late nights and loud fights
it's all just a blur

11:20 p.m. | 2003-12-16
I Know That Now

Word of the Day for Tuesday December 16, 2003

velleity veh-LEE-uh-tee; vuh-, noun:
1. The lowest degree of desire; imperfect or incomplete volition.
2. A slight wish or inclination.

Would you think a girl like me to fall in love?

So cynical. So hard a heart. Could you see me melting when someone looks at me? Could you see me holding myself in my arms and being fragile? Could you see me--the one who stands tall and strong--crumbling?

Is it possible that when I look up at him, his smile makes me want to smile? That the way he laughs makes me nervous on the inside, makes me blush a little, makes me look down and makes time slow a little as I pick up? Could it be that I'm the one in the movie?

I don't know what this feeling is, I'll admit that much. It makes me cringe to think about it though. Makes me feel like I'm holding a pillow and crying, staring at a home movie screen, skipping around like it's on old 35mm tape. I watch it flicker by, frame by frame as it shows all these sweet old family memories, all of these boys I know, holding me, smiling with me, laughing with me, and then that shot again. Me, smiling, but looking down, breaking the smile, smiling again and then looking up at him.

He's not in focus. The rest of the picture is kinda fuzzy, it almost moves faster than I do, like it's in another time.

But I can see me, I can see my hand sweep the hair from my face, I can see me make eye contact with him. I can see how happy I am.

I remember all the silly things I said that he forgot, I remember all of the great times we had where we were simply juvenile and smiled, like the beginning on the Wonder Years, where they show all those great old clips?

My sight fades to just pictures, flashing by slowly, I see me, I see other people, but I don't see that smile. I don't see something that takes me away and makes me happy. I see it once more. The very last picture, I see that same beaming face, where I get so happy my cheeks get red and my eyes kinda squint when I smile, it's real, and I'm happy, I'm almost laughing. He has his arms around me. Connie took it this summer at her house. You can see this glow on my face. His arms are around me. He's got this great smile, his chin is nuzzled into my neck, smiling with me. I've never seen him smile like that.

I don't want to love him. I don't want Gabe to be the guy that makes me smile like that. Gabe hurts. Gabe makes me wish I was someone else. Gabe makes me want something else than I have. He makes me want to just stare at him and be with him, but he won't let me. I want to push him away, but I can't get this image out of my head, of him...with his arms around me, and that smile. That same smile as my dream, where I'm so happy. I don't want to be happy with him, he can't make me that happy, it's not fair.

I've ignored myself. That's my problem. I've never listened to what my body says to do, but now that I do--it tells me I'm happy with this boy. This one that holds me, and tells me he'd much rather give me a kiss and lay down with me than anything else. We're both so false. So fake. So wrong. So young.

Yes, Gabe, my sticker does say 'pickle.'

I don't mind being young. I don't mind being the little one. I've been old too long. I've let my joints hurt too much. Too long. To far. Too. Much.

I'm not letting go now, but I'll let go soon, or soon enough.

Signing Off--Lauren

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