June 16th, 2004

butterfly under the glass // spasmodic@g


Dear Matt,

I guess that i'm just really confused right now. You said you love me, but I honestly can't say the same back. I'm attracted to you, of course, but I think that it's not the same as before.. You couldn't hang out today, and I didn't care one bit. I'm just going to the movies with Scott instead. I guess I just like the idea of being held and kissed more than you.. It's true.. I want your body, not your heart. Sorry kiddo..

isaac  _eviction.

(no subject)

"Hi my name is Josh and I am increadibly cocky and I think that I can jus call you up and tell you that everything from Monday meant nothing and that we can't even barely talk anymore, that way things are super awkward! And then I won't even have the balls to come to school the day after I take your heart and break it in two!"

that's what he should say. cuz it's so freaking true. why do guys try to take things back when they cant???
after everything, he told me that it meant nothing, that he felt nothing
god and he said we cant flirt anymore. im sorry, but is there anymore to our relationship than that anyways? so now, we can sit by each other in science, not talking since we cant flirt, and we dont wanna cross the line... sounds like a party to me.
and then you had me worried all freakin day about how things would be since we dont really see eachother until sixth period. and then ya werent there. pussy.
and i had to have everyone ask me "where my boyfriend was" or "where's your other half?" holy freakin cow... it hurt. it did. we wont be like that anymore. what will they think?! you know it's severe when people give me things to give to you... yes, so remind me, i have 2 of your tests and packets in my binder to give back to you.
I think i like your brother better than you now. and he used to scare me.
crazy how things switch around like that in jus a matter of a day.

(no subject)

I'm new here.... My name is Brent. I'm 17.

Dear Dad,
I remember the days when I was little and we'd go surfing, or sit there and play the guitar, or watch mum play the piano into the wee hours of the morning. Everything seemed so fine, I thought it'd last forever, but then you left us there, all of us, and you left with the 24 year old. Mum said she didn't mind, that you two had simply fallen out of love, but I heard her cry, it hurt. I wanted to help make her feel better but I knew I couldn't... Only you could have.
When you left you gave me your Gibson and told me to never stop playing, and to be what you never could have been. I don't think you really had the right to make that request...
I was so angry at you for so long, but I'm not anymore, because it is making me tired (mentally) and I don't think you're worth that effort. Just so you know, if I ever see you on the street I will turn and walk the other way, or simply pass you by. Seeing as we haven't really spoken since you left, I don't really consider you my dad, I guess it's by blood only....
This letter is worthless, cos it's never going to have any effect, cos I know you don't care.. So it's gonna end here, and go into the bin, or somewhere..

(no subject)

dear andrew,

why did you tell her you switched schools for her? you told me it was for me. i guess that would explain her hating me for no reason. because you ended up going out with me and not with her.

you're such a sweet talker. and an asshole. i don't know why i like you. maybe that's why i've been procrastinating calling you for what seems like forever. i make up these picture perfect stories in my head about you, about us, but i know they aren't real.

i don't get you. i don't get me. and i don't get why i care. and i don't get why you haven't called if you care for me like you say.

i do understand you, though. she liked you and in case things fell through with us, you wanted an open option. because you hate being alone. but who likes it really, right?

but still. i don't know. i just thought we were important.

god, this was like, forever ago and i don't know why ii'm so dgkjshkjdsghkjdsgh at myself. i'm not even mad at you really, but at myself. i don't know. WHY DO I CARE.

wtf i'm sick of writing you letters. i'm sick of caring. but i just want you to hold me and kiss me and tell me that you care. why?


i miss you still. what's wrong with me. why do i want you here? why? all you had to say was goodbye.

all you have to do is pick up the phone.

all i have to do is pick up the phone.

why am i so stupid.

i don't even know right now. i'm rambling on.


waking up nmext to nothign after dreaming of you and me,
"your rebecca"


Maybe it’s the way the sun always casts an even shadow on her blushed cheekbones. And how even when the hospital tiles stick to her feet, and the bland smell of bleached hospital sheets over power her expensive perfume everyone continues to think she is beautiful.

She spends her days miserably, and everyone knows you can’t make her smile.
She is too week to bat her eyelashes, anymore.

She is so predictable when she’s sober. Or when she has to be.

-♥- Sarah.
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