I really should have found other plans, someone else to rely on today instead of her. One day, I'll learn that no one will be there for me like I am for them.
I want to be a good person. I don't do it for a fear in God or a belief in heaven. It would be nice to be rewarded for a job well done here, but that's not as important. I want to be a good person just because it feels good. I think people who only are kind and generous because they're afraid they will go to hell are a step below those who conduct themselves respectively and care about others because they are genuinely good people. Do it for selfless reasons. Not for a better afterlife for yourself.
Of course, many don't care what the motivation behind a good person is, as long as they are, indeed, good. The reasons don't matter as long as the end result is positive. But, I don't agree. I want to know that when I receive a gift, it's not just because the person wants something in return. At some point, I don't deem that as kind. It's more like a trap.
Sometimes, I wonder what she's thinking. She complains more than anything about her mother's selfish behavior, but she never sees her own flaws. She can be just as selfish, maybe even more self centered. Tonight, I was angry. And it doesn't matter that she apologized. This isn't the first time that I've been let down. And I know it won't be the last. But, the lie was what made me refuse to go. Children lie when they know what they did was wrong and they've been caught.
Why do I share my life with a nineteen year old child?

"I want you, but I don't want to feel needy or lose my independence. Or worse. Vulnerable. And if I told you and you didn't feel the same, then what? So, I'm going to wait it out and see how long it lasts, because it's easier to forget about you than it is to say, 'I love you.'"

If I ever write a book, I want a character in it to say that.

I have difficulty making distinctions between what I picture in my head and what is reality. It's different than waking up from a dream and wondering if that was real or not. It's also not quite deja vu. No.
Sometimes when I read a book, it reminds me of something in my head or in my heart and I wonder why it reminds me of life rather than the other way around. I have these daydreams and I try to plan out what my story would be if it were ever written out. The best ideas come to me right before I go to sleep. Maybe those daydreams get converted into memory and I get confused. Maybe I'm actually remembering and it's the memories. Or maybe I'm crazier than you.
Some authors have this gift of being able to romanticize their lives. In their novels, poetry, every day conversation. My life is so unromantic, I can't begin to imagine trying to do what they do. Of course, my life is cliche and full of the usual story lines that everyone lives. But, those stories have been told so many times I don't think there's room for mine. Especially mine which lacks originality. Everyone tells my story.
At least, that's how it feels. 

A lot can change in a month's time. It's strange. About a month ago, I was so worried, so out of sorts. I'm never good with choices. Maybe I let the choice control me instead of controlling the choice. I really must start following my own advice.
I believe firmly in fate, though. What is supposed to happen will and what doesn't happen just wasn't meant to be. It took me a few days to process and start eating again, but I accept it. I've always prided myself in rolling with the punches and I knew I would honor your decision, no matter how selfish and hurtful it was. I'm better off without someone like you.
It's too bad you never knew me. Now you'll never know. I used to go through different scenarios in my head about what it would be like to meet you in person, what I would say. But, deep down I have to admit that if that ever happened, I know that it won't happen like I've imagined it. 
You once told me that falling in love is the easy part. Being in love is the hard part. I disagreed then and I disagree now. It shouldn't ever be difficult. Complicated, yes. But, being in love means that certain things are a given. Well, just one. You want to be with that person no matter what. And if that is ever brought into question... Maybe love doesn't last forever. Maybe we were never in love to begin with. Or maybe you were too selfish to realize we were supposed to fit together forever until it was too late. I've changed shape since the last time you tried.
I'm not angry. In fact, I'm better than I have been for a very long time. It's strange that usually relationships that begin and continue this way are usually a whole lot of nothing. But, our whole lot of nothing meant a whole lot of something. For me. So, thanks. Thanks for that.
I'm always going to remember. And if you could see me now, then I'm almost finally out of words. 

One bright morning,
In the middle of the night,
Two dead boys
Got up to fight.
Back to back
They faced eachother, 
Pulled their knives
And shot each other.
A deaf policeman
Heard the noise, 
And came and killed
The two dead boys. 

I'm not okay with a mediocre life.

It's almost summer and I'm still staying up late for no reason? There must be something electrically wrong with my brain.
Chicago trip countdown is nearing its end and on Sunday, I'll be off flying in a plane to a place not on the east coast of the United States. A place with a different time zone! My excitement over that is probably not healthy. But, it's something I've never experienced before. The extent of my travels is from New York City to Florida. That's it. Nothing more north and nothing west. I've been in Maryland most of my life.
My sister, however, has been to California, New York State, Arizona, Canada and any states and territories in between. And she isn't seventeen yet. I feel cheated. I'm the oldest! Why did she get to go on adventures while I was sentenced to spending my summers at home with my parents? I wanted to go places. I still want to go places...
I want to travel. I want to see things. I want to see you.

Me: I want to take you to the city. Maybe to the Inner Harbor.
Him: Habor with a u?
Me: Yeah. That a kay?
Him: Huh uh.
Me: You don't want to go anywhere with me. =(
Him: What?
Me: "That a kay?" "Huh uh." =(
Him: I do want to go with you. The u isn't a k. 

kaefhkahfoahfkjabqwofkndvkjawdjwfn.
I would very much like to write something. Something good. Something...profound. Well, not profound but something worthwhile. A lot has been floating around in my head for the past weeks or so. But, I've had all of these assignments hanging over my head, so to speak. And I didn't feel like I should work on something recreational until those papers were finished.
Of course, I still procrastinated. Procrastination should have been my middle name. I spent most of my time on the internet until the wee hours of the morning for most of the past couple of days. I wrote the papers that were due last week. But, upon arriving to class yesterday, I was given another assignment. Six more essays for English. And two more for Anthropology. How is this fair? Tell me. I'm curious. What is that you say? It's not fair? Yeah, I figured as much.
So, my idea for this super awesome piece of literature I want to write will have to wait. It's indefinitely postponed.
Eight essays?! GOODNESS GRACIOUS. 

My confusion exists on several levels.
However, I know nothing has changed.