Diamond Eyes

Can. Not. Wait. for this album.

You seem to be trying less, and that's what scares me, because I'm not sure if you are trying less or if I'm caring more. I've always told myself I would never care about anything, and yet, I always knew that was only a lie I liked to tell to make me sound more interesting, or more broken, or more deep in the same way they make girls out to be in movies or books. I've always liked to pretend there was something wrong with me that someone would find undeniably appealing. There is always something wrong with everyone and me, but you were the only one to ever make me feel that I was wrong. That I was wrong to be the way I am --wrong to be fake-broken like the movies, but real-fragile like humans--as if you also built your own set of expectations but much higher, and much more out of reach then where I built mine. As if you think I am capable of being these things that I am fairly certain I am not. I want to be that person, and if you would just sit still long enough I'm almost positive you could fit the qualifications I've dug out, but we're always only sorry instead of being what or where we want to be.

Most of us will never taste the cheese the moon is made of, and I know that. We all know it. It gets distracting, dreaming, but every once and a while I realize just how hard my feet hit the ground, and I want to be taken care of.

We sat back to back in silence. Our stubbornness seeped into the bench below us and glided past the other passengers waiting for train 76, our pressed lips and furrowed brows drawing them to us. I knew even then that I didn't hate him, but my hands shook as my imagination shaped what the next few hours and days would be like --pressed shoulder to shoulder, holding our backpacks on our laps, and sweat would spring up between our sticky sandwhiched bodies and in the arches of our backs and between our legs and the seats. Every time you shift in your seat your legs will make that angry nose all legs do when they are so abruptly moved after they've already begun to melt into unfamiliar vinyl seats. I wanted to move, to sit further down the bench, to get away from you for a couple seconds before I was trapped with you for forever or however long the train ride would be. I wanted to move, but it seemed so much simpler to stay here sitting back to back in silence with you rather than on my own. My hands continued to shake in my lap, and I pressed my back hard into yours only to realize you were pushing back.

Pup party.

Mute.

Laser life.

Whatchu lookin' at?

Sweet nothings.

"Ruby's Room"

Implosion/Explosion

She stood there grinning, knees pointed inward, arms raised like a limp-wristed bear ready to attack. She was completely naked, and we both fell to the floor when she leaped into my arms, her limbs flailing wildly, fighting their meeting with the ground. She wasn't graceful, but we laughed and kissed, and I think it was one of the best birthday gifts I ever received. 

Hopeless romantic ;)

I'm gonna get drunk and write some good shit tonight. I'll just turn it off, turn it off, turn it off.

Today's conversation was excruciating. I pretended it was okay, and you seemed nervous. We both went over the day's schedule, what we had done, but we weren't there. Not one part of the conversation was us. All that was there were words and nervousness, and I hated every second until you stoped answering, when I immediately regretted not saying what I wanted to say. I hate you for ruining everything. Every conversation shouldn't be hard, but this imaginary we're creating is not any easier. This is the hardest it's ever been.