I’m stoned.

I need to write this essay.

I really want to take pictures.

My Flickr is almost too full.

I want to order clothes.

I miss my Facebook.

I really fucking miss him. I don’t know what to do. But I’m pretty sure he actually will love me, and will be there in 2 years.

Talked to him until 2 this morning. I just want it to go away.

But on the plus side, I was high and decided to put a single dread hidden in my hair. I have high hopes for this little strand.

And I think weed is getting to me, and turning me into a nature-loving hippy. I’ve been dying to climb mountains, have sex and smoke with a loved one, watching a fucking sunrise. It’s weirddd.

I haven’t been on tumblr in forever, and I want to start writing my feelings out again. I’m still in love with the boy I used to write about. And he’s finally in love with me. No, I didn’t wait around, I saw men who I thought cared. But this guy has given up a lot for me. We still risk so much being together but I love him. I really do. I remember every detail of how we met and acted that year, even if he doesn’t. Thats fine with me though. Because he loves me, and hasn’t loved a girl since his first love 5 years ago. Friends have come in gone, and drama has been consistent. But thats what I get for being in highschool, right?

Today the storm gained speed over Norway lake and we raced back to the high school to pick up Jonny and Ryan. They weren’t ready. Rain screamed down from the heavens and body slammed the steel machinery. The sky was a gorgeous gray, black and white mixture. I reminded me of watercolors. And right near the telephone lines, there was a small but bold glow of light rose. The wind embraced us and left. I felt so happy in that empty lot.

It makes me appreicate life more. A childhood friend was murdered and no one told me until a few days ago. It was gang-related and happened back in Brockton. So, so sad. She was beautiful. It’s not right to live in such a hard place. I’m glad I got out, but you haven’t.

Standing on the 2 story deck of a rich man’s residence, I realize that life really is too short. The fog is so visible you can see it move in with a speed of high winds. Hundreds of people are lounging, climbing and tanning on the white hot sand. Life is too short to worry about failing romances and dwindling inspiration. I was reminded this again reading a National Geographic magazine where a woman who lived to be over 100 years of age, said the secret of a long life is not to worry. I’m not going to do that over pointless things any longer. I’ll worry about grades, art and my health. Nothing more.

I don’t want to have to deal with more drama and more fighting then I all ready have to. I don’t want to miss you every fucking day again. I don’t want to have to just ‘deal’ with you leaving us. I don’t think it’s for the better.

I tried. I took sleeping pills as well. Nothing worked. All I could think about was this flashback I got today.

When I moved to Maine from Massachusetts, I only had to finish a month or so in 5th grade. I met a girl named Summer. We hit it off so well. She moved the following year, I think to Augusta or something, but I know we could’ve been best friends. I remember one time we were sitting on the bus and talking about everything. Summer brought up his name. She said to just stay away from him. He’s weird and I don’t trust him. We never talked about him again.

About a year and a half later I get raped by him.

I know she was too, now.

I got my fifth Polaroid camera today.

But Dad just HAD to expose it so the pictuers came out fucked.

It’s weird how I’m fascinated by the very extistence of you. I know I might get hurt. Shit, I will get hurt in this. But I’m risking it again. I’ve never in my life been afraid to be with someone. And I am with you. With your reputation and the age difference it’s way too much. But I love the things you’ve done so soon. Just holding my Dew and saying “Just relax, I got it.” just made me feel loved in some stupid way. They way you lit you cigarette off mine, and just looked so deeply at me while doing it. They way you were the one to realize there were stars out when we were laying on the grass behind the fair. And how you’d “steal a kiss from me” and yell A-Ha! to the people below like you made some major accomplishment. They way you were in your room were you’d say something stupid, and I’d pretend to leave and you held on tight. Then let me go, so I always came back. And how you kept on bitching that you wanted me to stay the night. And how you kept on saying “Stop bdeing so fucking cute. I can’t hold back much longer. Stop it!”. And how’d you constantly just kiss me lightly all over my face and shoulders. How you held my hand in the car, and how you look so sad when I get out of the car. Like some part of you just died. And I can’t believe you almost got in a car crash with my fucking Dad.

I love comedy. Really, I do. But I can’t stand how black, yes this is about race for a sec, comedians blame everything on “the white man”. You’re in poverty and in the projects because you don’t have a good job and you’ve made bad choices. It’s not any white guy’s fault. Now, I’m not racist. However, it gets really old when other races and minorities make judgements on whites and whites cannot retaliate because they would be labled racist. Not everything bad that happens to a black person is a direct fault of a white man. I was watching Chris Rock’s special on Comedy Central and I had to come downstairs and rant. Stop bitching about how it’s “whities” fault that you don’t have a job, or you knocked up 2 or 3 different girls. That’s not my fault. And it’s not any rich honkey’s fault either. It’s yours.

Sorry about that. Had to vent a bit. Also, what’s up with the stereotype that all white men talk like nasal-y egotistical old British men?