I am a 22 year old who feels sort of
like I'm ten. I love ghost stories, pretty
much any type of tea, british &
egyptian history, photography, wp,
and my favourite band is SoCo. I'm
also a bit of a Georgia Nicolson addict.
Ohmygiddygod. Sometimes
11.25.07 | 3am | (1)
Sometimes, I want to punch him, I want to slap him and kick him and chop off parts of his body — but nothing like his arms and legs, because he wouldn’t nearly miss them as much as a few things below the belt and above the knee.
Sometimes I wish that I had never met him, that I had met Kari through some other means, some other person, family maybe, since they live up where she is. Just.. not him.
Sometimes I’m almost completely willing to write him off forever, just forget he exists — block every avenue I have to him and telling Kari to ignore me if I mention his name. But by losing that, and forgetting him, I have to erase people that, to be quite honest, I’m ecstatic to meet.
But I never miss him anymore, I never look for his number on the phone, or wonder what he’s doing. I don’t check the weather in California to see how his day is heading, and I rarely ask of him, just when he crosses my mind. Which is getting fewer every day that passes. There are times when I wonder if he realizes what he’s done, what he’s thrown away, and if he sees it the way I do - the way some of our friends do. But, I don’t miss him. I don’t want to be with him, near him, beside him. I just have to say… I thought it would hurt a lot more then this.
Sometimes I wish that I had never met him, that I had met Kari through some other means, some other person, family maybe, since they live up where she is. Just.. not him.
Sometimes I’m almost completely willing to write him off forever, just forget he exists — block every avenue I have to him and telling Kari to ignore me if I mention his name. But by losing that, and forgetting him, I have to erase people that, to be quite honest, I’m ecstatic to meet.
But I never miss him anymore, I never look for his number on the phone, or wonder what he’s doing. I don’t check the weather in California to see how his day is heading, and I rarely ask of him, just when he crosses my mind. Which is getting fewer every day that passes. There are times when I wonder if he realizes what he’s done, what he’s thrown away, and if he sees it the way I do - the way some of our friends do. But, I don’t miss him. I don’t want to be with him, near him, beside him. I just have to say… I thought it would hurt a lot more then this.
