the worst part is...
seeing my face in a mirror while i'm talking. i hate my smile; and though it's true that every one has the platonic ur-image of how their face should look (as they stand in the watery light of morning, staring into their mirror all alone), mine REALLY IS HOW i should look all the time. serious/pensive and no stupid smile! there was a smile that i liked and was using for awhile when people took pictures of me, but i forget how it goes and besides, i think it was when i was genuinely happy.
speaking of happy. lately, for no reason that is reasonable or excusable, i feel guilt-racked whenever i think about that one particular thing that i ought to feel guilt-racked for. it is, as i said, that special time of the summer: the weather is torrid; i squint and sweat outside and when i'm inside i feel lonely. i don't know how many summers i'll have to associate with the scene of me, lying on a couch in d.c., crying my eyes out. and it's something i know i shouldn't regret, although i won't get over for a long time. something which, i guess, turned out "for the best" - but as we said the other day, it's foolish to live hypothetically. and yet the part of me which is so prone to doing that and imagining the what-ifs against my better judgment, just wishes whole-heartedly that nothing had ever changed. because in some ways, nothing has, or ever could. and in other ways, i was reckless in a way that i didn't think could hurt someone else. in that pitiful cry for help i hate, "why does everyone take me so seriously?"
this from the novel that i "tore up", my junior year of high school.
He heard her out in stillness, watching her face but not moving. Then he only said: "I'll marry you, mind you, in an hour."
"As we were?"
"As we were."
But she turned to the door, and her headshake was now the end. "We shall never be again as we were!"
at the same time, it definitely takes 2 4 sure. and for every ounce that i feel stricken...
speaking of happy. lately, for no reason that is reasonable or excusable, i feel guilt-racked whenever i think about that one particular thing that i ought to feel guilt-racked for. it is, as i said, that special time of the summer: the weather is torrid; i squint and sweat outside and when i'm inside i feel lonely. i don't know how many summers i'll have to associate with the scene of me, lying on a couch in d.c., crying my eyes out. and it's something i know i shouldn't regret, although i won't get over for a long time. something which, i guess, turned out "for the best" - but as we said the other day, it's foolish to live hypothetically. and yet the part of me which is so prone to doing that and imagining the what-ifs against my better judgment, just wishes whole-heartedly that nothing had ever changed. because in some ways, nothing has, or ever could. and in other ways, i was reckless in a way that i didn't think could hurt someone else. in that pitiful cry for help i hate, "why does everyone take me so seriously?"
this from the novel that i "tore up", my junior year of high school.
He heard her out in stillness, watching her face but not moving. Then he only said: "I'll marry you, mind you, in an hour."
"As we were?"
"As we were."
But she turned to the door, and her headshake was now the end. "We shall never be again as we were!"
at the same time, it definitely takes 2 4 sure. and for every ounce that i feel stricken...