grownup

Tell yourself to never grow up\\\

Never give up///

Never look down\\\

Never fall down///

Never feel down.///

In a year. It's happened more than once. Falling. Falling. Falling.

Then I fade. 

Fade into a person. Just another person. 

Too young.

Too young. Too short. Too tall. Too serious. Too rude. Too much. 

two years

Its been almost two years now. Two years I've spent with you, celebrating birthdays, going on dates, going to movies, taking naps, brushing teeth, shaving beards, waxing eyebrows, waxing armpits. You have put up with me and my shenanigans. And my family's shenanigans. And my friends shenanigans. You have been my constant. my ocean. Your family has welcomed me as if I were one of theirs. You've seen me angry and sad and happy and you've seen all of my personalities. I would say you've seen me grumpy most of the time these past few months. But even in my grumpy days, you still push forward, you will never let me go. And I promise to never leave.
I see so many people fall apart, and so many relationships fall apart, and I know that I never want to be that kind of couple. The kind that goes back and forth, or the kind that lies, or the kind that just isn't happy. But we are happy. I honestly think we are like the movies. We are a happy ending.
"boyfriend" is just to stereotype, and cliche. You are my partner, partner in crime, my team mate, my best friend, my love, my to-be whatever you want to call it. When I introduce you as my boyfriend, I hope people don't assume that we are just another teenage couple too young to understand what goes with a relationship. Tell me that almost two years is nothing for a relationship. Tell me I am too young.

I'm Not Finished Yet

In this early morning, I read a letter. A turning leaf; a changing sky.
Don't give up yet my love. There's still time. There's still years that are yet to pass. There are still people you have yet to meet. There are still places you have yet to travel. Whether it is traveling back to, or adventuring a place anew. You aren't finished yet. You have years to learn. Years to grow. Years to become a wise old soul. You aren't finished yet. And I'm not finished yet. We are unfinished. Undone. Water, uncharted. Don't lose sight of who you are, and don't focus on things that you don't need to worry about (e.g. boys boys boys) Because you will only find yourself in a world of pain and hurt and loss. Don't make it so hard on yourself. You have the whole rest of your life to find someone. trust me. I'm not finished yet. but its all the little things in the world that count.
You just have to find the right river that leads to the ocean.

The Art and Practice of Deep Breathing.

inhale.
Tell yourself to inhale.
Tell yourself to fill yourself full with air.
Celebrate the gift of air.
exhale. 
Push it all away.
Push away the anger.
The stress.
The frustration.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

This is called The Art and Practice of Deep Breathing. Although I myself have not mastered this art. I thought I did for awhile. But. I didn't. This is called failure.
This is called high school.
This is called being a senior.
This is called not going to college,
or having a plan,
or knowing whether or not you are going insane or the people around you are going insane.
This is called high school.

I repeated high school because this is what I think of high school:
It is all about the girls.
It is always about the fucking girls.
It will always be about the girls.

This is true.

As for guys. What I have learned is this:
It is always about the girls.
If it isn't about the girls, it is usually about their own pleasure.
Which brings us back to the girls.

Girls.
What can I say?
I hate them.
Not because they are prettier, uglier, skinny, fat.
Not because they lost their virginity in the 6th grade, or because they shaved their 3 pubes for the first time.
Not because they got preggers, or said something about me.
I hate them because they are girls.
emotional. confusing. complicated. dramatic. and always complaining.
I especially hate girls who aren't comfortable with who they are.

I am beautiful.
I am accepting.
I have nice skin.
I have awesome hair.


I embrace me.

I am Beautiful.

and because of this.
I will master The Art and Practice of Deep Breathing. 

Guess What's Next?

By the age of 16, 80% of people have already met who they are going to marry.

I am apart of this statistic. I have met him. I've got my guy. The guy on the white horse with the blonde hair and the blue eyes. I've got him. I've dated him so hard that I'm gonna marry the shit out of him. The guy with all the right attitudes. The one who tells me I'm beautiful when I stink like shit and have greasy hair. The one who tells me I'm right even when I'm wrong. The guy who lets me scream and kick and cry and whine all I want. He's the one who's always on my side.
He may not know it as much as I know it, but I'm out to get him. Just as much as he's out to get me. I want his name. I want his clothes scattered in our room. I want to wake up to his sleepy eyes and smelly breath. I want him to take me out. I want to be broke as a joke with him. And I wanna be rich as a bitch with him. I want to be happy, sad, angry, joyful, excited, mad, stupid in love with this boy. Call me selfish all you want. Call me sleazy, skanky, bitchy slutty. I don't care. He's my best friend I can tell secrets to. He's my best friend and my lover. and that is exactly what I need. I can confide in him. and run to him. and he'll take care of all my problems.
He's my superman. He makes me smile. when I'm angry. He forgives me. He supports me in all my decisions. Even if they aren't the smartest decisions. He knows me.

He just knows me. Plain and simple.

And that is that. That is the comma. Chapter 2. The story isn't over yet.

It's only just the beginning.

I've got my guy. Guess what's next? :)

Let me back in

I miss you. I would tell myself. The little things, they would remind me of the days and hours we would spend together. Whether it was laying on my pool deck tanning till we got really hot and jumped in the pool. To those cold winter days when we would sit on my bed talking till there was nothing to talk about except just us. The days we would spend passing letters to each other between classes. All of that was lost when I said those words, in fine bold print that slipped out from my lips.

Now, 8 months later, here we are, you with forgiveness, me with apologies flowing from my mouth. Here we are. Sewing. Mending. using Band-Aids and crutches to pick ourselves back up. So here we are. and after everyday that I was sorry not only to you but sorry for my self. My pathetic actions that took me on a long road of recovery. 

We may not be friends like we once were, We'll be stronger. 

Here's to you, my lady love, my girl-bromance, my best friend, my sister.

Heres to the beautiful person i knew and know again.

I love you.