I can’t stop thinking. There are too little words in that sentence but the spaces are filled with too many emotions. How I miss you so - or are these whispers in the corners of my mind fake? What am I doing. What am I. What am I actually thinking. If I have all these thoughts, does it still make me lonely? I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy.

Dream drug.

It's strange. It's a relationship (I don think it's a relationship). It's something safe that they we have. Like the giggles and the stomach clenching and 

I'm not talking to you for five minutes. 

They talk about everything and blankblankblank. Words filled with nothingness that leaves them with a light breeze, lingering glances and a bad after taste. 

She always liked those glances though. because sometimes, when she saw them (when she gave them) it'd make her feel like she wasn't the only one stuck. 

Stuck. Stuck with a heavily stacked contract with blank pages. Torn edges. Stuck with her hands tied behind her back and a blindfold 

I don't know what I'm doing, I can't see where my feet are falling and I don't want you. I don't I don't I don't.

He knew her, Iknowyou, he knew too much and it scared her because she didn't know him (I don't want to know you because I like you too much for my/her/your/his own good). 

She doesn't think about anything, and it's all in the music, droplets of golden rainbow dripping through her soul as she tries, tries, tries to be this paradigm of perfection, silly and smiley and happy, but it's all for him, for him, and sometimes she thinks that no one else sees that because no one sees no one ever sees and it's like an addiction. 

The more she feeds it, the more she needs it.

I don't won't anybody to notice (She doesn't want him to notice even if her heart thinks otherwise. Stupidheart) because then it'd be real, too real for me to hold above the mountain of silver and clouds and happiness.

Too real for me to let go. Too real for a beginning and too real for an ending 

(make it easier and untie me. before it becomes too real for you and me). 

Again.

I cannot watch you be you. You always make me want something I can't have.

Its final.

Yes. It's final. 'You' is my friend and thats all. I don't need anymore emotional baggage. I don't want to try.  


And even If it makes me feel like an idiot, going back and forward with 'You', at least I'll know that time can only heal the wounds I made myself. 

Walking the surf.

Tomorrows our school Surf Walk. We're walking from Muizenburg beach to Vishoek beach.

And I'll be walking with you. I really don't want to.

But at the same time I do.

We are humans.

I have come to live in a place 

where people

judge.

What you eat,

What you wear,

The things you do,

The cars you drive,

The way you speak,

The color of your skin,

The God you believe in.

We are blind to notice.

It is up to you.

It is now.

Now. Now. Now