Peaks and Troughs...

The past two days have been the first time I haven't had to worry about work (much), or family.
I've been able to be myself, and have fun for myself.

Yes. I saw The HunchBack.
I spent the night with him... but that's not the only reason for my being ever so happy.

I met up with a few other people.
...and I loved their company.
Tuesday, I was treated to Pizza Express, a walk down South Bank, and I was taken to Tate Modern... which I was a bit disappointed by, there weren't so many things that caught my attention, and even then, there weren't many pieces that were interesting or could be interpreted in a fun way.
But, hey, I saw a hairy muff.
That's got to say something!

Alchi was absolutely lovely.
I genuinely enjoyed his company, and didn't have evil thoughts in my head.
Not like when I met up with KbW on Wednesday morning... I was regretting asking him to meet me.
It pissed me off that he was still trying it on, when I was crying into his shoulder.
Yea.

Oh, before I forget.
...because I will.
I saw a Chandler/Matthew Perry Look A Like.
I also saw Mme. Douglas.
She didn't know who I was.
She obviously hates me. I remembered on my way home that she used to give us a months' worth of work to do in one night.
I never used to do them well.

I also went to the o2...
Watched a movie, watched people, watched myself dance...
I really enjoyed myself.
Ma protegé was absolutely amazing. She reminds me of my younger self so much.
But, with self-belief, determination and a direction.

...and yes, seeing the HunchBack was beautiful.
We went for Maki, Ice Creams and a walk under the London Eye...
Even someone like me, who hates Romance, appreciated the beauty of being with someone you have feelings for in the middle of a buzzing crowd, music of so many different styles, people of diferent ages, walks of life etc... Yet, for the first time, you don't people watch.
You're so into what's going on with you.

I hardly slept.
Well, whenever I did finally manage to drift off, I'd feel him between my legs again.
I'm not complaining, though; it was Heaven.
For a few hours, I was free.
I had no neurotic thoughts, no worries, no doubts... I wasn't thinking in the past or the future.
I was just being in the moment.
...and I experienced that moment with Quasi.

We discussed what we'd name our child if I fell pregnant. We discussed what options I would have, and that we should run away and get married.
All nothing but talk...
But, for a girl like me, the butterflies in my tummy just wouldn't settle.
Resulting in my not being able to stomach breakfast.

I told him about my OD story.
...it took everything in me not to cry and break down in his arms.
He told me how he had faith in me, and how he saw big things in store, if only I put my enthusiasm and love into whatever I do.
I have friends who say I'm capable of grand things, but it's all a bit superficial when people say thigns like that.
Even if it is Kenan.
Maybe I'm wearing Rose Coloured Sparkly Shades, but Quasi's conviction seemed genuine and heartfelt.

I spent most of Wednesday weeping.
..because I realised I still had hope.

I called him when I got home, to let him know I wasn't abducted by aliens.
He was out grabbing a bite to eat, and said he'd call later.
He did.
I was half asleep.
He turned cold.

It doesn't help when people like Grumpster and Pop are upset that you forgot to even think of them.
...and they don't even want to hear your apology, they just want you to suffer.
Well, congratulations.

An incredible high ended with a sharp low.

Random Words.

Restless. Tears. Panic. Sleep. Memories. Itching. Gulping. Planning. Fretting.

Nytol. Music. Phone. Messages. Sweating.

Random Words.

Phone. Reminiscing. Frustration. Absence. Musiq SoulChild. Darkness.
Glow. Yawn. Hunger. Shorts. Legs. Hot. Sex. Deep. Regrets.
Gentleman. NeYo. Emotions. Exhaustion.
Goose Bumps. on. Breasts. Check? Deep. Tears.

All Work and No Play keeps Ness from Blogging

So, I've been working full time for five months.
Today, I've started my reduced hours.
It feels weird, and I haven't got anything done.
Considering I've got a back log of things to do, this really isn't a good thing.

The past five months have been strange.
I've had no break.
Working 14 hours a day, 7 days a week really is something that I wish everyone would experience.
You're always looking for your next break.
You forget about lunch and dinner, and instead fantasise about biscuits, carrots and other nibbles.
You pride yourself on being able to back up files on to an external hardrive, yet, you still avoid analysing those surveys that are now gathering dust.

It's strange.

You're organised, but things get past you.
Day to day things run so smoothly, when everything else is falling apart.
You can't remember which meeting's minutes you have to type up next, so you just leave them all in your to do pile.
...and when the pile gets too big, you shove it under your desk and create another pile.

Your life becomes work.
You don't sleep... for days, weeks, months.
You stop being awake.
You're in a constant state of fuzziness.

You get to work early so you can print off things ready for the day...
You busy yourself with your administrative tasks, and when the office, the fun begins.
The meetings.
Three hours a night of absolute PakiNess.
Doesn't matter what organisation, event, project it is.
It's the same faces, same catchphrases, same food.
Rice and Curry or Pizzas.
Some days if you're lucky, the hosts might forget and go for a mad dash in Tesco and you get cream doughnuts.
Nothing is ever done at these meetings.
They just need you to attend and waste away your hours.
This is how I spend my weeknights.

Apart from Fridays.
Fridays are Yoga Days.
I have my full lunch in the day time, and spend the day preparing for the strenuous routines that the instructor will put us through that evening.

I used to have Belly Dancing evenings, too.
But they were sacrificed, for my Islamic School Lessons.
Yes.
I teach at an Islamic School.
The very thoughts and ideas that I hate with a passion, I am feeding to children in KS1.
In my eyes, I am Evil.
In the school's eyes, I am Evil.

I remember the story about the Crow and the PeaCocks.
I am not a Crow.
...but I have to pretend.

Ah, the joys of working in the community.
I have become a well known face.
A much loved person - this I say without any cockiness at all.
It would be impossible to keep anything from the city, now.

Yet, there are only three people in the city who know of my well kept secret.
No, not about Quasimodo.
The other secret.
The dangerous one.
The religion secret.

Imagine how it would go down, now, if I came out clean?
Disaster.
I'd lose my fan base.

I really do have to be "good".
...so, this Islamic School stint is good.
It lets people think that I am a "good" girl.
So, what, I don't wear Hijaab, and I don't give my salaam to you every five minutes... I'm not a naughty girl, am I?

Sometimes, I wonder whether I could make it in the world of Thesbianism.
Is that even a word?
My eyes have been able to water at the drop of a hat.
My skin can become pale at my every whim.
My sorrow can be masked by my outgoing persona... and my bubbly persona can be erased with frowns and make-belief anger.
Could even the leading actors and actresses do the kind of shit that I come up with on a daily basis?
I think not.

Though, I think I need to practise more on how to act when dealing with emotions and attachment.
Yes.
Quasi's seen real tears, and real smiles.
He's heard real disappointment and real hopes.
Which is why I'm glad that we don't speak as much as we used to.

He's busy, and I'm busy.
We can never catch each other.
Which is good.
I can wean myself off him.

...but it's meant that I've not played or has an orgasm since the end of April.
I've now learnt the true meaning of Frustration.
I walk around with sopping panties almost everyday.
Thank Fuck that it's been warm enough to wear skirts.
The smallest thing sets me off, and all I can do is think about having Quasimodo between my legs again.
More often than not, I fear that I'll never experience it again.
...and I try my hardest to cling on to memories.
But, I'm a crazy bat with memory issues.

When you wake up in the middle of the night, and find your bullet on your belly, still vibrating, you experience a new kind of low.
Have things got so bad... so hectic... so pushed for time that you can't even start a Play Time without knocking out?

Popping Pills.

Is that where I find my solace?
At the bottom of a bottle of Piriton?
In the Packet of Nytol?

When things get hard, it seems I always reach for medicine.
"I've got itchy eyes"
"I'm having trouble sleeping"

I've been soo busy since I started full tiem work a month ago that I forgot about my tablets and potions.
...but tonight, I went back to Nytol.

It's 8pm.

What's the need for sleeping tablets at this hour?

Salman Khan has offered me an ear, and an analytic objective mind.
Why can't I take up his offer...?

...7 People I've lost this year...

to death.

My cousin, my uncle from Germany, Gurps, Nasiha, my eldest Khalu, the Littlest One and now Indy...

Cancer, a car accident, flames, suffocation, old age/kidney failure, appendicitis, meningitis....
They've all snatched someone away.
Fathers, sons, brothers, sisters, daughters... Friends.

I still can't help but be selfish, and think is it me that God's punishing?
...because I've decided that religion isn't for me?

I don't even know what to call it anymore...

Frustration?

Anger?

Despair?

Sorrow?



I thought, foolishly, I could get out of the house this weekend.

Go to Kenan's on Friday, then spend the night with Modo on Saturday...

In my excitement, I forgot about my parents hating me.



I didn't even have to ask them, to set them off.



Mum keeps asking why all of us like to stay alone in our rooms with the doors closed.

Why they've never had us around as their children.

...Well, when have they welcomed us? When have they been around us?



I want to move my cupoard...

...and I can't.

I just want to cry, but it's not going to move it.

...but there's no way I'm asking them for help.



I just want to cry.

Oxy Moron

Kenan once wrote a poem in Year 4.
"On. Off.
Black. White.
My bed shits are flying."
It was a poem about opposites, and apart from that spelling mistake, well actually that line, it describes me.

Outside: Switch On the smile, Switch Off the emotions.
Home: Switch On the tears, Switch Off everything else.
Everywhere is White, but my Home.

It's so easy to switch.
One minute you're strutting down the road, a spring in your step.
Every few minutes, someone compliments you, says hello... notices you.
You smile, you wave, you laugh.
You start conversations with strangers, you take pleasure in feeling the rain on your skin, you thank every driver when you cross, even though they're at red lights.
Your confidence and your ease with yourself, your environment and people is a beautiful sight.

You cross into the other realm.
You shut the front door, and like the mimes who can easily change a smile to a frown or vice versa, you tense up, the muscles on your forehead furrowed, tears prick your eyes.
You can hardly string sentences, and manage grunts and few words when spoken to.
Yours eyes lose their magic, and you hide them.

It's no wonder you love Oxymorons so much.
...you even chose to be called Oxim Oron on Facebook at one point.

Random Ramblings...

I hate it.
I hate that part.
Not the bit where you're being lulled to sleep, feeling safe to not have to tip toe around.
No, not those five, ten, on you're really good days twenty minutes where you think things might be going your way.
Not even the times when you feel so calm you could curl up and just bask in the warmth of your blissful state.

No.
I'm talking about the bit that comes after that.
That slap that stings.
The part that makes you wake up and realise.
The moment the tears spring back to your eyes, and that feeling washes over you.
That feeling.
A remix of Despair, Hopelessness, and Regret.

Regret for foolishly thinking everything was alright.

With everytime your eyes well up again, you wish there wasn't a next time.
...and everytime realisation dawns on you, you pray and you hope that you're not coaxed back into that false feeling of calm and peace.
Just so that it can be snatched away again.

Isn't it better to stay in one consistent way, than to keep getting happy only to be let down again.
What's that phrase?
Prevention is better than cure.
And ho-hum glum is better than disappointment.
...for me.

There's only so much disappointment one can take.

In the BottomLess Pit.

I woke up and thought there was a small rodent on my pillow.

No... just another clump of my hair.

Another thing to add to The Stress List.

Actually, there's another one.
My typing has gone really bad, as well as my sense of spelling.
I had to ask LittleOne how to spell graffiti last night, and I'm still having issues spelling it now.

How long can I carry on like this?
Only eating dates through the day, and then dinner with the family.
Staying my room, only coming out to eat dates, use the toilet or go to work.
Tearing up every few minutes, and then spending another 20 minutes trying to calm myself down.
Taking a mixture of Nytol, Piriton and Night Nurse at night, so I can knock out when my head hits the pillow and I don't have to think anymore.
Only speaking properly to LittleOne, and uttering the basics to the rest of the family.

I want to tidy my room.
...but I seem to end up curled up in my bed instead.

I washed my hair this morning.
It looks like I drowned it in chip fat, already.

I can't speak on the phone without that lump growing in my throat.

I can't go through with The Plan.
I cry everytime I think of it.

...Makes. Me. Wanna. Scream.

..or get back into bed..

The nightmares have started again.

Now it makes sense.
All those sleepless nights, being frightened of everything.
They come with stress.
..or worry..
or whatever it is the family make me feel...

It's ma soeur ainee's birthday today.
...and I'm meant to act happy, and all smiles.

Dad went and got her quite a nice cake.

It's weird.
He always waits for 12.36 to say Happy Birthday to her.
No one even remembers when I was born.
They celebrate her birthday 'cause they're happy.
They "celebrate" mine, because they think if they don't I'll get upset.

Apparently I taught Little One how to have mood swings.
No one sees that I taught him manners and how to do things for himself.
No one sees the effort I put in to teach him grammar and his time tables.
No one else answers his constant questioning with proper answers, no one takes out the time to find out about the sports he likes so that he can have a decent conversation.
No, they see me in his mood swings, they see me when he's being stubborn..

But do they see themselves in my anger, my violent behaviour, the destruction around me?
Can they not see who is behind the curses that leave my mouth?
Is it not them who taught me about aggression?

Father can't stand me.
At all.

I think he may hate me.

So, what's the point in even trying?

You clean the house, organise his papers.
You make him breakfast, coffee, bring him ice cold water in his decanter, file his feet and massage his legs...
You try your best to organise the household, you make doctors and dentist appointments, you arrange hospital appointments, you try and pick up the kids when you can...

...and he still thinks the other girls are precious, and you're just there to do their crap.

Step 1: Planning - Sorting out Finances.

If I put a pound in my ISA for every day I work, I will save £22 by the end of this year.
So, if I have a higher rate, I should save more.

If I keep doing this for four years (for the same amount of days worked per month), I could possibly save over £2,000.
Is that enough?

What about when my student loans come through?
How about putting £50 a month during each term?
That's about an extra £900 saved.

What if I worked extra?
Or, worked through holidays?
What if that Teaching Agency got me a few placements, and Amana pulled up their socks and had a consistent project running?
How much extra would I be able to put away?

Another few hundred?
That would get me over the £3,000 mark.

...and what about what I should have in my account anyway?
If in one year, over £5,000 can pass through my account, then over four years that would be £20,000.
Couldn't I spend less and save more?
Put a few pennies in the ISA every week?
Would that be enough?

Would it be sufficient for what I plan to do.
...or would it be wiser to wait an extra year?
A student living in London can get by on £6,000 a year.
Surely, I'd be alright with something around the £5,000 mark?
That would be enough, no?

How much is enough, though?
How much is enough for escaping?

Written on The Roof.

Droplets fall down the window pane.
Droplets fall down my cheeks, again.
Rage, Fury, Anger, Hurt...
Neglect, Sorrow...
Some of the things I've felt.

Colours go grey.
Stars don't shine.
Smiles show happiness,
I'm afraid I've lost mine.

A bruise, an ache,
A happy smile replaced by a Fake.
A cut, some scars.
She's allowed it all, so far.

Night after night,
She is restless and has no sleep.
Her only solace is those few moments with Deep.

Time is passing,
he clock ticks on, slowly.
Storm's a brewing,
not too long, she worries.

She feels it inside,
She can feel it erupting.
She doesn't want to bear these burdens anymore;
She doesn't want to be the Ugly Duckling.

Yummy Taylor

Feeling shit and having had such a terrible week, I decided I wouldn't reschedule my plans to see Taylor...
I booked my tickets last night to see him.

...I guess I just wanted some male attention.
I wore a short skirt, suspenders and knee highs.
I woke up at half 5 to shave any left over hairs from my wax session!

I'm glad I went to see him.
He took me to Nandos.
I haven't had Nandos (in England) since May/June.
He took me to watch Eagle Eye.

He held my hand, and let me rest my head on his shoulder.
...and he tried to regrow his stubble, specially for me.
=)
It wasn't properly stubble, though.

It's not like I ever hid the fact that I fancied him.
Everyone knows.
Even back when I was in Sixth Form, and I met him for the first time round; He made me feel like putty.

He let me play with his ear lobe.
Squeeze his hand when I got startled..
..and snuggle into his neck.

Sometimes, that's all a girl just needs.
A chance to play with ear lobes and be cuddled.

But, is it right to be snuggling up to another guy - as yummy as he is - when you've got a HunchBack thinking of you...?
But then again, HunchBack hasn't spoken to you in a while, and hasn't replied to any texts sent either...

I felt his finger trace a line from my arse down to the back of my knee at the movies, and I caught him glancing down my top when he thought I wasn't looking.
I think he even tried to kiss me, when I hugged him goodbye.

...and a part of me is kicking Nessy.
He's too Yummy.

Ribbit, I am a Frog.

Things have been getting harder and harder as each day comes.
...and I've been getting more and more upset.

I've been asking myself how it got so bad all day.
How did I not see the shit surrounding me?

It feels like I've gone back to my life when I was 16.
The days when taking an overdose happened so often, no one batted an eyelid.
The days of telling horror stories to the girls at school about my homelife.
The time when I desperately wanted to get married just to get out of prison I called home.
When I didn't care about what I wanted, I just wanted to please my parents so they'd make things easier for me.

The boundaries are being put back into place.
The shift in power is noticeable.
Rules are being brought back from storage and dusted off, ready to be used again.
Curfews are being set once again.

How did I not see any of this? I ask myself.

Then I remember, The Frog Theory.

A frog dropped into boiling water has sense to leap out, but a frog dropped into cold water can be cooked to death before he realises he is in serious trouble.

I didn't notice the small things.
The times when the parents would get slightly pissed off.
The parents telling us to come home a bit early tonight...
I didn't notice the gradual changes... and adapted to their will..
Now I feel like I'm living in a place that's killing my spirit.

I had the most scariest thought today.
I thought to myself, maybe if I stopped speaking to my friends and stopped having a social life, maybe, just maybe, my parents would like me more.
Trust me more..
Lift these ridiculously limits.

But they wouldn't.
Because I'm their middle daughter.

I spent forty five minutes in the bathroom trying to calm myself.
To stop my lips from trembling, my eyes from watering.
To prevent that awful pain in my throat everytime I try not to cry.
After a face wash, I thought I managed.
...I didn't even get into the passage, before I had to hide behind the bathroom door again.
But what's the use in crying?
If I cry every time they upset me, disappoint me, ignore me, I'd draught my eyes.
...and no one likes dry eyes.

.Vivid.

I've been having trouble sleeping again.
Not the "staying awake" kind of trouble.
...but the "I sleep, but have terribly vivid dreams and wake up more exahusted" kind.

Saturday night, I dreamt that I was sleeping in Quasi's arm.
...and it felt like I was.
Disappointment has the fist of a Bully.

I even read back a text I sent to 'Modo at 5am.
I have no recollection of writing it.

Last night, I dreamt of many things:
Babies giving birth to twins.
My cousins from Derby.
Working in a nursery, RatBoy waiting in a car for me.
Berg (Two Guys and a Girl fame) hi-fiving me.
Josh Hartnett kissing me tenderly.
..I know!
I didn't even realise I liked Hartnett boy.

Taylor and I playing, like young adolescents at the back of a cinema hall.
Quasi wrapping his arms around me, kissing my forehead.
His smell.
The feel of his Moobs squishing under chin.

I can remember almost every dream I had last night.
They all felt so real.
I can remember the smells, the way things felt.
The way I felt!

...I woke up sweating, exhausted, and found myself wanting to say,
"Gosh, I'm tired, I need some sleep"

But, I just woke up!

Stress.

The last time I posted here, I was quite poorly.
A couple of nights before I was chucking my guts up.
Earlier that day I had received a few emails saying I was unsuccessful, yet again.
I still didn't know who my sister was staying with in London, or where.
But, I did know that she was still talking to GAY; and possibly staying with him.
Kumar had FaceBooked me earlier asking me when I could get the rest of the money to her.
...and I hadn't spoken to Quasi in a week, I think.

I hadn't been sleeping properly, either.
All these thoughts.
Ruminations.
Worries.

I was walking back from buying food for stupid guests we were having that night.
..and I found myself panicking at the thought of returning home.
I didn't want to come back.

But, I had to.
Guests were coming.
So, I did.

I cleaned the house, prepared the food and even attempted to tidy up the mess that I call a bedroom.
I'd been sighing a lot, almost finding it a task to breathe normally.
...and after spending that time working around the house, my head started to feel light.

So I excused myself to my bedroom, armed with Philly Cheese, Crackers, a bottle of Southern Comfort and a jug of Vimto and Lemonade.
I started reading my Grammar book; it's always close by for times when I need something to distract me.
...and I started mixing my VimtAid with the Southern Comfort.
It tasted nice, so I mixed in more.
Fifteen minutes later, the bottle was empty, and it felt like the room was spinning.

I totally didn't associate this feeling with the amount of alcohol I had just drank.
Considering, I usually don't drink more than a very diluted glass at a time.
..and I remembered that I was feeling light-headed earlier any way.
So, I thought I must be coming down with something.

I tried to sort out my calendar.
...Still need to reschedule the photoshoot, the Show's on Sunday - must get CDs ready and Little One hasn't rehearsed yet, have to pop into some strange recruitment office with my passport at 10am on Monday...
So many things to do, to remember.
I could feel it bubble up.
The panic.
The feeling that isn't it enough time.
The worry.
The Bitch that we all know as Stress.

It wasn't panic, nor worry, nor stress. though.
It was vomit.

I managed to crawl to the bathroom door and stand up just in time.
I didn't get close to the toilet, but I managed to aim the projection at the bowl.
Coriander leaves came out of my nose.

I wish I could use some metaphor to describe how the poison leaving my body was similar to the stress relief.
But, wait.
The stress was still there.

I cleaned up the bathroom, gargled with mouthwash, and cleaned my nose out.
My parents came up after the guests left and asked what all the racket was about.

I went to bed.
Still worrying, still planning, still sorting things out.
I was woken up at 8am to make a doctor's appointment for father.
The post rattled the letterbox, a notice to say my sister's gone over her overdraft, mother has x amount of debt still outstanding, and lots of letters to say, "Sorry, Nessy, we just don't want you".

This year has knocked the stuffing out of me, bit by bit.
...and I think that was the last of it.
I went back to bed.

I finally got up at 3pm.
Typical Bum time to wake up.
...but, surely, I live a different lifestyle to a Bum...?

Fishing.

Tue Sep 18, 2007 12:26 pm

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I called Quasi last night.
He was in the middle of watching a Catherine Zeta Jones picture...
Yes, it turned me on.

I asked him what he was doing, he said that I wouldn't like to know.
He was struggling to keep his voice normal,
I heard him gasp a few times, he sounded like he was content. pleasured. warm.
I left him to it.

I woke up at 5am, my panties wet.
I sent him a fishing text.
Why?
I don't know.

To make me cringe even more, he didn't even do what i had asked in the text.

Unwanted wantonness?
I suspect so.

My Quasimodo...

wasn't ever mine. LoL.

I called him the other night.
I couldn't stop myself anymore.
..and i was so dissappointed.
He was so un-interested; it felt like he didn't care.

His voice even seemed different.

Rage burned inside me, and I needed to get off the phone.
Maybe I was too rude whilst saying bye.

I dreamt about him last night... I think.
How my hand sat.. just right.. in his hand.
How he made me giggle everytime he tugged at my bottom lip.
The way he held my body close to his.

I don't really believe in Perfect.
..and anyways, if it did exist, it would be a weird thing.
My perfect, may not be your perfect.
But... That day.
The day I spent with him, was something that I would call Perfect.

Rose coloured spectacles?
I'm guessing so.

I wanted him to pop my cherry.
I thought he'd stick around, do the caring thing.
I might act like a hoe wannabe, but really, I'm a soppy pathetic little girl at heart.
I want to be looked after.
I thought he would.

Thank Goodness I didn't get that far with him.
He's farting around with (an)other girl(s)...

I'd still love to spend a night with him.
His and my sexualism were on the right frequency.
Nothing spoken, nothing questioned, nothing answered.
Just the vibes.
From day one.

A night alone with him would result in many orgasmic experiences.
I want him to hold my hand again.
I'm not asking for much, am I?

...Sometimes, I wish we could just pretend...

Sometimes I find myself sitting back and reminiscing
Especially when I have to watch other people kissing
And I remember when you started calling me your Mrs
All the play fighting
All the flirtatious disses
I’d tell you sad stories about my childhood
I dunno why I trusted you but I knew that I could
We’d spend the whole weekend
Lying in our own dirt
I was just so happy
In your boxers and your t-shirt

Dreams, dreams of when we had just started things
Dreams of you and me
It seems, it seems
That I can’t shake those memories
I wonder if you have the same dreams too

The littlest things that take me there
I know it sounds lame but it’s so true
I know it’s not right but it seems unfair
That thing’s are reminding me of you
Sometimes I wish we could just pretend
Even if only for one weekend
So come on
Tell me
Is this the end?

Drinkin’ tea in bed, watchin’ DVD’s
When I discovered all your dirty, grotty magazines
You’d take me out shopping
And all we’d buy is trainers
As if we ever needed anything to entertain us
The first time that you introduced me to your friends
And you could tell that I was nervous, so you held my hand
When I was feeling down, you’d make that face you do
There’s no-one in the world who could replace you

Dreams, dreams of when we had just started things
Dreams of me and you
It seems, it seems
That I can’t shake those memories
I wonder if you feel the same way too

The littlest things that take me there
I know it sounds lame but it’s so true
I know it’s not right but it seems unfair
That thing’s are reminding me of you
Sometimes I wish we could just pretend
Even if only for one weekend
So come on
Tell me
Is this the end?


I really like(d?) him.
I want another chance to hold his hands, to have his arms wrapped around me, to kiss him and feel him gently bite and tug my bottom lip.
I want to feel that excitement in my stomach when he touched me, I want to momentarily lose my breath and gasp, I want to get embarassed and not have the courage to look up at him, I want him to play with my hair and speak in gentle hushed tones with me.
All this time, I've been complaining against couples and how "lovey dovey" people are.
Now, I'm the soppiest of them all. But it's because I think I may have liked this guy.
What to do?

Nothing.