#*journal.

november 15th, 2009

to sebastian,

i don't know why i left. i don't think i'll ever be able to answer that. i think i got scared. i'm writing this on the plane ride back to the us. i almost wrote home but i don't know where home is. maybe it's paris, maybe it's my parent's house, maybe it's my grandparent's house. i don't know. i thought maybe it was with you, in that tiny little flat in paris but i'm afraid to say i'm really wrong. that tiny flat finally felt as tiny as it was. i broke free. it was selfish and i'll probably regret it for the rest of my days. 

i'm thinking about ripping this out of my journal and mailing it to you. telling you how sorry i am because i regret getting on this plane. maybe you'll find a girl and i'll find a boy. i mean, it's highly unlikely i'll find someone that's crazy enough to spend the rest of their life with me but i know someone will want to do with that you. you just have to... let yourself. i know you can, you have a big heart under that cold shell. or at least i think you do. 

why did i leave. 

january 1, 2010

to sebastian, 

it's new years. i was in france at this time i'm pretty sure. i didn't know who you were yet but i was there. i met a guy. he's in my bed right now. i'm not there, i'm writing because i keep thinking about you. his name is sebastian, i guess that's why. but he's british. the same tall, brooding type. always standing in front of me because i look small and weak. protecting me. you did that sometimes but i also did that with you sometimes. i looked less threatening than you.

he doesn't know i'm a witch. i kind of want it to stay like that. with you i was so open about it. he's human and has no idea about any of this so i won't drag him into it. anyway. he's not you. he's lovely and i love him but it feels a bit too soon, don't you think? i think so. maybe you found someone. i hope you did. you deserve someone who doesn't run the first sign of fear. i'm getting attached to sebastian 2.0 and it's scary but i'm more scared of running this time. i wish i was scared of running with you. 

july 8, 2010 

to sebastian, 

wow so a lot happened in the past few months. my journal knows it because i told it and this letter will stay in here so maybe if you ever find it you can read it. but i doubt we'll ever meet again. i don't tell anyone about you. i don't know why. you were such a big part of me. maybe because i'm ashamed. that's it. i'm getting married. by the way. i don't update facebook a lot but i wonder if you see it. i hope you do. i go on yours but you haven't done anything with it so i stop going so much. i should get back to the point. i'm not marrying sebastian 2.0. i'm marrying rory. i love him. i'm over you so it feels so much better now. he's... got his problems. but i love him anyway. people say when you fall in love with someone they become more beautiful and i believe that with my whole heart. do you? i think you do. you probably didn't think i was very pretty, then. i should stop talking about you. more about rory. god, i love him. i said that already. but it's true. he's beautiful to me. he has a lot of awful words carved into his skin from being called it so much and i have every intention of kissing those scars away. he knows i'm a witch. which is better. i feel lighter. he doesn't mention it much, i think it scares him. what do you think of that?

may 15th, 2012

to sebastian, 

i haven't thought about you very much. rory died a week ago. i went to his funeral. no one besides a few family members and his ex and their kid went. it was very small. i cried the whole time. juilet, his ex, had to hold me back from doing anything stupid. i'm thankful for her. his little girl refused to look at me because i think she thinks i did this to him. i almost killed the woman that did this. there's bruises around her neck and i'm glad that she has them. i hate her. i've never hated anyone more than her. not even my own father can come close to how much i hate maggie. i want you here. i want you to tell me everything will be okay. i called you but an old woman picked up so i guess you changed your number. and no, it wasn't your mom. i know her voice. i want to see you. will you want to see me?

june 5, 2013

to sebastian, 

it's weird every time someone dies. i don't cry at funerals anymore. i don't cry a lot. i just get quiet and numb and don't feel a thing. and that's so much worse than feeling sadness. now more than ever i want to see you because i find myself thinking about you a lot. mostly is he still alive? is he okay? please don't be dead. because i don't know what i would do if you were dead, too. i keep trying to find you but you're gone. even with the vast amount of information on the internet you're not there. you're no where. were you even real? did i completely fathom some man in my mind to keep me grounded? i feel like i would have at least given you a better back story if i made you up. you're real. i can still feel our last kiss. it might have been four years ago but i can feel it. your hands were on my waist and my fingers grabbed at what little hair you had. you picked me up and carried me off to my bedroom and -- well, you get the rest. i guess that wasn't our last kiss but i don't count the feverish ones we shared. you know, in four years no one has compared to you in bed. isn't that silly? i mean i had a few great ones but you were... you were something different. i need to stop writing these stupid letters that i never send. i'll never see you again and i have to let you go. it's four years and i can't fucking forget you. get out of my head and out of my veins. it's like some poison i feel whenever i think about something that reminds me of you. fuck fuck i hate you. leave me alone. 

may 18, 2014 

to sebastian, 

i saw you again. i'm still in shock. i've never been happier in my life to get stabbed in my hand in my whole life. it was an accident and i'm not good at healing so i thought what the hell why not. and you were there. in america. in my nearest hospital. in the er. i wanted to kiss you but i did that stupid thing with people that haven't seen each other in a while. y'know that whole hey! how've you been. but all i could think about was how much i wanted to keep hugging you. you got cuter, less hot and brooding and more puppy dog. i like it. i'm glad that happened. i've been dancing to cheesy pop love songs about having a crush all day. i hope you know that's what i do. i'm getting out all my old pictures and i'm going to show them to you. you're going to laugh with wine on your breath and i'm going to laugh with you and then we're going to kiss. i know this. i know this is going to work because i need it to work. 

may 20, 2014

to sebastian, 

               i never knew about my family when i was younger, other than they were witches and rich. mostly because my mother would always talk about how she was once so rich now, look at her. living on barely any money. it wasn't until i was ten that my mother started talking to my family again. while my father was very displeased with all of it and called them rich pigs and other things that my ten year old self would never dare to repeat. i didn't understand much -- but what i did understand was that i was the best dressed kid in my neighborhood thanks to opa and oma's gifts. every christmas i'd get sent a brand new wardrobe. a lot of things i never even wore because where did i have to go to wear these things?

               it wasn't until i was a teenager that i finally realized that the name zucker on the label wasn't just because it was marking it was mine but that my family made this. i grabbed all the magazines i could find and searched all of them for anything with zucker. i'd find things. models that looked so beautiful wearing my oma's clothing. the most handsome men in the world wearing my oma's suits. a few celebrities probably had the tag zucker pressing against their skin at some point. for a teenager that was molded by these magazines, i was in shock. 

               when i was older i could rightfully brag about my family's success. i was proud of it, like i had actually done anything that was worth me bragging about it. no one listened though, they swore up and down that i was actually lying. even when i came into school with zucker on, they'd laugh and say i probably stole it. i stopped wearing it. i wore clothes my own mother made or i got in a thrift shop. because i was poor, i thought i should look the part. my logic at the time was if they won't support my family, i won't support them. it effected me way more than it effected them. it was the thought that counts. 

i. think positive. 

literally. just fucking think it. think i'm the shit and you shall be the shit. it's like mind over matter, right? isn't that a term? whatever. just do it. 

ii. don't hate anyone.

what's the point? besides, you don't hate anyone anyway. and saying you do and trying to prove you do to no one is tiring as hell. and totally not worth your time. 

iii. don't waste your time. 

witches don't live long and you don't have long. so stop wasting it. do it having fun and laughing. not hating yourself and crying alone while you get high with that ghost that just died down the street. 

iv. exercise. 

it sucks. it really does. but remember when you were fit? when you gave a damn? but no running. beat the shit out of a bag while you listen to kanye west on repeat. and do yoga again. that'll make you look cool and hot.

v. love the fuck out of your friends and family.

seriously. think of all the shit they went through with you. think of how many times so many of them stayed up with you and they let you cry on their shoulders and they were so selfless. it's a miracle you have anyone left. but you do, so treat them right.

vi. be rad. 

Only one left. Daniel. Laurie. Manhattan and Veidt, passed. Long ago. Disheartening, almost. Constantly confronted, told ways are wrong. People should live, trials must be held. Felt repulsed, bad taste in mouth, wouldn't say it yet. Don't understand why people are so adamant about sparing criminals. Gives prisons something to do. Reason to exist. Not enough. Blood curdles like boiling water, left on floor of streets that lost hope years ago. Nobody left but me. World sees my true face as I've seen it's, doesn't like what it sees.