit in a Starbucks somewhere in Arizona. I'd drink something sugary and he'd get coffee black, just to prove that he's a man. We'd make idle chit chat about how it feels to think the same things as everyone else. How we didn't want to grow up. How life is a journey.

Blah blah blah bl blah.

He'd lean across the table, slide his hand onto mine and whisper a cheesy line from one of his best-sellers into my ear. And at this point, I'm afraid I might just go home with him and drink fancy wine, instead of kicking his shin and walking out of that coffee shop. I'd listen to him brag about how he writes great love stories. Smile. Nod. Twirl Hair.

Just me and Nick in a decked out condo. Waiting to be seduced by something original.

-M

My boyfriend is gone and my ovaries hurt

Life is no fun.

I don't know why I am blogging because I have absolutely nothing poetic to say. so.

A LIST OF PEOPLE I AM GOING TO HANG OUT WITH WHILE NATHAN IS GONE AND WHY I AM EXCITED TO DO SO:

RACHEL/LINDSEY: They don't even get to be two people. Because you can't have one without the other. Just like love and marriage, according to Frank Sinatra. MY BESTEST FRIEND.

KAITLYN: Because we can talk about celebrities we would like to be*. And people who we would trade wardrobes with and also God.

ROBERT PATTINSON: Because Twilight.

AVERY: I miss her wit and sarcasm and hair. And I'm not sure why we never call each other these days.

KATIE: She is the only decent human being left at dear old Lone Peak High. And I'm a little bit in love with her...especially when she puts her short hair into cute little braids.

ORSON SCOTT CARD: Ender's Game is actually my life.

DIESEL: Cats. He's cuter and cuddlier than all of you.

ETHAN: Yesterday I asked him if he would be my new boyfriend and he said yes. Today he told me that he loved being my boyfriend but it wasn't going to work out because it was against the law to marry someone older than you. Heart just broke.

MY GYNECOLOGIST: Something is seriously wrong with my ovaries, guys.

*1. Katie Perry
  2. Emma Stone
  3. Emma Watson
  4. Mary Kate
  5. Grimes

sorry about this blog post.

-m

The Day the World Turned Blue

Part One: Fluorescent Lighting
My obsession with the Trailer Teachers continues. Sitting in Mr. Flood's class and wondering just how miserable he is, and how happy he pretends to be. Trying to convince myself that I won't end up with a beer belly, teaching kids who couldn't care less about being financially literate. 
I am not Keith Flood. I will not be Keith Flood.
Laughing at Mr. Vawdrey's geekiest jokes. 
Reminding myself that graduation is coming. 

I created my utopia today and it was just Matthew Gray Gubler in space.

The walls of this school won't crumble when I'm gone. 
The teachers won't quit in my honor.
But maybe someone will remember me once in a while. 
I'm hidden in the new design of the school newspaper and my name is probably still scratched into a desk somewhere. 
Maybe they'll say "One time there was a senior in my sophomore PE class and she knocked someone down in dodge ball, then through a ball at their face." Or maybe Mr. Nelson will use me as an example.
They'll remember the girl who was afraid of football.

I'd be fine with that.

But I'd also be fine with being forgotten.
Left in the dust. Shaking and swearing for a few minutes. Pulling myself together.
Walking to the airport and boarding a plane to New York City. Because Addy and I were supposed to go together. And I never made our lunch date.

Part Two: Dim Lighting

Fictitious Book Depression.
I'd rather be reading. Traveling to a world where things move at the speed of light, and people use the word "Ho" to say hello sometimes. And when I'm forced to function like a normal human being in normal human life I feel like screaming. For Libo and for Miro and for Bean. 

Teach me how to breathe again. My lungs are turning black as my skin gets paler.

But pale skin and black hair look nice with lipstick, so I let my lungs turn to ash.

Part Three: Red Lighting

You're a vandal, you are. You'd be a nice addition to the Breakfast Club and I envy you for that.

At least I get to love you. Love you in every way there is to be loved.
In the secret way. Telling each other how damn scared we are. How no one can ever know how much we cry.
In the cliché way. Cuddling and winking and calling each other babe. 
In our way. Knowing that the end of this love is impossible, but it will probably happen anyway.
In time. 
Dying for each other. 

In our way. Escaping everything and hiding away for hours.
Time stops in our room. Just us and a red light bulb, showing the world that for once the rules don't apply. We are invincible. 

Loving you is living. 
And when we walked outside the whole world had turned blue.
-m

"Clean up on isle 3"

It seems like the loud speakers aren't working. Because no one is coming with a mop. And we all just keep slipping.

"Clean up on isle 3"

I'm getting torn in half, here. And no one dares come sew me up. 
My bite is a hell of a lot worse than my bark. 

"Clean up on isle 3?"

At this point I'm all out of words. The blood has drained from my fingertips and all they do these days is twitch.
 Really I just want to talk about Ender's Game and my PE class. Because they matter for some reason.

 I'm a little bit afraid of my inability to stop thinking about the trailer teachers, and how pathetic their lives are. Sitting in semi-dark rooms and laughing at semi-funny jokes. Presenting power point presentations that they don't care about and quietly bad mouthing their wives. I think they're lying whenever they smile.

"Clean up...isle 3"

I never meant to make my mom cry like that. I never meant to hurt anyone. God, forgive me. I don't know how I got here. And even if I wanted to leave I can't. 

I'll be fine. Just don't leave me alone in the flourescent lights. They make my skin look green, and no one else will love me but you.

Welcome home, to isle 3.
Take your shoes off at the door, please.

-M

Publishing a book where every copy has a different ending

ONLY THE ELITE END IN POETRY

A part of me wants to ruin the endings of all the books for you, and I won't even bother with spoiler alerts.
Alice does drugs.
The blind get their sight back.
Ed Kennedy is the message.
Harry's a horcrux.
Billy Pilgrim has PTSD.
Wendy goes back to London.

And everyone dies.

They're bitter and they're rabid.
Sometimes wishing they could change, but knowing it's impossible, the endings come together in a bar.
Romances dancing and tragedies drinking hard liquor.
The bitter sweet in-betweens order food occasionally.
The whores in the back room getting used. True love and funerals and plot twists.
Pretending they don't know what comes next.

Because it doesn't matter if it comes as a surprise.
The end was there from the beginning.
Waiting for you.
Pacing back and forth and laughing with all the other endings.
 

"She doesn't see me coming," they say.
"They never do." 
-M

and you're to blame

People move on and start careers and I'm just gonna keep on loving you.

Loving you gave me a C in Foods and loving you got me grounded.

And we keep trying to tell them we know what love is.
 
It was the morning you did the dishes.
That's when I knew that I love you.
I went on rambling about grades, responsibility, and giving people rides to the airport.
And you simply went down stairs and started the dishes.

They told us not to climb on the rocks in the first place.

Because now we're falling down the cliffs, hand in hand. My hair blowing in the wind and your hip bones catching it.
And the thrill in  our stomachs just keeps taking us higher. Higher and higher just to drop us again, because the Fates are dying to see how long it takes for us to let go of each other.

Don't you dare let go of my hand, love. I can't afford to hit the rocks.

And then you look me in the eye and tell me you'll never love anyone else the way you love me.


Damn you.
I'm becoming the girls in Pop Songs and Disney Channel Original Movies.

Because I'm starting to think that every time our lips touch we become a little more invincible.

-M

An Apology.

I'm sorry I haven't been around lately.

It's not you, it isn't even me. It's just time passing and people getting old and hair turning gray. 
Or in my case black.

I'm trying to stop apologizing for everything I do. But I'm sorry, I really am.

I'm stuck in this limbo between good and evil. wrong and write. youth and maturity. And the seam that God hastily stitched down my middle is beginning to tear. 
17-year-old girls aren't meant to be the subject of tug-of-wars.
But in this state of unrest I found you, love. I found you and this time you took everything and you scare the hell out of me. Never let me go. Never let them take me. 
"You have to choose," says the devil and angel tells me I'm running out of time now.
The fools.
 I'll choose you every time.

Because me and you...me and you just are. Like we were supposed to be.
You love me even when I'm stubborn. You love me without make up on. You love me in silence and you even love me in darkness. And I think that's pretty damn beautiful.




I've never jumped off a cliff this high.
Isn't it thrilling?

He kissed me when I was in the middle of a sentence and that is all that matters.

M

I bet you guys don't even miss me.

Shut up and tell the truth already

Well hey, world wide web. Not sure if you are reading this, or even can read for that matter, but hey, anyway.
I'm not sure if I actually have anything to say, but I just started typing, so this should be fun, right?
I think I want to talk to you about strangers. Not the kind who lose their puppies, like, every day. I want to talk about the kind that you meet and know are going to be there for a while, whether you like it or not. No, not like Wow I sense a strong connection and our auras are probable complimentary colors. I mean like Well you're dating my mom so.... 
But here's the thing: I really do want to talk about them, but I have absolutely nothing to say. Get back to me in 8-10 months.

There's also celebrities. They're strangers, right? Even though I feel like I know them. Take good ole Anderson Cooper. I knew he was gay before he told me. We must be friends. I like him. Also Matthew Gray Gubler, one day he'll realize. One day.

This blog post sucks, internet. We're strangers, aren't we? I've never met you. Though I imagine you somewhat like the smarthouse. So.

Here's my theory. Maybe it's what I've been getting to all along, maybe I've been planning this post for months. Or maaaybe I have no idea what I'm going to say right now. Either way. Theory. Everyone lies. Original, I know. But really. Those kids at the top of the food chain worry that no one knows their names...and sometimes I think they might cry. Those strangers might even read quality literature for all I know, though I doubt it. But it wouldn't surprise me, because everybody lies.

Wow this isn't as world shattering as I planned. It's actually all a lie. Because we're strangers, right? And everybody lies.

I have read and agreed to the terms and conditions.

This is a thank you post

She was born to make art with words. She was born to make you feel things with letters and spaces and punctuation.

She was born to make art with her body and the way she lives. She was born to be beautifully her.

He was born to make me feel better, and to laugh with me. He was born to smile.

He was born to show people how good they can be. To prove that good people come from bad situations and that chances are worth taking.

She was born to teach me to love. She was born to be my best friend. She was born to teach me to laugh and to cry and to ignore people to see if they really care...

She was born to teach me sacrifice. She was born to teach me the definition of selflessness, and the power of optimism.

She was born to be free. She was born to travel and to explore. She was born to prove that strangers can sometimes be trusted.

He was born to serve God. He was just born to.

She was born to make you love her. To always be there. She was born to watch old movies with and to discuss politics.

He was born to show people perfection. To teach me how to love unconditionally, and how easily I would beat up a first grader who tells him his brain is weird.

She was born because you need opposition in all things. She is love and hate. Anger and affection. Trial and blessing.

He was born to show me how to grow. And to teach me that sometimes life isn't fair, but it's important to do your best anyway. And that age and maturity are unrelated.

She was born to raise people up. To let them know that they're special. To mean every word she says.

He was born to understand me. He was born to raise my self esteem when no one else can. He was born to keep my secrets.

He was born to make people laugh. But then surprise you with his intellect and general goodness.

She was made to be beautiful. To be full of mystery yet utterly simple.


(Rachel, I know you know who everyone is. Shhhhh)

Flutter.

Who even blogs these days?

Bye.

Business and Pleasure

First item*:

And finally;

I wish I was pretty. No, not pretty. I want to be stunningly gorgeous. Because maybe it's just an illusion, but life seems to be easier for pretty faces. All I want is an even playing field.  Is it really too much to ask?

I wish boys would watch me from afar. I want them to wish they could work up the courage to walk up and say hello. I want people to think I'm shallow, and be shocked to find out I'm actually worth something. I want to rely on my looks when nothing else seems to be working. I want to be the one that got away. The first love. The one that could have been.
I'm so sick of being the mistake. Maybe once he would love me instead of her, if I were breathtaking.
I think, if I was pretty, they would spell my name right in the yearbook**.


Am I rambling?
Good.

Because I think I said that wrong. I don't want to be pretty. I wish people would try to see me. 
Get over my overbite and my frizzy hair.
Spend the Summer in the park with me.
Close your eyes, pretend that I'm pretty.
Forget that I sometimes snort when I laugh, and for once stop falling for my friends.
We can go on pick nicks.
We can drive with the windows down, the music blaring.
We can jump in lakes with our clothes on.
We can sneak out, if you want.
We can just live.
Trust me, I know what I'm doing.***

Give me one real chance. 

Let me show you how stunning I can be.

*Uh ok. How good does Gatsby look? I mean I wish Leo was still 17, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.


**Emily Howell? Really?
pg.139


***I mean, I've seen The Notebook.

*

You're untamed, untouchable, unthinkable.

But I'm still trying to figure out how to get you to love me.

"Do you think I deserve your full attention?" "I have a legal obligation to say no."

  I'd like to be a genius. I want kids to read about me in history books, or math books, or English literature book, or any kind of books, really. I don't even care if they hate writing reports on me, and end up plagiarizing the entire thing at midnight. I mean, I'd like to inspire a few of them, but I'd be content with boring them to death. 

   But here's the thing: I'm afraid there's no more genius out there for me to grasp. All the theorems have been discovered by Pythagoras, Georg Cantor, Euclid, and Isaac Newton. Steve Jobs may be dead, but he already invented the computer. I can't create the telephone or the light bulb. I'm broke and I'm broken.

   So instead of becoming a genius, I'm sitting on the couch. I'm watching daytime television and renting movies. I'm failing my classes. I'm not a genius, and I'm discovering what I am. I'm only a combination of fears and phobias.

  I'm a venustraphobic, I'm afraid of beautiful women. I'm afraid of fading into the background while the spotlight blinds them. I'm afraid I'll never be one.

   I'm a spectrophobic. It's not only mirrors, it's all reflective surfaces. Keep them away, cover them in duck tape, shatter them. I don't care, as long as I never have to look into their depths.

   I'm suffering from ereuthophobia: The fear of red lights. Don't you dare tell me to stop. Let me go, let me speed through the intersection, don't even tell me to slow down.

   I'm a gamophobic. Put away that ring, your diamond, get off of your knee. It's not worth it. You can keep your love, I've got my cats.

   I have barophobia. My feet are cement. I wish I could float, I want to live on the moon. 

   I'm scared. I'm so, so scared. But this is me. I'm no genius. I'm just a girl, trying to be remembered. 

"I was drunk and angry and stupid–"

"And blogging."

"And blogging."

This is worse than I thought.

My Best friend/girlfriend

My Ex-Boyfriend

My Current Boyfriend

And My Soon-to-be Boyfriend.

I guess I've got a thing for drummers.

(Includes 2 out of 4)

Reincarnation

    The floor has become my bed. It calls to me. When my mind can't handle the stress and my legs can't stand the weight, it calls. And at first I whisper, "No, keep standing," but I can only keep my eyes open for so long,my head is spinning, my palms are sweating, please catch me when I fall. I am so unbelievably scared.

   But it wasn't until I was lying on the ground praying, "God, if this is life, take me now," that I started to remember. Somehow between the moment I fell and that moment I woke up in the fetal position on the floor of my math class, I lived a thousand lives.
   I lived the lives of every character in every book that I've read. I died with Gatsby and searched the streets of New York for a lock with a key. I floated down the Mississippi. I lived the lives of the tabloid princesses and the prom queens. I lived the life of the artist and the life of the artist's mistress. I've been a mermaid who desperately wanted legs and the girl resurrected by a kiss. I've lived the life of the king who marries the witch, then proceeds to die. I've lived too many lives of drug addicts and not enough of gamblers. I've watched from the sidelines, and I've jumped in the ring.  I've lived a life on the islands of Neverland. I've had my feet bound to appear more attractive. Ive lived the life of the girl who works for the peep show, and cries at night. I've been a marathon runner. I've been to a hundred different worlds, a thousand different times. I've lived these lives with my eyes closed.

   I've seen how it ends, and how it begins.


The secret's in the ink. 
-M