Today's count

Last night I wound up crying a fair amount. No, I was a mess. So yesterday's count is

Eyes watered: once

Cried: once

Today

Eyed watered: never

Cried: never

It's probably because I bearly saw you, you went to the "marcha" at 8 and came back at 12.

Last night, after we had our Physics thingy done, we were all walking to the subway, and you mentioned something about the fact that if I were in the night shift I'd actually be happy (can't remember what Mauro and I were talking about exactly) because I'd be with my best friend. I was SO touched that you said that. I know it's really dumb, but you remember (not that you could forget Marina). And that was like aknowledging that we'd had previous conversations about her, and all that that implied (that I used to like her, that I told you so you knew I was bisexual, that we actually talked at one time) And that you were listenting, and that you thought it worthy to add that. And I don't know if that commentary was like some indirect sign of recognition that you unconciously sent me, or maybe you just felt like telling Mauro that I have a best friend, and she goes to school in the night shift. I don't know, maybe Mauro already knows about Marina and I, maybe us not being together broke all privacy rules and now all the guys know I'm semigay. Not that I care, really. I wouldn't be surprised eather, you being the way you are these days. Lara's right, you have changed.

Today's count (so far)

Eyes watered: once

Cried: never

BIG improvement

Again, didn't even say hi. I stared at you a lot though, you're sosososo beautful. Saw you talking to a couple of second years on recess, what the fuck was that all about? You were laughing. You touched Juli on the back. I'm so sick.

That acid post-it I mentioned a few posts back? Well, it was humungus today. I still have it on me, my hope that I can ever have one last dose of you is quickly fading away, I can't ignore reality. You kill me, I wish you knew just that. I wish I could tell you how much you've made me cry, and the hole you've left inside me, that grows back right when I think it's finally healing. And I wish you had an idea of what you did to me, what a dick you're being, I wish you could see though my eyes for a day. Not so you fall for me again, but so you can at least say you're sorry, or not even. So you care a bit. You see me every day, and you think it's just a big akward. Fuck akwardness, you don't know what it's like for me, seeing you. I know I fucked up big time a few months ago, when we first started dating, but really. This? I think I haven't talked to you only because I'm not the one to talk, judging on last november. That's why I want somebody to tell you you're a dick, but not me. Right, that's not happening eather. People love you.

But they don't love you like I love you.

Today's count

Eyes watered: about 4 times, all after school, listening to Taylor Swift, lol

Cried (actual tears running down my face): 1 time, also listening to Taylor Swift (Tears On My Guitar)

Did not speak one word to you, didn't even say hi. Got annoyingly anxious when you gave your Geography oral. I was gesticulating the anwers you didn't know, but you weren't looking. You got an 8 anyway. Heart gave a big leap when I saw you come in the class. You got the highest grade in the class in the Math test (6,50, still didn't pass). Was so happy. Got a bit annoyed when I saw you with your arm around Marie Claire, but all I can do is ignore the fact that you two are practically best friends.

School was pretty good. After school wasn't, but that's just me being a cathartic masoquist.

I read this today:

"Of course you don't want to get him out of your head, that's why it's still so painful. It's like an addiction, it doesn't matter how horrible it is later, the agony of abstinence, the mental and physical damages one had to suffer during the process, you remember the good feeling that you had, and (God!) that loving somebody is one of the most beautiful things that can ever be felt, so you still want at least one last dose before you can quit. It's not the hope of the poor guy that waits for the day when luck smiles at him and his life changes, when all is magically solved, it's the hope of the addict that dreams of feeling it one last time, even if death comes after. Too bad you can't go to the ghetto and do some lines of love."

He wasn't talking to me, but it was like he was.

Monday Morning

It's Sunday night, I'm seeing you in 12 hours. It'll probably be like it's been for the last month. You may be asked to go to give some oral and I'll cry a bit from my desk in the back left corner while I see you, beautiful, and hear your voice, and pray you don't make any mistakes. Maybe Marie Claire will notice again, and ask me what's wrong, and won't believe me when I say "Nothing, really, it's just stupid." Because it's been a month now (a month and nine hours), and at this point it really is stupid to be crying over you. It's embarrassing, and I've stopped talking about it with my friends, I don't want to be a bore, I don't want to seem weak.

And you come in, at seven thirty, and greet me with a casual kiss on the cheek, just like everyone else, but not really. We don't say "hi", we don't make eye contact, and we keep on kissing people like it's no big deal. At least I do. For you, I guess, it's only natural, and you don't think about where we would be kissing if everything were like it's supposed to be. And you don't realize how my heart skips a beat when you walk in the classroom, and three beats when your cheek touches mine.

I don't know if you ever really thought it over, how you consume me every morning, from seven thirty to twelve fifteen. And then we both go our seperate ways, and I cry at home, and you play your computer game and skype with Guido four miles away from my tears. Every day I get a fresh reminder that says "I still love you, and I'll never have you again, there's no hope. I'm invisible to you." It's a big flourescent post-it on my chest, and it's glue is like acid, it's burning it's way through my skin.

That's how it's been for the last month, and that's how it's gonna be tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. But, still, I can't help hoping that maybe somebody will tell you what a mess I am because of you, and you'll come up and talk to me, because you actually do care for me. And I'll tell you what you've done to me, so you'll know, and you'll say how sorry you are that it had to be this way, and that you still think about me sometimes, and that you miss being my friend. That way I can prove that I didn't dream it all up, because I'm really starting to reconsider my sanity. I had you, I was in you arms, you told me you loved me, you needed me, you asked me that I never leave you. And suddenly you took it all back and pretended it haden't happened. You can't take something like that away from me, they were the best days of my life.

You Were the Light

You are the dark now, but you used to be the light. I'll never regret falling in love with you. Love is all they say it is, the good and the bad. I'd never been so happy. So, even if I'm broken and empty now, for making me discover real, pure happiness, I thank you. I knew from the start that all good things come to an end, and it was fun while it lasted.

I may want to hate you, I may pretend I do, but I can't, and won't. It's just easier to pretend, it hurts so bad that you don't care, that you can pretend nothing ever happened, after all you said to me. You loved me, you gave yourself to me, and I did the same. The difference is I never got myself back.

You are the best parts of all the songs I love.

I Am Broken Parts Of Many

You have me. So you are me. So I am you.

You are inside me.

You pour out, out of my eyes and nose and mouth. I see and breathe and speak you out. I sing and laugh and touch and cry you out. So you are me. So I am you.

I am inside you. I'm unwelcome, but you won't get rid of me. Pour me out. Let me be me. Let you be you. But you don't know. So I am you.

You don't feel me inside you. You don't feel you inside me. You only feel you. So I am you. And I am me in you, and I am you in me, and I am we, but we are they. We aren't. You are. I am. I am many but not really. I am broken parts of many. But you, you are. I won't be me untill you are me.

Of Heartbreak

At least for now, this is a blog about heartbreak, but not for long I hope. You may see the light and come back, but my soul is too fragile to fill it with false hope. I'll get over you one of these days. Seeing you every day certainly doesn't help though. I'll come back to me, stronger and all grown up. So they say.