Happiness is finding a random message on your phone that says you're amazing from a truly wonderful friend. ....and taco bell.

The little ways my dear friend Kelsey [at least, that's who I think it's from] shows me what she thinks of our friendship warm my heart and make me smile.  Take a moment and share in the happiness that you have friends that care about you like I doubtlessly do.

Anyway. . .

I decided I will write something similar to what I wrote last year.  I thought I'd tell all y'all in case you ever wanted to ask me if you could read it.  The differences will definitely be great-for instance, I doubt this one will mainly be about blaze and how he made last summer a soap opera.  We'll see what happens.

My aspirations to write every night quickly pummelled into the ground. Ehhh.  So did my hopes of not sleeping past ten this summer.  I think it's justifiable to sleep till noon if you can't get to sleep until three, though...right?

some are bright,

some dark.

some flutter,

some sink to my feet.

these butterflies

you give to me

that i am aware of every time

i see you

or you text first

they don't let me forget.

some remind me that

we could be the best pair there's

 ever been.

others remind me of the

low chance of it happening.

sometimes, they jump into my throat

immediately obstructing any sound or word

i wished to say.

sometimes, they pull my heart down to my toes

when i see your name on my phone.

sometimes, they take control of my fingertips

forcefully attempting to get my feelings across

to you, in the medium of text.

i manage to stop that just in time, though.

they tug on the corners of my mouth up

when you say a trademarkedly sweet thing to me

they tug on the convers of my mouth down

when i look at my phone and see that approximately

two hours and forty three minutes have gone by

with you clearly not remembering my existence.

these butterflies,

they think they have

my crush in the bag

they whisper hopes and doubts

in the dark of night

these butterflies,

they wonder

if they have friends

in you, as well

you give me butterflies...

do i,

possibly,

maybe,

hopefully

give you some too?

love, laura

Melancholy.

You know...
Sometimes, I really do try.

so please stop putting me down.

--your sister, who actually does have feelings.

The absolute futility of texting someone who will inevitably stop texting back.

Unfortunately, I still try, just in case we end up having a great and lengthy conversation that actually ends.
But as always...

The shocking truth that if I don't text anyone during the day, no one is going to text me.  Tested and proven.  Should it matter?  No.  Does it?  Unfortunately... I'm rather insecure.

Right now, I can't stop thinking about how I love my friends so much and how much they mean to me.
Except with that, I can't stop thinking about how many times I've felt excluded by them, whether it be not inviting me to party at Pizza Pie or go on some ridiculous hike that I probably would've died on anyway...But still... I know that I miss out on a lot of funny things because I don't see them all every Sunday or Wednesday.  I know there are some things that a lot of my friends aren't comfortable talking about with me because I have such a different view on them then they do.
We've had some amazing times.  I've felt so loved and so happy to be with such people.  There are a few people that I feel a rush of affection for whenever I hear their names or whenever I talk to them-a tall boy I lovingly call Sunshine comes to mind-that I can always count on.
I just wish there were more of them, and that they were able to talk more than they can.

I'll stop being ungrateful and unhappy.  I promise.

White teeth, round eyes

a perfect pink half circle.

An automative going through the motions.

A soul aching to step out of it's prison

and not worry.

A heart buried away in the recesses

of the mind, the mind

functioning in monotone.

Is there any expression that goes

noticed?

Doesn't desperation bleed through

the translucent veil under which

it hides?

and yet--

the syllables that someone made of words

reveal a footstep,

a handprint of a child,

of innocence,

and it is reminded that it is not all alone,

not always.

Oh, these times are hard,
They're making us crazy, don't give up
on me, baby


Sorry for being melancholy.
--StarFish

I hope I never get used to the smell of rain.

With a beautiful, antique, opal/diamond ring rested on my finger and the warmth of a director's praise still spread throughout me, I feel happy and content with Summer.  I've sent/received a couple letters, I've made [and spent] some money, I've seen some movies, I've sung a bit and acted a bit more, I've danced and my healing blisters didn't even crack open again, my hair is being cooperative and I'm slightly tan, I've started and finished a few amazing books... Life is good.

All my love, Laura.

P.S. I have the best friends in the world.  Yes, that includes you.

Don't let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.

"However, Ron did not appear on the map, and after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny's name in the girls' dormitory, wondering whether the intensity with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right."

So... Where exactly is my Harry Potter?
Yes, I realize I get emotional about weird stuff.  Like a fictional snowy owl's death
or the realization that boys in fictional stories often don't exist in real life.

However, after hearing something from a very good friend of mine
about his growing love life,
and hearing about how sweet he is
[of course, I always knew that]
and thinking about some of my other friends
-"Eugene" for example-
I know these boys exist.

So again... Where's mine?

I want to sit at the public library, reading a book next to a boy I love.  I want to meet with this boy everyday and go on wonderful adventures.  I want a boy I love to show me that my only kisses in my life aren't only going to be from a jerk.  I want to sit next to a boy I love while he plays me the piano [hopefully he'll possess this talent].  I want to go to a Bee's game with this boy I love [because, from some odd quirk, I absolutely love watching baseball].  I want to watch chick flicks and go on car rides and play on playgrounds and go to movies with a boy I'll love and who'll truly love me.  I want another summer romance, but not one tempered with lies, like last year's.

With all my hopes and dreams laid out plainly on my sleeves,
Laura.

PS.  To those who believe my whole blog is about me wishing for a boy, get over yourselves.  This is one post.  And hello, I'm a teenage girl.  Every teenage girl [and probably the boys, too--though I wouldn't know] think about this occasionally.

Don't feel awkward. I just like the picture.

Because, not gonna lie... That would be stupendous.

Anyway...
--Laura. (:

I sorta had a break down tonight. But not really. But kinda.

If I was our love,

where am I?

Where did I go after

it all went down?

To be deeply felt on one end

but turned away on the other.

You tore me up,

you kicked me out.

I was made of promises,

of friendship,

of happiness and

of photography.

of the river next to

our first kiss.

I grew through experiences.

I had holes,

I had flaws

we patched them up.

Half of me was so full of effort.

half of me was so full of lies.

My icy tundra

melted when we sat near.

But we grew distant.

So now I'm lost.

Packed up in a box in the back of a heart, maybe.

Stored on the dusty shelves of memory.

forgotten.

When I belonged to only one person,

what happened?

Forced inward,

but not able to be directed correctly?

The trick, to getting over a heartbreak--

all the love you have left to give,

let it spill into your own soul,

and on, I will live.

Love, Laura.

P.S.  In case you haven't picked up on this, I decided to write every night.  Most usually this will mean poetry.  Sorry if you hate my style.  I know a lot of it kinda sucks.  Bear with me.

A poem for a person.

Years.

Age.

Like time, it is relative.

The well-forgotten but,

when remembered,

remembered happily

childhood full of smiles and

birthday parties

and Santa Claus.

You go through life,

wishing to be older-

because no one told you

there are downsides

even then-

not stopping to realize

what a lovely thing you have.

It's cooler to act older.

But we all grow up in the end.

We slowly learn the truth,

that Santa Claus was never real.

An intangible force that guides you

to heightened feelings,

lower standards.

You realize how foolish you were

with every passing year,

you promise not to believe

with every passing moment.

But we still change, we still believe,

to what end?

What a time to live in,

where your heart and your mind

almost always rage a war.

Where your self-esteem and flaws

almost always rage a war.

Where your perception and your beliefs

almost always rage a war.

The battlefield of every soul,

stealing moments but making them as well.

But still we grow older,

still we learn and change and hope.

The deterioration of our anchors

only add to the quickening of our thoughts.

The cycle quickens and then there we rest,

with a shower of tears and flowers for your

empty shell.

Did you think your body is what carries it all?

Stages of life come and go, some well remembered

and it is all kept with each other.

The energy of life, of God,

it represents that we are all connected.

There is no living without life

but

there is no life without living.

And while it may seem we've gone,

we continue to remain in the hearts

of those who feel abandoned.

--I hope you liked it.

Love, Hippie.

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

There is perfect,

and then there is flawless.

They don't exist together because
our flaws are what make us

Perfect.

~  ~  ~

Sometimes, you forget that everyone has hardships.

You see someone and they seem so put together and amazing

and you are jealous.

Then you learn more about them

-like, say, you read their blog-

and you realize it's just a mask.

It's just an outer shell,

a protective covering.

Does anyone see through mine?

Inside a person

there is but a heart, soul, and mind.

The mind deals in facts

such as, he will break your heart

and he has enough to choose from already.

The heart deals in impulses

such as, we have a chance

and perhaps I am the girl for him any way.

Now the soul,

the soul is the most tempermental

and the most mysterious.

It is what lingers

when we are gone.

It is made up of experience,

of thought,

of hopes and dreams

and love and emotion.

We are all but souls weighted down.

If we let our souls take over,

and didn't listen to our hearts and minds,

would the world be a better place?

would we end up together?

Tell me darlin', do you wish we'd fall in love?

Love, Laura.


P.S.  I was at the park and saw the darlingest little boy.  The dad walked up with an equally cute little baby, and I told him, "They are soooo cute!"  He replied, "I may've screwed up with a lot of things, but they did turn out great" [or something to that extent].  The vulnerability shocked me, as did the truth.  We will all be redeemed in the form of the next generation.

I can taste Summer; it's so close.

In short,

Lagoon Day was a great deal of fun.

Tomorrow is my last day at

Mountain Ridge.

This place that might as well be my second home,

this place that I know like the back of my hand,

this place that I am leaving behind,

this place where I am comfortable.

I'm excited to be moving on,

I'm excited for a new dress code,

I'm excited for my new classes,

I'm excited to see my Sophomore friends.

I am terrified of leaving something I've known for three years,

I am terrified to have start over and make many new friends,

I am terrified of my new classes,

I am terrified of these scary big seniors.

But mostly,

I am anxious

to have a

new beginning.

Love, Freshman.