The Bird and The Worm

I listen to Owl City, because I know how much you hated it.
I'm afraid to look at my own wall, because I kept the sticker you gave me, and it's right in the middle.
I wake up too early, because the morning winter chill brings me the security that left with you.
I write blogs, because I think you liked them once.
I cut my nails too short, because it doesn't hurt when I clentch my fists.

I watch Skins, because you said it was better than Gossip Girl.
I wear jumpers on the hottest days, because I still feel cold.
I deleted all my text messages, becaue I couldn't just delete yours.
I hid all sharp objects, because I can't do that to myself.
I wrote you a letter, because I thought it would help.

I said my feelings were gone, because they are.
I cry too much, because I can't help remembering.
I can't sleep most nights, because of the memories.
I fall quiet and wear my pensive face, because I forget how to talk.
I won't eat avocados, because they are your eyes.

I cut my hair, because you liked how it used to be.
I take deep breaths, because I knew I was right.
I love my friends, because they were all wrong.
I write down my feelings, because I don't really know what they are.
I fall for everyone, because they aren't you.

But, really...

I enjoy the feeling of crapness spinning through my mind, with each Owl City song.
I smile, because the sticker tells me to.
I love cold, winter mornings.
I write blogs, because I'm waiting for Gossip Girl to load.
And I cut my nails short, by accident.

I love Sid and Michell and Tony and Maxie and Effie and Jal and Cassie, but not Anwar. And, Gossip Girl is better than Skins.
I live in warm wooley jumpers, no matter the weather.
I deleted yours first.
The letter did help.

The letter made me realise that I don't like you anymore.
I cry when I'm embarassed, and I'm embarassed when I cry, so I cry more.
I can't sleep because I dream of terrible things, and wake up happy.
I have a pensive face now, so's I don't say stupid things or make bad jokes or cry in embarassment, I just look at you, when you blow out the pretty flame, dancing in my eyes as I play with my cheap lighter.
I hate avocados, and I always have.

I cut my hair like the Tony & Guy ad, because I wanted to be a pixie.
I take deep breaths, as I write this, and wonder if you, or anyone, will ever read it. But really, I don't care, so I write on.
I was right, and my friends were wrong, if only I'd had confidence in myself. But, I guess, shit happened, and I'm still ok.
And, I love them, none the less.
Yeah, I also write about the dead cat I saw on my way to school, and that metaly-petrol smell that I love so much, and english essays, all of which I hardly understand. Feelings, Shmeelings.
And, for the record, I don't fall for anyone. I just got excited at the fact that I was attracted to other people again, after so long of whatever was going on with me, and, you know, complicated my friendships, sexuality and mood swings along the way..

The fact is, I'm not heat-felt anymore, if I ever was. Sure, I'm an emotional whore, and I talk about myself too much, and theres quite a handful of beautiful people who aparently enjoy spending time with me, but, to quote Ben Folds and Regina Spector, You Don't Know Me At All.

You don't know that I can't stand loosing Monopoly, and that singing is my favourite thing to do in the world ever, and that I'll never reach my dreams, so I'm making up new one's along the way, and that I wrote you half a song which ended with the words "I love you" because I thought I would one day, and how much I love drinking milk from the carton. And you never noticed the way I looked up into the corner of my eyes ever now and again, and you didn't even realise that you couldn't handle me for more than exactly 2 months and one day, and finally, FINALLY, I don't care anymore. Beause as beautiful and wonderful and sweet and lovely as it all was, life goes on, and all I'm really thinking about now is how good those sliced strawberries and banana and chocolate sauce and maybe a bit of caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream and icing sugar, on waffles are going to taste, when I make them with the waffle maker Paloma and Julia are giving me for my birthday.