Just Dance.

I hope the sun shines

and it's a beautiful day

and something reminds you

you wish you had stayed

Because this is real life, people.

In real life, people do drugs and have sex and tell lies.  In real life, people kiss you because "why not?" and people don't kiss you because "why?".  In real life, guys give incredible hugs and make beautiful manipulations.  In real life, girls compliment the face and gossip behind the back.  In real life, tables come crashing down because three teenage boys are playing war at a party.

In real life, feelings collide and so do thoughts.  In fact, real life is practically a war of head and heart, with a little will mixed in.  That's just real life.  Real life is math equations and story problems and punctuation and bad singing.  Real life is harsh and doesn't make sense.

But sometimes we get to have moments of fake life, like first kisses by a stream and fitting in.  Moments like painting a set or winning first place or someone unexpected flirt with you.  It's like re-reading your favorite book by a fireplace or having caramel hot chocolate with the most amazing people at IHOP at one in the morning.  Fake life is like hope and happiness and non-reality.

Fake life is taking risks, but so is real life.  We're all fake life and we're all real life and it's all life and the best part is that we all share it.

The best way to stay clean is to not start.
love always, laura.

No good life is led on maybes.

"Here's my palm; care to read it?"

Because, who knows, maybe you'll learn something.

Maybe you can tell my why I'm so constantly on the verge of tears lately, for no good reason; I've seen my two best friends more in the past three days than I have in the previous two weeks, I'm understanding my math, and I've been reading more often.  Why am I on the verge of tears?  And why can't I seem to talk to him about it anymore?

Maybe you can tell me how I feel; what I think and what I don't.  You could see, possibly, what I think of him and what, hopefully, he thinks of me.  Why I think I have to act a certain way when I don't and why I can't seem to talk to him anymore.

Maybe you could tell me how he really feels, from looking at the hand he once held.  Maybe it left something, residue, for lack of a better word; maybe from that, you can deduce why he's doing what he's done and why he's said what he said.

Maybe, also, you could decide how long my life will be.  But don't tell me; I don't want to know.  I prefer living in my dream of forever young; after all, we only grow up when we stop having fun.
Maybe I miss how we were.

Then again, maybe you can't.
But I know we can never go back.  So thanks, Mitchell, now I'm alone again.

Maybe you'll see a tired hand, fingernails painted some off color that you know I hate, but that's all.  Hands really don't tell you much.  If you really want answers, look at my eyes.  Eyes will tell you everything.
For one thing, if they're green, you'll know I've given up holding it back.

love always, laura.

Repetitions, comma splices, and a whole load of ugly.

I'm trying. I'm trying. I'm trying. I'm trying.
I'M TRYING.

I'm trying to prove J wrong about me.
I'm trying to understand math.
I'm trying to balance my life out.
I'm trying to eat healthy.
I'm trying to stop trying and just succeed.

Yes, I'm still trying to get over some things some one did to me
that have left me broken and bitter
for over a year now.

I'm still trying to stop letting one person's actions
cloud what everyone else is doing
now.

I'm still trying to understand why I wasn't enough for him.
I'm still trying to understand how he can't feel bad about it.
I'm still trying to understand how to trust another guy.
I'm still trying to understand why the slightest thing sets me off lately
and I'm still trying to understand why I'm crying.

I want to smash my face in a pillow and cry and cry and cry

but instead I get to wake up and get up
like nothing bad ever happened to me
like I think I can sing
like I am confident
like I believe fully in myself
like I know what I'm doing
like I know who I am
like I know what to do
and
like I know how to do precalculus

Please try to avoid all that emotion vomit up there.

I just don't know why I brought this all up tonight
I just don't know why I'm crying
I just don't know why he picked me
and I'm starting to think he doesn't either

--laura