#allisonwrites

Harrison vc: B i t c h

💕send to have a family type relationship with my muse THE PRESTZEL, THE PRESSEL, THE BEST PLAYWRIGHT: PRESTON GOODPLAY

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP HEARTS. // accepting !

💕send to have a family type relationship with my muse

;; LOOK AT ALL THIS FAMILY WE HAVE GATHERING HERE !!!!!! the pretzel will be cherished dearly even if the seeker has NO worldly idea WHAT he’s talking about !!!! appointed court jester for the gods SUHUHGUHGHUGN NO NO I’M KIDDING I PROMISE I wonder if perhaps preston could get her to cooperate long enough to recite a couple lines for a play he’s doing? this gal utters NOTHING but old english after all !!!!! ---- well, past the sims language but you know

And so I listen to that song every single day, and slowly, day by day, even if I hate the song, I start loving that song too. It becomes my favorite song, a song that I can breathe the lyrics to, tap the rhythm without listening to the song, become so in-tune with the song that it nearly becomes mine. I fall in love with the song just like I fall in love with you.

Tell me, do you like girls with short hair or long hair? Haha, all girls are pretty the way they are! I like your hair! Really? But what if you had to choose either long hair or short hair, do you like my long hair? I love your hair, it suits you beautifully haha.

But don’t lie to me, I know you love the way girls flip their short hair. You joke about it with your friends, saying that it’s attractive and unique, unlike the typical long hair of average girls. So I cut off my hair. I chopped off my hair, watching your eyes widen when you see me for the first time.

Do I ask you too many questions? Not at all! I love questions- do you like them? They’re always fun to answer- how about I ask you another question? Haha, sure, go ahead! Fire away, it’s my turn after you though! Hmmm… What’s your favorite color? I love bright colors. I like bright orange, neon green, bright pink- hey, don’t laugh! Pink isn’t a girl’s color, shut up! What’s your favorite color- hey, stop laughing! Hahaha! I like green, fresh green like the color of trees and the stems of flowers. I like lilac purple, a soft, light shade. I love the beautiful color of the blue sky, the calm and refreshing color that I can breathe in. God, you’re way too poetic for me. Haha, I wish I could describe things like you.

Orange. Pink. Green. And my pencil case started filling up with orange pens, pink highlighters, and even more green pencils. Overflowing, mixing in with the pale blue and the soft purple, creating a rainbow of startling neon colors and delicate light colors.

Working on math, again? Yeah, I’m not a fan of it- but you’re really good at it, right? Asking questions again! Haha, you know math is my strongest subject. Do you want me to help you? Are you sure you’re not busy? I always have time to help my best friend, why would you even ask?

Because I’m afraid I take up so much of your time that you’ll get sick and tired of seeing my face, hearing my voice, receiving my hugs. You’re too kind, you make me feel like I’m forever in debt to you, and I can’t take that. I can’t take the heavy guilt that I’m causing the boy I love so much trouble.

My life becomes the world, revolving around you, the sun. You map out my world like the navigator on a ship, and I cannot fight against your pull like gravity. I cannot resist your smile, your laugh, you. You become my everything.

Loneliness. Emptiness. The overwhelming black wave of depression was threatening to crash over her being, and she could only cling to herself tighter and tighter, hoping that she wouldn’t leave any gaps for the darkness to seep in. And she wasn’t even certain why she felt like this to begin with. She had friends. She had a loving family. But she turned them away, she isolated herself because of the internal pain building up inside of her. Why couldn’t she choose to live a simple, happy life? Instead, she chose to live a life where she separated herself from reality.

Dear Mommy, Mother, Mom,

My lips can form those words so effortlessly. It takes absolutely no effort to pronounce those three words that I grew up saying. But even now, I don’t think I ever give the person who represents those three words enough credit. I take it for granted that she exists and that she’s there. I don’t appreciate how much she truly means to me.

Mommy. You were the one that has been there for me ever since I was a child. You cooked for me. You washed laundry for me. You supported me when I couldn’t complete an action. You defend me. You listen to me. You offer me truly blunt advice- that may sound harsh on the surface- but in truth, it’s the best advice that can be given. You research for hours on end about a question I don’t understand for school- when I’ve given up long ago, you keep trying. You strive endlessly to make me happy. To make me successful. You work so hard to make my life the best it can possibly be. You always try your hardest ad put me before yourself every single damn time. And I don’t let you know that I’m so, so thankful for that.

Mother. You smile when you take pictures with me. I love watching you laugh with me. I worry when you’re sick- I can’t rest, I can’t work, and all I do is worry about how little I can do. Unlike when the situation is reversed, you do so much for me. And I can do so little. You don’t deserve this treatment that I give you. You deserve so much more. You’ve always, always been there for me, but I’ve always let you down because of my laziness, my inconsideration, my coldness! Mother, Mother- do you know how much I hate myself for treating you like that? How much. How much I detest my personality. How much I hate. Hate. Loathe. Despise how goddamn thoughtless I am? If only I could make you happy one last time. Before I leave this house. Before you leave the world. I just want. I just want to genuinely see you smile. Not because I’m cracking jokes, but because you’re goddamn proud of me!

Mom. And yet, I lay here in bed typing these words out for a blog to see. What does that accomplish? Absolutely nothing, because you don’t hear how much, how much I truly love you. So much that I can’t hold in my feelings to myself. Mom, can’t you stay with me for the rest of my life? I want to cherish more times with you. I want you there, by my side. I’ve always wanted to grow up and step outside of this house. But Mom, you’ve always been that one person that I could confide anything to. I could tell you anything, and you would understand me and my feelings immediately. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom, I’m going to miss you so much. Mom. I want… I want to spend more time with you! Mom, please don’t… please don’t leave me!

媽，我真的，真的好愛你！

it’s the color when you wake up at 6:42 AM and look out the window to see the sun rise just above the end of the street. it’s the color when you rub your eyes and yawn in the morning. it’s the color that you gently apply over your lips. it’s the color of the new skirt that you decided to wear today.

it’s the color when the bus pulls in front of your house and the sign saying STOP comes out. it’s the color your cheeks turn when the boy you like compliments you. it’s the color of your friend’s nails as she waves hello to you. it’s the color when you receive a test back. it’s the color when you give yourself a papercut from the edge of the test.

it’s the color when you go home without a bandaid yet the wound is still bleeding. it’s the color when you’re fascinated with the cut. it’s the color when you decide to draw more patterns to match the papercut in your bathroom. it’s the color when bright liquid swirls together and makes all sorts of shapes. it’s the color when you gasp and smile from the pain. it’s the color when your heart beats furiously to supply more for your body. it’s the color when you smear the color over the mirrors so that it reflects back. it’s the color of the water when you rinse the scars. it’s the color of your towel when you wipe your hands.

it’s the color of the sweater you choose to wear over your sketches. it’s the color of the fruits on your dinner plate. it’s the color of your face as you read through posts on your friends’ blogs when they complain about how bad their life is. it's the color when your heart beats to the music you listen to before sleeping. it's the color of the fading light of the sun. it's the color of your skin when you gently skim your hands over the surface of your arms. it's the color of your fingertips.

She laid face-up on her bed, staring blankly into complete darkness. Now she was simply waiting for the sun to rise so that she could see the small details of her ceiling, the minuscule particles that composed the material above her. Time seemed to be passing as slowly as honey being poured from a jar, but she didn’t mind.

She wanted the night to drag on, so that she wouldn’t need to face the next day, the next morning. She wouldn’t need to get out of bed, put on clothes, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. She wouldn’t need to apply makeup for the public and dress in designer wear.

She wouldn’t need to paste a fake smile over her face for her friends, laugh falsely at the jokes, or text them back. She wouldn’t need to check the nutrition facts on a bag of chips, look into the mirror sideways, or suck in her stomach. She wouldn’t need to stare at the tall, black-haired boy that wouldn’t even spare her a second glance.

She wouldn’t need to pass her calculus test, history test, or physics test. She wouldn’t need to hear the nagging from her parents, the “work harder,” the “why are you so lazy,” the “why can’t you be like her,” being constantly directed at her. She wouldn’t need to stress over the many applications, the hundreds of college e-mails, the thousands of schools available for her future.