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

This is what a feminist looks like.

FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE, TOO.

Something Terrible.

One day, we will not remember how it is to be young.

So, live your life NOW. Have cake fights and eat and fall recklessly in love. Dress up and make sarcastic remarks and get yourself suspended. Sneak out and make out and act out. Take lots of pictures. Kiss lots of boys and run around without a bra on. Listen to good music and go to lots of concerts and do the things you've always wanted to do. Cut your hair all off and splurge on something you'll only wear once. Buy vintage clothing, wear red lipstick for no reason, write letters, take a chance, jump off cliffs, sing songs, learn to play the guitar, try new things and laugh much.

This isn't Neverland, loves.

I've always said not to regret anything. But this is my deepest regret.

I don't remember his name, but rather I remember the way he looked, and the things he wore on those days that feel so long ago. He was taller than me, I think, with dark hair and dark eyes, and, looking back, he wasn't an unattractive boy, but actually quite the opposite. His clothes were inexpensive and his wardrobe limited, and I remember knowing (for some reason) that he was being raised by a single mother; a fatherless, hispanic boy of barely eight or nine. I remember that he had to go to a special classroom for special tutoring while the rest of us stayed in a normal classroom, learning normal things. I distinctly remember going to the bathroom one day while he was walking back from tutoring and he looked into my bluish-greenish eyes with his deep brown ones, wearing a red pokemon t-shirt, and smiled, saying, "Hello, Addy. How are you?" I broke his gaze. I walked faster. I remember feeling so terrible for the way I acted for several days, and avoided him even more, going out of my way to not have to look him in the eye, sit by him, or share crayons with him. I made a choice one night, lying in my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, that I would be kinder to him, be his friend, look him in the eye, sit next to him, share my crayons with him... I hoped he would forgive me for the way I acted all that time. The next day at school, he was absent. And he never came back.

...What Happened To Me?

I sat there with Sarah on the top stair of the commons area and looked around.

Sometimes I wonder what people experience behind closed doors. That girl? Over there? She's been called "fat" and "chubby" and "overweight." Today, I found out that before her dad was shot and killed, he had two types of cancer. This hit me deeply.

What else are people living with everyday?

I think of how many parents are divorced. I think of how many eating disorders, weight issues, depression, school troubles, lonliness, diseases, financial problems, abusive lovers, drug users... I think of how much I don't know that happens when the blinds are closed and the windows are dark.

We looked around and I thought, "Who would I be spending time with?" It was funny. I looked at Katie Parker, surrounded by popular groupies and nearly laughed. What if we were still best friends now? What would I be like?

Don't get me wrong, I love Katie Parker. But that seems so different from my odd group of quirky, indie friends. She seems so different from Sarah, Katie Thueson, Avery, Ari, Jake Barton, and Roah.

I looked at Brette. I was friends with her once. I can't believe how much she's changed. How much I'VE changed.

I looked at Davis. He isn't even the boy I loved anymore.

I thought of people from elementary school in Orem whom I haven't spoken to for years.

When do people we know become people we knew?

I thought of the girl I used to be - who did everything right. Who never got in trouble, worried about her weight, wore skirts, danced, dreamed of being a professional actress, couldn't run a mile, sat silently, didn't understand perverted jokes, or know the pain of drugs.

I looked at who I've become and thought, "What happened to me?"

Life happened, that's what.

I make so many mistakes now. I get in trouble with administrators, teachers, my parents. I worry about my weight. I wear skirts. I dance. I dream of working on Broadway for a living. I can run four miles solid. I never sit silently. I understand perverted jokes. I have friends who do drugs and I've seen the destruction.

Life happened to me.

The bell rang and I went to class.

But I don't want to forget anymore. I don't want to walk through life blindly, leaving things behind.

I never wanted to grow up. I never thought I would become this person. And yet, I have.

Stay pretty.

All my love, Addy* Sue.