This? Oh. This.

I miss you. I miss the way your eyebrows frame your face and the way your eyelashes frame your eyes and the way your eyes tell the story even more than your lips do.


I miss you and I wish you were here to remind me of what it is like to belong to something. I wish I could turn to you and show you this poem and you could laugh at the way my sick voice makes me sound like a chain smoker. I want to quote lines from songs only we know to you and for you to laugh at my jokes that are so dumb that they've lost their funny and found different funny.


I want you here even if it is just to tell me that this blog post is cliche and that I ought to write something worthwhile, but this is about you, don't you know?


I meant it when I said those words, even though you turned those words into a Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World/500 Days of Summer reference, but then I just meant the words even more.


Without you, I am somehow simultaneously stuck with writer's block and struck with immense inspiration. You have turned me into whatever the noun form of antithesis is.

Did I mention that I see you everywhere? I do. I see you everywhere. I see you when I sing and I see you in the way that people walk and the way that my teachers pronounce certain words. I see you when I wear that one shirt you like on me and I see you when I see babies with eyes that are as large as dinner plates, just trying to take in some small piece of the world.

You are a part of me now. 

I see you, and, therefore, me -- us -- everywhere.

Though as much as I miss you, do not worry about me, for I am fine. I am fine even with this awful head cold sent from the devil himself and I am fine because you left your thumbprint on my soul and even when I miss you, I can feel the ridges from your fingertips and I know that I am fine. I know that you are fine.

So I leave you with 17 syllables, which is exciting, because our language isn't a syllabic language.

This? This is for you. It's by me. I called it "Coming up Empty":

I tried to write this.

But you exhausted my supply.
So I came up empty.

Cough, cough. More Advil.

All my love,

Addy

Hopeless cases and funny, funny stories.

He is tall, certainly not dark, but very, very handsome. Sometimes I wonder what he would do if I just walked up and kissed him. He'd probably make some sarcastic comment and walk away. I wouldn't regret it in the slightest. I'm a hopeless case. What're you planning to do about it? I'm feeling empty of good post ideas. I felt like I could possibly write about Perfect Boy Whom I Love, but then I started to freak out when I remembered that the entire internet can read what I write, not to mention my blog was published in the school newspaper (thanks, Liz) last month and now, if my entire high school wants to read my soul, they can just open up the school paper for directions to my soul-house. But I wrote about him anyway. (I learned the other day that it is "anyway" not "anyways." Thanks for making me sound much more intelligent, my dear Kaitlyn.) I feel like Scott Pilgrim: "I was thinking about asking you out but then I realized how stupid that sounded. So do you want to go out sometime?" Ha.

Here's a funny story: When I was little, my parents used to ground me from my books. They still do. It's fine.

Here's another funny story: In Human Biology and Bioethics, there are two hispanic kids who sit in the back if the class and never talk. Today, in class, we were watching the news, when some pictures of a four guys who are at the head of an auto theft ring came up on the screen. Boy one proclaimed loudly to boy two: "Hey, we know that guy!" and pointed at the screen. Boy two replied, "Hey! Yeah, we do!" The class absolutely lost it. It was positively hysterical.

Also, yesterday I went to the library. I checked out The Road by Cormic McCarthy and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. Then the librarian invited me to join book club. (I did, obviously, on account of, I LOVE BOOKS!!) Then I found out we had a poetry club. I joined. We discussed one of my poems. I love poetry club! Then, my favorite English teacher lent me The Princess Bride by William Goldman. (Fun fact: The Princess Bride happens to be Perfect Boy Whom I Love's favorite book.) I have lots of books. Plus, I'm in book club and poetry club and I am terribly, terribly thrilled.

Maybe you should kiss someone nice. Or lick a rock. Or both.

All my love, Addy