"It's 11:11," he said, "make a wish." I closed my eyes, made my wish, and opened them again with a sigh. "Do you really believe in 11:11 wishes?" he asked me, for that is so unlike me. "Yes," I answered, "I had one come true once." "So did I," he confessed. "What was it?" I asked, mine was so embarrassing. "She's right in front of me."
I WAS ALWAYS AN UNUSUAL GIRL, MY MOTHER TOLD ME I HAD A CHAMELEON SOUL. NO MORAL COMPASS POINTING ME DUE NORTH, NO FIXED PERSONALITY. JUST AN INNER INDECISIVINESS THAT WAS AS WIDE AND AS WAVERING AS THE OCEAN. AND IF I SAID I DIDN’T PLAN FOR IT TO TURN OUT THIS WAY I’D BE LYING- BECAUSE I WAS BORN TO BE THE OTHER WOMAN. I BELONGED TO NO ONE- WHO BELONGED TO EVERYONE, WHO HAD NOTHING- WHO WANTED EVERYTHING WITH A FIRE FOR EVERY EXPERIENCE AND AN OBSESSION FOR FREEDOM THAT TERRIFIED ME TO THE POINT THAT I COULDN’T EVEN TALK ABOUT- AND PUSHED ME TO A NOMADIC POINT OF MADNESS THAT BOTH DAZZLED AND DIZZIED ME. EVERY NIGHT I USED TO PRAY THAT I’D FIND MY PEOPLE- AND FINALLY I DID- ON THE OPEN ROAD. WE HAD NOTHING TO LOSE, NOTHING TO GAIN, NOTHING WE DESIRED ANYMORE- EXCEPT TO MAKE OUR LIVES INTO A WORK OF ART.
I'm not bitter, I'm just over it. As in, I don't worry if your're going to text me back or not. And if you walk by without saying hi, my stomach won't sink. And like, if you don't talk to me after school I'm not going to throw a temper tantrum over it. But just the same, I'm not going to text you first thing every Saturday and Sunday morning. I'm not going to pick you up from work and then stay at your house until two in the morning. We aren't going to hang out like, five days a week anymore. And I'm okay with it. And as far as I know, you are too. Because you never were that good at communicating. I've been on my own with this. And for once I'm not going to worry about what everyone else wants. This, this is what I want.
I go to church for comfort. Because like, no matter what's changed in my life, or how hectic and chaotic everything seems, mass is still the same. Same responses, same standing, sitting, kneeling routine. Everyone gathering for a common purpose; I hate the purpose. I am not a practicing Catholic. I. Do. Not. "Believe." I observe, and go through the motions for one constant variable in my ever changing, ever illogical, ever fictional life.
Anyone can feel the ache, you think it's more than you can take. But you're stronger, stronger than you know. Don't you give up now, the sun will soon be shining. You gotta face the clouds to find a silver lining.
You make me crazy. Crazy mad or crazy in love, it depends on the day. There are the crazy mad days, when i scream and I swear and I tremble with anger, and I throw things at you, or I throw my phone at the ground, or I throw fists at the wall and at my pillow, and I tell you I'll never speak to you again, and that I mean it this time, but you don't believe me. Then there are the days when you make me fall in love with you all over again, passionate love, like the first time, like last year. When just looking at you makes me smile ear to ear, and hearing your voice, whether you sound dumb or not, makes me want to sing songs and when you say my name my heart skips beats, and how when we touch my blood flow increases and when we lay there, in each other's arms, I wish I could die, not in a sick, twisted, suicidal way, but in a happy, content sort of way. Like I know if I died right at that moment, I would die happy. And that is how I would be forever.