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Almost There.

Hey. Surprised to see me? Me too. But it was my goal to at least make it to 18 years so... There you go. Almost. Seriously, only four months and a handful of days left before I... Reach my expiration date. Ahaha, funny, isn't it? I think of my birthday as an expiration date. But it is. Before you start calling the police on me, I'm not suicidal. Well... Not really. Just kinda. But anyway I'm not saying it's an expiration date for my life. It's for something else. For the past me. An expiration date to let go of everything. I'm giving myself that one day... Then, I don't know them anymore. My past life. The people... Everyone I love and care for will be at my birthday in April. At least I hope so. One last time I'm letting myself see them, and if they don't reach out anymore after...? I guess I'm used to being forgotten anyway. Let's recount the things that happened, backwards, 'kay? It's semestral break! I can breathe again. That was the last batch of math classes I hope I will ever take again. But then again, I'm never that lucky. This whole semester just felt like a vise gripping my ribcage in its entirety in a giant, calloused hand. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. Icouldn'tbreatheIcouldn'tbreatheIcouldn'tbreathe. Some days I think I still can't. Backtrack again, and I'm in a room full of an ex's classmates. Talk about awkward. It didn't really bother me much, I was over him, but they were treating me like glass. Tch. Our play date! It was awesome! And exciting! And everyone I knew and cared so much about was coming! Except... That was a lie, really. He didn't come to see me. He didn't see me play the girl I am, a girl who's always the second choice. Heh, I suppose I really am her, then, huh? Since she played that other guy well enough. But I still had eyes for another. I didn't know he wasn't coming. Not when I was on that stage, giving my all, trying to see those familiar faces in the pockets of people that did come to watch. Not when I sang my heart out to reach the heavens for apology, and certainly not when the curtains finally closed and I ran into the throng of people. It hurt. Not just a mental pain either. Of all the people I contacted, I never once doubted he was coming. That calloused hand gripped me tight and crushed my ribs in, piercing my oh so fragile heart. The saddest part? I read his text in the changing area, while waiting for my next bit. "Sorry I couldn't come," he said. "Really busy today," he said. "Maybe next time," it read. I almost didn't make it out of that stupid goddamn changing room in time. Bah what bullshit. I almost didn't complete my role, for a /boy/! Bull fucking shit. That was beautiful, they all told me afterwards. So many of the crowd thought you were the main lead! Your voice was so moving. Over and over and over as if rubbing it into my face that I wasn't. Worth. Watching. But I sucked it up. Smiled wide and grinned and screamed and laughed. As if to say, "ha! Did you hear that! I was fucking wonderful! I was amazing! I-" I started to cry the moment the makeup was off. Alone in my room, a bouquet of roses in my hands, the soft dress on my bed. It was nothing, because I couldn't show you how pround I was. And I was proud. I was! I overcame my stage fright, didn't I? I put up with the disastrous director, didn't I? I somehow managed to accept the fact that I didn't get the lead! I did it to show you I can. And you weren't there. The days before that date was just a bunch of late nights and exhausting days. I had a screaming match with the director because she was not treating us fairly. Not much of a story behind that. So, yes. My eighteenth birthday is essentially a despedida party for those people who no longer want my company. I promised myself that afterward, if they no longer reached out, I won't cry. If you no longer reach out, I won't care. Mm anyway. On a little less depressing matter, and something not at all surprising, my lovelife. I met a guy, off the Whisper app. No more codenames, his name's Jonathan. He's sweets and wonderful and kind, and knows exactly how to talk me out of these depressive moods. He's significantly older (seven years - shut up, yes I know.) Lives in Texas, and is the most cynical, possessive, sweet and charming person I've met. Before you scold me for being stupid, I've seen his face. We VC'd seveeal times, and call each other at night. We talk everyday, and have been for around 7 months now. He's... Helping me. His cynicism is exactly what I need to help against my rose-tinted glasses. I guess those months of one word answers and distance helped, huh? I'm getting over you. Slowly, but surely. If you read this, M, I hope you won't tell my mom. I just wanted someplace to talk about my Sweets and not be afraid of her reaction. Please. That's all for now. Maybe an update for Christmas, xoxo Angel

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For my ex-almost.

[insp.]

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I Wish I Knew

I am a poet and writer, first and foremost. So it's only fitting that my poetry lands in my blog every other moment. Here's one I made today. Hope you like. It's titled, I wish I knew. I wish I knew I really do That I have been in love with you The way you talked And held my hand They way you wrote me a greeting In the sand I wish I knew I really do That I kinda do love you Not the way that siblings do The way that makes you feel like you flew With your eyes And your smile The way you hugged me when I was Really, really, tired I wish I knew I really do That you were in love with someone new That I was past; well now I do When you didn't once look back As I was walking away Y'know the look in your eyes was different today I wish... I knew I really do When you stopped replying The way you used to When I always got seenzoned And smiley zoned And "i-need-to-sleep"-zoned I guess... I kinda knew She holds your heart now So I won't pursue I'm just a friend Who's... Happy for you And now I leave With a final bow Because in my heart I guess I knew That I had always Loved you too

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Hope and Hopeplessness

So hey. I'm back. Ish. I'm not sure what I need to say right now honestly. Maybe that I'm slow. Or that I need to get my head fixed. I just feel... Numb. Is that a feeling? Numb? Honestly I am just so tired of my heart and my mind and my body so at odds with each other. I'm tearing myself apart because of it. Still with me? Okay. Between about April 20 something and today I realized one thing that is probably what hurts the most right now. You can about guess what it is. You all remember poet? Well I think... I think I finally realized how I felt. And I can almost hear you guys yelling at me and I'm sorry and I know its far, far too late for anything. And that's why it hurts. A few weeks prior my highschool publication decided that they were going to have this sort of... Alumni callback thingy that I wanted to go to. I wanted to go. Honestly. But I didn't. I didn't because it hurts. Fast forward to two, maybe three weeks ago. Someone special to me messaged me and told me that I could come watch his play. True to my masochistic form, I agreed. I agreed and it hurts. A friend of mine told me he had moved on. It was why I was trying to cut off our connections, really. So he could move on. And... Eventually I believed them. I was a complete uptight downright selfish bitch to him and he... Well he deserved better. Ugh I'm getting so cliché. Moving on. I thought of him first. When I found out something interesting. When I was hurt. When I needed someone to talk to at 3am and wanted to cut myself and needed someone to tell me to 'please, please stop. You're important to me. Please stop.' I don't have that anymore. I lost him because I didn't know. Now that I do, it's kind of... I guess you could say I got karma-slapped. Ha ha. Yeah. I'm in love with him. There. I said it. I didn't go to the alumni homecoming thing because I felt that if I did... If I did I would only end up crying again. I was right about that, obviously, since I'm curled up in my bed sobbing quietly right now. He was in my arms tonight. I hugged him. I wanted him to hug my broken pieces back together. For a moment, he did. And all felt well. Until... It didn't. Because when I got to the car I wanted to run back again and again. I wanted a hug. But I could never have that again, because I was given a chance, and I missed it completely. So yes. I'm slow. I'm slow as fuck. I'm slower than a turtle in a snowstorm with slugs strapped to his feet. But how could I love someone when I can't even love myself? But I did. And I had. And it's gone. I've had him in the deepest pits of my thoughts since the last time I saw him. And that should've really tipped me off. I guess we have that in common now, Sam. You asked me why I didn't go. I didn't go because I knew I would see you. I didn't go because I knew, I just knew, in my deepest heart of hearts, that I would see you, and that look would be gone from your eyes, and I would be left broken. Shattered. An angel with her wings ripped out. I knew coming to see you was a mistake. Simply because I would only hurt myself. I didn't regret those hugs. Not one bit. But I regret pouring lemon juice in my wounds that I only just tried to heal. They're open tonight, Sam. But you're no longer mine to monopolize. Safe to say, you're no longer my Poet anymore. I hope she keeps you happy, because I can't watch you two. I hope she wipes your tears, and knows when to take a joke, and that she understands the stupid jokes you make, and smiles when she thinks of you. I hope she keeps you warm, and keeps you from ever feeling the way I do right now. I guess that's why Christina Perri's Distance makes me sob. Because I have to keep my distance now. Especially when I say I love you. That's today's update. That's Angel's Hope and Hopelessness. I have to go drown myself now.

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It's been more than enough time, and I think I needed to put this here just because.

16. One Last Time I don't wanna think of it as the last time, because I'll always be here (you know that) but it was the last time we saw each other. And it was where we met to boot. Let me tell you, kiddo, I missed talking with you. And we may have slightly injured our feet by walking for god knows how long, but it was one of the nicest things we've done yet. It was glorious.

17. The Day You Didn't Need Me Anymore I was expecting this. Really. I was. I was just surprised you didn't tell me earlier, because I was kinda hoping you'd randomly message me out of nowhere again. I guess that's what hurt? That expectation. It sucks that I lost my guy friend that way. You weren't my bestfriend, because you were more than a bestfriend. I am confusing. I know. I miss you.

Silence kills. Just sayin'.

(Updated: December 2015)

A Few Great Instances

Hooray for Poet! You’re a graduate! PARTY TIME!! =D

Yeah, that was exciting. The surreal feeling of looking forward and seeing that I don’t got the shackles no more. It was nice, having the people act like a temporary paparazzi, snapping the pictures all they can, just to capture the moment. 

But, actually, my mind was on something else other than the flashing lights and happy tears.

It was actually on her. 

It was a great feeling when the photos were raining down and I found her friendly face in the sea of lights.

I never actually got to make the moment last because the family had planned something for the day.

SO WHAT DID POET DO?

Poet hugged her. Poet hugged her as tight as he possibly can. He held on for as long as he could hold on because he hated the idea of leaving so soon.

And now, she made out a list for all the things we did that meant a great deal to her. 

Now I HAVE to respond now, don’t I?

In honor of those 14 things you and I do so well. Here’s 15 times that those things showed up.

So here is, in no particular order, 15 great instances.

Keep reading

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Would you look at that. I can /almost/ do the Prongs. Ayyyooo hahaha.

James Potter “Prongs” Theme/Sound: Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys // What You Know - Two Door Cinema Club

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“Not Harry! Please, no, not Harry! I’ll do anything!”

Dark Times: Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

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Just... W H Y

Hagrid: Sirius… 

Sirius: Lily? H-Harry!? Oh my god, Hagrid! WHERE ARE THEY!? 

Hagrid: Lily’s gone Sirius…

Dark Times: Part III 

(( OOC: Quick note: In my head, I pictured The Order being held up and/or distracted by Death Eaters… hence Sirius covered in blood. Also… I don’t have a beard… sorry… no Hagrid. :P ))

Part I

Part II

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

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Because everyone needs an owie today.

The painful part. //made with the Wattpad Covers app

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Getting Out Of Hand

More than a month has passed since I had been brutally let down. It’s kind of fitting, in a strange way, that I end my despairs with the heartache to end all heartaches.

I hate myself.

The kind of hate that makes me stay up at odd hours of the morning curled up and half-soaked from tears. The kind of hate that makes my fingers twitch to scratch and claw and open my wounds. The kind that destroys anything and everything.

The kind that’s too debilitating.

As I write this, I am once again near tears. As I write this, I remember his face and how he could’ve done better. How I could have done better. As I write this the hairs on my body stand on end and never ending shivers wrack my frame.

I guess it’s true. You can’t actually have friendships with  who destroyed you. It’s quite impossible to act like every little damn thing doesn’t upset you. 

I think I’ve said this before. I’ll say it again, anyway.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of being everyone‘s agony aunt - slash - nose rag. I’m tired of trying to pretend I’m not broken down and weary to the bone. I’m tired of pretending for my mom’s sake. I’m tired of doing my best at everything and being berated for never being good enough. I’m tired of everyone judging me by what I look like outside, not liking me because I act a little bit stranger or a tad bit too rough for a girl my age. I’m tired of not being enough, and being too much.

When can I be just right?

All I know is, I’m laying off the boys crap I’ve dug myself into. A heartbreak that matches and surpasses my first and nearly bowls me over was all the information I needed that guys are complete jerks. No suitors, no smiling at boys, no daydreaming.

It’s all gonna end in heartbreak anyway.

I’m not Supergirl. I’m never gonna be indestructible. I am way too human and way too breakable, and too far gone to be of any use. You hear that? There’s no chance for you. Give up. Just give up before it’s far too late for anyone to pull you out of the void.

If you need me I’ll be in the darkest depths of it.

Angel.

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14 Things.

Before we begin with my sappy life’s story as we all know it, I’d first like to congratulate all the graduates who have completed a life’s chapter. Congratulations! You may have had to burn through the patience of a saint, but you did it.

You

did it! And that’s more than enough reason to go and party.

I am very, very proud of you.

With that out of the way, let me now start my rant blog about many things I wish more people read. (Or less people, depending on my mood.)

We all know I take things to heart a lot. Especially the things that really shouldn’t hurt me as much as they do. I mean, let’s face it: I’m just as impaired as the best of them. Difference is, I keep falling way too hard and fast, and that I’m selfish to the point of retardation.

BUUUUUUUUT!

Read More

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Flying Too High (And Other Disturbing Nonsense)

Yes, hello. it's been awhile, hasn't it? I've ah... thought you were busy.//I'm never gonna get this out, huh?

I think... I'm pretty tired. Of many things. Everything.

//See, there's this guy. [how shallow of me.] and.. I don't know, when he texts me sometimes I get pretty annoyed, and alternately melty inside. I guess I've got a mental disorder or something. I don't know, Multiple Personality? maybe. I don't know.\\

Am I being cryptic? I'm sorry. But please, whatever happens, don't blame yourself. It was me.

It was always me.

//I'm being unfair to him, I know. But... I suppose it became normal for me to be -um, what's a good word?- catlike to anyone who gets close to me. I am in fact a moody bastard. And it's wrong. But it's me.\\

I'm tired of pretending I'm happy.These past few months? The truth is that I really don't have friends. People hang around me because they have to. Because they think I'm a cute toy they can play with. Because... I don't know, I guess I'm pretty much useless in any other department.

//I suppose I should tell him, shouldn't I? He has a right to know. Right? But I'm afraid of hurting people. I'm scared of losing more people. I'm horrified of pushing people away until... I'm alone in the darkness.\\

The other night I found myself contemplating death and its many necessities and consequences. Last night after dinner I was washing up, and I was dragging a finger against the sharp edge of a dinner knife.

Not very sharp. (I don't know if I'm talking about me or the blade.) I know for a fact I'm not going to kill myself though. I'm too much of a wimp.

//Before you ask, no. I'm not talking about you. He probably doesn't even read my blog.\\

I... want to live happy.

Yes. Happy. I didn't mistype anything. I just want to let go of... everything. I'm much too cowardly to do anything. Much too dull to be interesting. I have a voice the world would probably never hear. I write, yes. The crappiest bull anyone will never see.

Am I happy? No.

I finished The Kane Chronicles in three days. And I guess my sheut, or shadow, isn't very big. Or else I would probably be less iffy about life.

//Countless times I've given up. I read to forget, after all. And I've read thousands upon millions of words, hundreds upon thousands of paragraphs, and tens of a hundred books. I've forgotten nothing. Really, what does that say about me?\\

I hope whoever might read this will think that I'm joking even if I'm not. I hope that even if you do think it's a big joke, even if you think that I'm not pretend-happy, you find a way to help.

Not me. Oh, never me. I kind of deserve it. But the others. The ones who cut themselves.The one's who drown themselves in alcohol. Those who cry and scream into their pillows at night. The ones whose pain is buried under a guise of a smile. Ones who are so close to giving up.

Help them. They need you.

And if the one reading this is one of those people. I love you. You may be a stranger. We may be a world apart. And I don't care. I love you. Please, don't make me lose another person I love.

As for me... well, don't worry about me. I'm not going to hurt myself anytime soon.

I just want to know if I'll be missed when I'm gone.

Sleep the sleep of the innocent. Angel~

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I just died with the bread knife

The Fandom That Lived 

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masterpost for writers creating their own worlds, or even just characters

names that have specific meanings

meanings of any names

popular baby names

upper class names

common last names

fancy last names

aristocratic/royal names

random name generator

random place name generator

list of latin words

english to latin translator

english to greek translat

or

greek mythology database

the culture of ancient rome

list of legendary creatures

fantasy name generator

feel free to add in any links!

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“Sorry kid, but you’re my puppet now!”

did someone say demonically possessed twelve year olds…… I’m here for this……

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A Thing About Eyes

I think I have found out what is wrong with me. The boys I've gone out with all noticed one thing with my preferences: I like boys with glasses. True enough, I guess. But it doesn't mean that if you're a guy with glasses and I've seen you, you're my new crush. It isn't as simple as that. Or as complicated. Veering slightly off topic here, I'll just put in this afternoon's thoughts: when asked to describe love, people have differing thoughts. In books I've read, they're usually separated into two piles: the Let Goers, and the Mine Forevers. The names are pretty straight forward, and also pretty blunt, but I'll expand on it. The Let Goers are the ones who believe in the saying, "If you love something, let it go." "...set it free" is another, but basically the same, saying. Let Goers often love you so much, they would watch you from afar with the one you 'love'. They pine for you, but also studiously ignore their own pain, forsaking it for your happiness. For the other readers out there, it's like Lucian Graymark's love for Clary's mom, Jocelyn Fairchild. He stood by for years with her, as she fell for Valentine Morgenstern, and was even happy when they got married. He loved her so much, he was happy just at her own happiness. Hell, she /was/ his happiness. And then there are the Mine Forevers. MFs typically believe in the opposite of the LGs. In that, if you love something, you fight tooth and nail, blood and fuckin' guts for them. Pardon my french. LGs usually see this as a ridiculous amount of possesiveness. They tend to be overbearing towards the people they love, fussing and freaking over the littlest things. In the same comparison as the above, it is like Jace Wayland and Clary Fairchild's relationship. Hell, they thought they were siblings and yet they still pushed. It's the kind of love that says, "I'm not with you. I'm right beside you. I'm not in a relationship with you, but you sure as shit won't have a relationship with anyone else." Again, pardon my french. Find the latter a major turn on? So do I. I guess. I mean, I like a little bit of freedom of course. And usually possesiveness grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Actually, I've yet to see a guy whose possesiveness makes my skin crawl. But if you think about it, if you really DO like the other person, all the things you usually hated in previous relationships will make you giddy and airheaded with them. But a little bit of possesiveness don't hurt novody, and when your S.O. lets you run rampant without a single wince... well, that has a world of meaning on its own, doesn't it? Maybe that's why I can't really look people in the eye. Well, people I like, anyway. I'm neither of those. I'm an in-betweener. A middle man. Choice D: None Of The Above. That doesn't really connect does it? But it does. See, when I get to know people, instictively my heart knows. 'This guy's a MF' or 'That girl's totally LG material.' And when I've figured you out, and you aren't like me, I do my damn hardest to make sure you never figure me out. Eyes are the windows to the soul. And so? Maybe you're thinking, Gods, I knew that already. Skip please! But no. You can't skip. Not this time. I don't let you see my eyes, because then you might see how fucked up I am. How I'm a perverted little idiot in a little angel's dress. Or how I've hated things one moment, and loved it the next. How I'm just a self-centered little bitch who can't solve her own problems. I don't know what you'll find, but I do know you'll see I'm fucked up in there. My mood swings are constant, my mood an ever-changing maelstrom of emotion. And if you saw that, you'd run. I guess that's what I've been trying to do. Keep everyone from running. But in that, I just pushed everyone away. My eyes are an even worse monstrous black than I've imagined. I guess that's why I have a fetish for eyes. Not in the sense that disembodied eyes turn me on, because that's just freaking disgusting. What do I look like, a maniac? No. I like eyes. Striking, deep blue eyes that jump at you from a picture. Dark, tortured brown eyes that hint at secrets behind the veil of a smile. Green eyes covered by the pain of a lost love. That sort of thing. I like eyes. Not the glasses themselves, but eyes. If you think that last word wouldn't have been Italicized and underlined like crazy if I possibly could, you're mad. As is always the ticket with me, I have a load of pictures of the person in my heart at the moment. And of course the ever-present well-known figure with striking eyes. Nash Grier, for instance, has the most utterly gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen so far. WeeklyChris, as well, has a stunning pair of blinkers. I'm not stupid. I know they'd never see me as that, as anything more than a spectator to the twinkling balls of gas up above. But, God, those /eyes/...! It wasn't the glasses that attracted me to you, honey. It was the secret you hid behind them, a secret I wanted to find. A secret I wanted you to share. A secret that made me part of your world. Maybe it was presumptuous of me to think that you'd share those secrets with me. Presumptuous and a tad bit assuming. But I maybe feel like I have no soul, and wanted you to share yours. Well, if that ain't fucking deep. I'm using a lot of bad french today. Please excuse me. I hated that you didn't hold me like I'd go away somewhere without you. I'd absolutely despised that you fell down at my slightest displeasure. Hated that you never got mad at me for being stupid, or jealous, or petty, because I am those things. I am those things and more. I always hated how you couldn't see I was dying inside. You never saw, but maybe that was my fault as well. I never let you look into my eyes. My eyes that held the tears I'd so desperately held in. I hated that I needed you to see. I hated how you couldn't tell me I was going too far, or doing too little, or not doing enough, or being too anxious. I hated that you couldn't just /tell me/ these things. You never got mad that I didn't do anything for you, either. Never told me if you wanted anything from me, because I know I'm hideously lacking. I hated that you never told me I made you weak, never told me I was just a burden, never made me fight for you. Never proved my love. I hate how you never made our fight happen. I hated how you just let me treat you like that and not say a word. Talk to me! I'm right here, damn it! /Talk to me!/ That, folks, is most of the hurt I've held onto for the past four years or so. It isn't complete - I know it isn't, somehow - but those are the ones I see in my heart at the moment. It's all for the boys who went in and walked over to the exit. My exes. It's a mix, a jumble, so it wouldn't surprise me if the one it was meant for can't understand the rest. I've said my piece, and I'm tired. Tired of lying to myself, that I'm not fucked up inside. I am, and I know that. So I'm sorry I didn't come with a warning. Nothing ever does. ~Angel~

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The Song Of The Fallen

I call myself Angel for a reason. Yes, it isn't a very... rational reason. And no, I'm not being a narcissistic bitch. If you think about it, and look very closely to all I say and post, I am a fallen. Wings are something I lack, and I will never fly. And along with that, I also do not have a heart. The reason why is because I found out about the angel Miniel, which, if you know me, you'd understand why. Miniel is an angel of love, bringing compassion from a frigid heart. I have no idea why, but I keep finding that name in witchcraft books. Which is friggin weird yet strangely appropriate. Another reason? It's ridiculously ironic. I call myself angel, when I am far from one. The blog's name itself are things I seem to not have. I don't have wings. I cannot fly. I cannot love. Well, not the right way at least. Okay, there's a reason my post is super duper depressing as well. But right now nobody really needs to know that. Instead, I'll write about how my relationships came and went, and you are free to let the hate flow through you. When I started highschool, I fancied myself mature enough to handle everything. Classes, obnoxious teachers, annoying classmates, typical highschool drama. I fancied myself too ugly to be loved, too little to be looked up to, too average to notice (I say average when I really mean ugly), and basically, too young for anyone to take me seriously. Turns out, I was too young to judge myself. First year, I was a little judgemental sonovatwat. First look in class and I'm already all, "Geez. Nobody worth crushing on here." Also, I was apparently very shallow. So anyway we start to play a game, and this game requires you to grasp hands with the person sitting across from you. A boy is across from me, and we blush when they tell us the mechanics, but he offers me a smile before I take his hand. In the end, I took back my words and smiled at him as well, and in a few days I have a crush. A few more and I find out he's crushing on me. And goddamnit if he isn't the sweetest little weirdo (I use the term affectionately, as the term weirdo doesn't really bother either of us anymore.) I have ever met. Alas, in a few more days another boy is lost in the abyss. His heart stolen, his mind infiltrated. I had no idea what was happening at the time, until a couple of friends of mine intervene and tell me about it. Weirdo and I have come to a mutual understanding at this point, and I am confused. The boy pursues, and I cannot make a decision. It's days later that I drop Weirdo like a hot stone and hang with my suitor. Ish. Thing. The guy. Whatever, you know what I mean. It wasn't that I didn't care what happened to Weirdo. I still did. I just somehow lost my affection for him. I'll expound on it in a bit. Sawyer asks me out, and for lack of a better description on how I handled everything, I panicked and jumped the gun. I said yes. We got together, blah blah blah. Hell, I didn't really know the guy very well that time. I was scared of what would happen if I'd have said no. Scared until now. I am absolutely terrified of denying someone something in my power to grant them. Long story short, he left to another country and I was left lonely and smarting. The next part is where you can let the hate flow freely because I honestly hate myself for it now. He was gone for the duration of my second and third year. Somewhere in the middle of the second and last term, Weirdo tells me he hasn't let up. And whoop dee doo, (insert derogatory term for whatever the hell I became then)!Angel jumps ship again. I tried to resist, but apparently I am not good at resisting. No, not apparently. We all know by now that I cannot deny someone the simple pleasure of getting something which is in my power to give. And so Weirdo gets his chance, and we shoot light up propellers into the sky as we laughed and danced and sang in the dark rain. Months later I tell him I'm sorry. Big fight. Derogatory bombs thrown. End of term. Third year had a boy staring all gung-ho at one of my then-closest friends, Virgo. She has a lovely voice, and the boy, Flynn? Well, he falls for anyone with a beautiful face and a lovely voice. Not bragging, that is what people tell me. One time me, Flynn, Gus, and another person (I won't really use that person here a lot anyway so whatever) were hanging out, and I start to sing. Long story short, Virgo is now out of the running. Because of that, Flynn now keeps an eye out for me. We lose contact for a while, I meet and get to know Dylan (ah, what the hell, I keep losing track of the names I'm using here so I'm using a name in the MR series) then suddenly, Junior Prom. You guys all know the drama that unfolded in jp. The crying, the Mason!date, the dance with everyone til I feel less like shit, that arc? It's missing a few pieces. I danced with a lot of people by the end of the night. But a couple of hours previous I was crying like a little bitch to basically anyone who would listen. Mason being the obvious sore ear after. The balcony holds so many on my tears and memories I'm scared it would collapse if I just go there. So we go in, and I dance til my feet are sore, and I kiss a Weirdo. Yep. Kiss a Weirdo. We were hanging out since a while back and he slowly got over it. So by the end of the night I am in his arms slow dancing like a fool and trying to let go. (Of my problems, that is, not of Weirdo.) He bends down a little (because we all know I am hoplessly short, even in heels) and tells me it would all be perfect now, if only for one thing. Now, don't tell me I read too much into that because he laid his forehead on mine as he said this, and was slowly leaning down. And so, a kiss happened. Of course I am guilty right after and want to run away to the balcony because there are too many memories and my eyes burn like crap and I don't want to look like crap. But I don't, because it will hurt him. Instead I smile and continue to dance, content with the fact that even if I feel like I'd never be happy again, I at least made someone's night. Now you might think that that would've been the worst decision I'd ever made. It's quite the opposite, actually. I'm glad I kissed him that night. I'm glad I didn't just lay at home, crying like a wimp. Because the both of us needed that, and that kiss held all the 'I'm sorry's and 'please forgive me's that we wanted to say to each other. It was our closure. Flynn contacts me days after. We get to talking. Relationship, then not. Mutual understanding, then not. He is the one person who knows what dream dates I had in my head, and back then I was his golden-haired Rapunzel. I wasn't over the fact that Sawyer broke it off. I still dreamt of it some nights. So I told him. And we were gone. Dylan and I gradually gravitate towards each other as only two people who can hold a conversation completely nade of parentheses can. This whole paragraph happens in the course of the summer between third and fourth year. We weren't by the middle of senior year. Me and Ray happened almost after. It was a confusing (and slightly pedophilic in my classmates' eyes) couple of months. It was fun while it lasted, but then he tells me he's going to the same country Sawyer went and I break. Around the time me and Ray were, I find out Dylan likes me. It was also around this time that Dan and I were getting close. During Intrams, he was one of the people hiding me from a freakishly weird pony-loving absolute creep. We were seriously running in the halls, parkour-ing over the desk traffic in the third year hallway. Dylan helped a lot, too. One thing I loved about that day was how I pulled Dylan's way-too-big tee over my head and my hair under my SNK cap and voila! no more visible angel. *smirks deviously* Progressively growing, I got to know both boys as fast as time passed by. I got to know Dan faster because we spent 7 hours of each day of our lives in a room full of noisy twats-er..., I mean pre-adolescents. Now, Dan visits every Wednesday if he gets the chance. And Dylan and I spend every moment we find free in a mall just running around freely. Now I have a dilemma. Dan and Dyl are both trying to win my affection. And I know I shoukd let the other out of his misery. But I can't. And here's why: Like all the other times before, I have points and days when I lose affection for people. Maybe I'm bipolar. Maybe I'm a freaking psycho and I don't realize it. Or something. But some days I hate talking to him and absolutely loathe having to talk to him to the point that I start making excuses to not, and those days I can talk to Dyl about everything and anything under the sun without so much as a twitch. Other days I find myself loathing and getting more aggravated by each patrenthesis typed in after a colon, and my intense glare softens at the text reading so sweet my atomach feels weird just reading it. And some days are just neutral between the two. Christ, am I warped or what? The irony doesn't escape me that the name Miniel - so close to my own - refers to an angel of love when I can barely stand on my own against these boys who both call me their angel. Am I really? Am I really any one of your angels? For one of you, I'm not. I'm just a hurdle you have to get through. A hurdle that's trying to get past you, too. Maybe both of you are just hurdles. Maybe one of you was a glitch in the matrix. All I know is, I can't be anyone's angel when all I have are clipped wings and a collection of broken hearts. Only My Heart Was Harmed in the Making of This Post. ~Angel