sognatrixe

[sognatrixe]

What a girl gotta do to get some flowers? … die?

[sognatrixe]

Today we had a lock down drill and one kid in my class said „these are so stupid if someone really wanted to kill us they would pull the fire alarm so we would all leave the building in a big crowd and then they could just shoot us all“ not sure if he is very smart or very dangerous.

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Aren’t time zones amazing? In Australia it’s tomorrow. In Europe it’s tonight. And in the US, it’s 1942 where minorities, women, and LGBT are still under assault by old white men.

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No but it really does piss me off that teachers don’t understand that some students suffer from mental disorders like social anxiety and force them to talk in class for a grade. Like no thanks I’m perfectly fine listening, and writing grades.

[sognatrixe]

„too vague“ writes my English teacher on my essay. Kind of like the instructions you gave us you piece of shit.

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Do strict parents realize that by being strict they create an emotional distance between them and their children because they won’t ever be able to confide in them and be open about their thoughts and feelings in fear of their reactions?

[sognatrixe]

And most of all in my life I’m afraid to have a daughter. I’m afraid of all the nights she will slam the door of her room and lock into. I’m afraid of all the nights she will spend crying, staring to the ceiling with one hand covering her mouth, so that I won’t hear the noise. I’m afraid of people who will break her heart and I’m afraid that she will never tell me. I’m afraid that she will ever think about suicide. I’m even more afraid that she will even try and then she will start hiding her scars from me as she hides her secrets too. I’m afraid that she will try to hide her pain, she will try to smoke or drink it away but never talk about it loudly. I’m afraid … I’m afraid, because that’s something her mother went through once.

[sognatrixe]

The thing about relationship is that you are either going to break up or get married. And honestly, I don’t know which one scares me more.

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My mother always told me eyes were the window to the soul. His eyes were blue, like the ocean. When we talked I would always find myself getting lost in them. Some nights I looked back and I asked myself if I was in love with him or if he was drowning me.

[sognatrixe]

I should have never texted you that one day that led into another and another and soon became a daily thing, morning and night, to text you and pray you would respond as fast as I did. I should have never gotten my voice up as high as I did when someone told me you liked me. I should have never kissed you back that night at the beach; it wouldn’t have led into even more hope. I should have never wished for another, flirted back with you as you did. Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt this bad.

[sognatrixe]

At that moment I didn’t want anyone to contact me. I didn’t want anyone to comfort me or even ask me if I was okay or not, so I turned off my phone so no one could reach me. I ended up realizing that just because you turn of your cyber world doesn’t mean the real world around you isn’t existent, so I turned my phone back on, turned on airplane mode, put in my headphones, and blasted my music so damn loud no world could reach me.

[sognatrixe]

I’m hopelessly in love with you. I know this isn’t destined to be anything more than a friendship. But I can’t stop making scenarios in my head in which you would, one day, love me back. I understand if you want to leave me, I’m meddles up in all the wrong places and I don’t want to be a burden on you. Just, before you leave, just know that my wasted heart will love you forever. He looked at me and walked away. At that moment everything I loved was gone forever.

[sognatrixe]

Have you ever thought about how many people think or talk about you? I mean it’s so bizarre, like imagine someone, out of the blue, thinking of your face. In addition, I sometimes wonder if somebody ever thought of me while in the middle of a talk with their friends and in the midst of the busyness he or she was sharing with them. I wonder how often people wonder how I am or what I do. And then there’s this dread question that creeps through my mind whenever I became drown to my thoughts: How much do I really mean to somebody? And honestly, a better question is - do you ever wonder about how an author would describe you in a novel? Not only your appearance but the way you talk and laugh, and all the expressions on your face.

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She was one of a kind, an artistic soul, heart like a mosaic. She was different and she was beautiful. The kind of beauty not everyone would be able to recognise, the kind many didn’t get the pleasure of knowing and the kind not everyone was blades with. And she was complex with layers of emotions that normal souls couldn’t handle. She was filled with passion and abilities. She was precious and made life worth living.

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I remember that night like it’s a movie, replaying in my mind. The way you stood on the porch with flowers behind your back and a boyish smile on your face. I remember the way the rain felt like summer on our skin as we splashed and danced in the starry moonlight, not a care in the world. And now I sit alone on my windowsill. My memories nothing but a ghost of you, the ghost of your smile and the ghost of the moment. I wish I could go back, but here I’m stuck, crying alongside the sky.

[sognatrixe]

„Why do you write?“ he once asked me. „I write because not writing the scenes in my mind is a lot like ignoring someones also plea to hear them out. There are images and scenes on my mind that keeps on playing and repeating and the only way for me to purge them, erase them, pacify them, and let them go is by writing them out.“ He was silent for a moment, before saying „Is that why you keep on writing about me?“

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„You wanna know the truth?“ She laughed. „Well the fucked up truth is that not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes people make the wrong decisions and they’re forced to live with them for the rest of their lives. And I know I should live with mine, because I mean what other choices do I have? You can’t turn back the clocks and redo things. You make a mistake and you pay the price, that’s the cold hard truth about life. You can’t change a decision you’ve already made, wrong or right. But on the loneliest nights, I look up at the moon and I smile. Because although now we walk different paths, with different people and although I know that the years will pass and we will won’t be together; I’ll always remember that for a brief, fraction of a moment, against all the odds, our stars crossed. And that will always, always be enough for me.“