Maybe you've experienced this problem. Perhaps, I have found the right words for you as well.
I miss everything about writing. Words used to flow through my mind; phrases, ideas, thoughts. It only took my understanding of the English language to form those thoughts into a coherent passage. But, like any old hobby kept out of practice, it slowly began to fade. As soon as Time insisted on being in the hands of social media and the teenage lifestyle, my passion sank in priority. Years of cultivating the art of writing suddenly seemed to vanish from my life.
I had experienced this shutdown before, when Time once again took my love of reading. Hundreds of books lined my shelves, proof of the numerous hours spent dedicated to literature. Still now, they beckon me to retract from this period of abandonment I've found myself in. And yet I am fearful, fearful to heed their call. That if I were to open a novel, I wouldn't experience the same attachment that I had with books years ago. That I wouldn't immediately seep into the pages, barely conscious of my own surroundings, and experience the story first hand, like I could make possible before. I am afraid of disappointment.
Of course, both reading and writing are extremely rewarding. Perhaps not for every reader of my words, but for myself, and that kind of gratification creates a life-long impact, and an increasing determination to continue forward. It's an addiction, to say the least. Once begun, it becomes almost impossible to stop.
And the words have found their place, to truly justify how I feel.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
I never post about significant others. Mostly because I don't enjoy reading other hopeless romantics' blog posts about their love life, so I don't bore you with mine.
But tonight was a hard night.
The only boy I have ever really loved with my whole heart, I loved for a long time. I guess I still do, even though nothing can happen, or ever should. Two whole years of my life spent with my energy focused on him, and I could never imagine anyone else in my life. He was the one I would die for.
He's finishing his last year of high school. I always looked forward to the day where maybe, he would ask me to a dance. Or if perhaps, I mustered up the courage to ask him. We both wanted to go to one together. He's never been to a girls choice dance. I could be his first.
Finally, after miscommunication with previous dances throughout the year, prom season rolled around and I was dropping hints. Hoping he would pick them up. Unfortunately things just didn't come together like I had wanted.. I was banking on one dance. Morp. I was a little bit behind the curve and asked him today, excited.
He called me and asked if he could talk to me outside. So I met him in the neighborhood like we used to often, and play in the rain.
He had already been asked. By a good friend, but still. My heart dropped. It sank to my feet, and fell through the ground I stood upon. I knew something like this would happen. The last dance of the year, HIS last dance of high school, and I couldn't share it with him.
He offered to take me on a date to make it up to me. But it isn't the same. I walked back home not knowing how to react. Silence muffled every footstep.
*It's hard seeing someone you loved so much, get up and move along from the life that you were a part of.
as told by Emily Brown at 11:10 PM