#realtalk

this is for him.

and i'm sorry i wrote so much about him,

but I don't take heartbreak too easy.

but who does?

this post is for the other him.

the real James.

you may know him by the name of McKay,

but he always will be James to me.

and no, i'm not in love with him,

he was just the perfect person,

inspiration and support in a time of welcome desperation.

 and this blog was about another boy.

and he might not be here to see this,

but trust me when i say the intent is the same.

i love you James McKay Chidester.

thanks for the boost of courage.

this is for her.

her ivory keys tickle the annoyance of melodies in my mind,

and her selfishness drives me to the point of insanity.

believe me when i say i will not miss you.

i thought we were supposed to stop playing pretend when we learned that 3x3=9,

but the square root of 9 is 3, and that's probably the only logic you understand.

this is for Mr. Stanley.

the funniest, most bad assed, courageous mo-fo i've ever met.

i'm glad we made that arrangement at the beginning of the year.

thanks for being my best friend.

this is for Madeline. and Abby.

and all of the other girls i fooled throughout the semester.

sorry i'm not who you wanted me to be.

this is for Nelson.

for giving me a taste of Paris when all I knew was French.

for opening my eyes to beyond Robert Frost.

for amazing mixtapes.

for tears.

for copious amounts of laughter.

for the inspiration.

for everything.

thank you.

and i know i'm not the first, or the only one to say it,

but i mean it.

thank you.

but this is for me.

all black clothes,

purple hair,

11 piercings,

bad language, and a broken heart.

a broken soul,

but a creative mind and no outlet.

a vulnerable girl with a lot of love to give,

but surrounded by the wrong people.

freckles,

and prescription glasses that are only worn on the days when she feels like they'll match.

so pale the albinos are envious,

and she is on her knees begging for this torment we call high school to be over.

begging to be out of this place where she stands out like a sore thumb because she wants to be herself.

50-hours-a week kind of girl.

in-love-with-a-boy-who-will-never-understand kind of girl.

he-broke-her-heart-but-she-still-falls-for-him-everyday kind of girl

looks-for-love-in-all-of-the-wrong-places kind of girl

naive kind of girl.

people-say-she's-too-mature-to-be-17 kind of girl.

still-not-old-enough kind of girl.

my kind of girl.

 that kind of girl.

thanks for reading.

love, James C. McKay

sorry for making a mess

you broke my heart into so many pieces I can't even count.

one for every promising word that was ever exchanged,
one for every word of love,
one for every conflicting word,
one for every word of sadness,
one for every word of defeat.
A piece for every smile that spread across my face when you would walk into the room.
A piece for every butterfly that fluttered it's delicate wings all around my stomach when I would hear you say my name.
A piece for all of the times your name would appear on my phone screen.
and I didn't think that something that is so easily taken for granted such as the heart could wind up in so many pieces, but here they lay.
down at my feet, covered in all of my salt water tears that I wasn't brave enough to cry out in front of you, because you would say that is immature.
and no matter how many times I try,
or you try,
or I try,
or we try,
or I try to put them back together,
someone is bound to give up.

and you still look at me with those big brown eyes, that are rimmed with a small trace of light blue from your contact lenses that seem to make the brown a little bit richer.

and I wish I could just run away and hide, be placed in a Witness Protection of Lovers and Heartbreak Protection Program, but I'm afraid those don't exist

but 2am is the time for missing people that don't seem to miss you, or maybe they're just better at hiding it than we are,

or maybe I am missing the phone calls that used to come from you at that time.

and I guess that fate just had different plans for us,

and the stars didn't align exactly how I wanted them to,

but I can't just blame fate,

but I can't blame myself either for you falling...

falling for someone else.

but I can blame you.

and you say it isn't fair, 

but neither is not telling me.

not telling me for 3 months.

but I certainly can't blame them,

they don't even know I exist.

and don't you mind that you left me in this state?

it all of the sudden seems nearly impossible for me to have caused this amount of heartbreak for someone,

but here I am,

standing in the wreckage,

while the shards are sinking into the soles of my feet.

and all I can do is pray that over time someone will come and save me and my bleeding fingers that have been trying to piece my heart back together.

but there will always be pieces too small to find where they go.

to small to pick up, or even to see.

my heart will be left with cracks that can only be filled with the stinging memories of you,

the left over pieces, the ones too small to use, to be swept into a dust pan, and thrown away without a second thought, like how they ended up there in the first place.

des arbres et des feuilles

winter is probably my favorite season

but only until January 18th even though my birthday is February 3rd.

85 more days

85 more days

85 more days

counting the minutes and the hours

and yeah, I know I wear too much black, but who are you to tell me it's wrong?

but it's because when the snow starts to turn grey and slushy from the dirt on the streets,

it loses its "winter wonderland" effect.

wtf youtube, you can't just decide to skip the best 4 songs on my "1975" playlist.

not cool. 

but sweaters are nice,

and coffee is nice,

and skiing is nice,

and the holidays are nice,

but the cold will eventually turn you numb,

and only so many weekends can be filled with ski trips to keep your mind occupied.

skiing can lose its glamour too, you know.

and I wish I could spend my days traveling around the world, but money is a bitch, ain't she?

so stop asking me what my blogger name is.

but spring sucks ass

and I wish I could spend my summers in the overcast comfort of Seattle, because the sun and my vampire skin don't get along,

but fall is in a pretty close 2nd to winter,

and black isn't my favorite color,  it's red.

you look so cool.

and no, I don't love them anymore.

but this hazy head of mine says no

and my love sick heart says yes

and I'm in a constant battle between the two.

jet black hair and dark brown eyes.

and despite how much I wish I wasn't,

I am home.

85 more days.

exactly 84 days, 1 hour, 22 minutes and 38 seconds.

but winter is pretty cool.

le jour de la mort

this was inevitable

and we all knew it was coming, because we all know the ending to this story.

and I wish I could tell you that somehow it could change, but it can't.

this is one ending that can't be unwritten.

and the beating hearts of the weary just make it worse,

but the tears of your sister just make it sad.

and the flowers make it beautifully tragic,

I had heard once that white roses represented innocence and heaven,

but I can't seem to rip my swollen eyes away from the mahogany case that lies at the front of the chapel.

and not all of the heartbreaking-ly chest-crushing music in the world can help that, but maybe it can cushion the blow for just a little while.

we all deserve to be sad, just like we all deserve to be happy.

until breathing doesn't hurt so much,

and until the quiet black hole that sits in between your heart and your lungs that feels like it's constantly pulling at everything inside you that ever mattered starts to disintegrate and fade into the shadowy background

not gone,

but you've learned to deal with the quiet.

we all have one way or another.

and because this sugar that is pumping through my veins, is turning my heart and soul blacker than the night,

and it's all because of the childhood that turned the sweetness sour.

but it wasn't our fault.

the blame is on no one but the stars and the moon,

but, what did they do wrong?

all we've learned is that eventually the sun will be gone too.

not in our lifetime, but everything has a lifetime,

and sometimes, the lifetime isn't long enough.

and the denim jacket that turned soft from over wear, and the tires that had to be changed sooner than they should have needed to be were all just written into a different story with the same ending,

but even though our endings are the same,

my ending will be different than yours.

and we'll all end up as skeletons in the ground, but at least we'll be together.

the sun will be cold, and the sky will turn into and endless night, but only to accompany us in our eternal slumber, but we'll all be together.

we'll all be together.

sinking to the bottom

This will all be over in due time, don't worry darling.
And these essential oils are burning my neck, but I don't mind.
This song has been on repeat for an hour now, and all I can think of is when I played it for you, and then we sat in silence for awhile, and then you broke it with the words, "That made me feel beautiful."

I'm glad it did, because it's true.
That whole night was a roller coaster of emotion for me, and I'm glad you were there.
But the toes still were broken, and the alcohol was all gone by the end of the night.
But you were there.
and we drove all night
and we sang, and we talked.
about him, about her,
about me and about you.
and then it was quiet.
and the mush that was my mind couldn't take it anymore,
and the next time I opened my eyes I was home.

you were there too, but not after I panicked and ran through the house screaming your name.
but I found you, and you were still here.
and then, after an hour of sleep, I drove you home.
the silence was deafening, and I just wanted to scream through it all.
slam on the breaks, throw the wheel, and take off with you and never return.
but no.
actually, I didn't.
the hopes that I have for you, you will never see for yourself.
and throwing yourself and everything you have and could ever have off the cliff like that makes me want to jump in after you,

but I forgot how to swim.
we'd both go down,
and we'd never resurface.
so fine.
smoke yourself into oblivion.
drink until your kidneys turn to stone,
and party like it was 1969,

but don't expect me to be there.
I've thrown myself in front of so many trains for you I can't even count,
and if you won't even answer my damn phone call, then you can wait for the train to pass.
I'm not your emergency break anymore.
I'll still see you,
and Christmas can't come sooner so I can tell you about how nice your hair is, because we've always had that inside joke,
but that's it.
I'll see you at the bottom of the ocean.
but I forgot you're afraid of the sea.

how to get your heart broken in 50 easy steps

1. have a crush
2. pursue
3. fall. hard.
4. text
5. call
6. laugh
7. hold hands
8. smile
9. go out to lunch multiple times a week
10. tell each other secrets
11. talk about the future
12. have someone break you the news
13. numbness ensues
14. be quiet
15. think
16. don't cry
17. don't cry
18. don't cry
19. think about the past
20. think about them
21. think about you
22. think about you both
23. numbness continues
24. listen to every sad song you've ever heard
25. sleep a lot
26. get mad
27. be embarrassed
28. mope
29. stare at your phone for copious amounts of time hoping they'll call and tell you it was all a lie.
30. don't cry
31. don't cry
32. don't cry
33. numbness continues
34. blank stares
35. confront
36. yell
37. scream
38. swear
39. name calling (also counts as swearing?)
40. ask for the truth
41. get told another lie
42. manipulative words that you wish you could believe
43. more sad music
44. a late night apologetic phone call
45. trust issues
46. long nights awake thinking
47. texts that were typed, deleted, re-typed, deleted again, and never sent
48. dramatic sighs
49. sit in the car long after the engine was turned off
50. think about them non stop no matter how much you try not to

jolene

every damn day of my life I try to be different.

and I don't know why, but "I Miss You" by Blink-182 just turned on and I almost wanted to cry.

different to me is normal.

and I guess you could switch those adjectives around and have a different sentence, but the same meaning:

normal to me is different.

I still don't know what love means.

I only hope to never know, just like the scientist in the world are always making new discoveries.

but, I can't be normal.

I have to be me.

and being me is different.

when I like a song, I will only listen to that song on repeat until I get sick of it.

but the funny thing is, I will always go back to it.

and I was the only one in my family to like that movie.

and I know we talked about how even if you think that you're doing something that's never been done before, you're wrong.

but I dunno, I'm a freaking nutcase.

and I hope there is no one else like me, for the sake of saving someone else.

I still sleep with my favorite stuffed animal from when I was 2 years old.

and I do think creativity exists.

you can be original.

someone HAD to do it first.

why couldn't it be you?

or me?

slow dancing.

it's all been a lie.
and I don't know what hurts me more;
that you pretend like you didn't do anything wrong,
or how I am still 100%, completely, head-over-heels for you.

shit.

and I tell myself it's not okay.
and you still smile.
and text
and call at 12:30am.
you said you didn't want to play any games,

but that's all this was.
just one big game.
but here I am,
still moving the pieces around like it matters,
but you and I both know that you already won.

and that just really sucks.

and not all of the sappy, sorry, depressing guitar solos in the entire world can glue my broken heart back together again no matter how many times I tell myself that they can,
but I still listen.

to them,
and to you.

so here's to heartbreak.
and here's to the pieces.
and here's to the people who told me so,
and here's to me for not listening,
but the saddest part is,

I don't regret a second of it.

songs that had some sort of impact on my life:

1. After the Storm - Mumford and Sons
2. The Age of Worry - John Mayer
3. All I Want Is You - U2
4. All You Ever Wanted - The Black Keys
5. Andy, You're A Star - The Killers
6. Angel - Jack Johnson
7. Because - The Beatles
8. Blackbird - The Beatles
9. Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
10. Bold As Love (Live) - John Mayer (this is more for the speech at the end rather than the song
    
11. Coeur d'Alene - The Head and the Heart
12. Colder Weather - Zac Brown Band (this is a rarity because I hate country music)
13. Daughters - John Mayer
14. Dead Man's Party - Oingo Boingo
15. Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys
16. Dreaming With A Broken Heart - John Mayer
17. Edelweiss - The Sound of Music
18. Everything Will Be Alright - The Killers
19. Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron and Wine
20. Free Fallin' - John Mayer (Tom Petty Cover)
21. Gimme Shelter - The Rolling Stones
    
22. Girls - The 1975
23. Golden Slumbers - The Beatles
24. Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles
25. Hey Jude - The Beatles
26. Hiding tonight - Alex Turner
27. Holocene - Bon Iver
28. Home - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
29. Home - Jack Johnson
30. Human - The Killers
    
    
    
31. I Don't Trust Myself With Loving You - John Mayer
32. I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys
33. In the Embers - Sleeping at Last
34. Little Fall Of Rain - Les Misérables
35. Lost in My Mind - The Head and the Heart
36. Medicine - Daughter
37. Mr. Brightside - The Killers
38. Paint It, Black - The Rolling Stones
39. Piledriver waltz - Alex Turner
40. Pride (In The Name Of Love) - U2
    
41. Riptide - Vance Joy
42. Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart
43. Robbers - The 1975
44. Shot At The Night - The Killers
45. Since You've Been Gone - The Outfield
46. Slow Dancing In a Burning Room - John Mayer
47. Somebody Told Me - The Killers
48. Stop This Train (Live) - John Mayer
49. El Tango De Roxanne - Moulin Rouge Soundtrack
    
50. Timshel - Mumford and Sons
51. Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear
52. When You Were Young - The Killers
53. Where The Streets Have No Name - U2

a pile of bricks

here's a brick for me.

here's a brick for you.

a brick for him, and for her.

a brick for every mile that I drive in a week.

a brick for all of the times that I would rather be at work than at home.

a brick for all of the times that I've said I'm sorry.

a brick for all of the times that I've actually meant it.

a brick for all of the times that I've lost sleep waiting up for your call,

and a brick for the times that it was actually worth it.

a brick for all of the songs on my iPod,

and a brick for all of the ones I actually listen to.

a brick for all of the bones I've broken.

a brick for all of the books I've read.

a brick for my future spouse,

and bricks for my future children.

a brick for my future adventures.

a brick for all of my travels.

a brick for the college that I'll end up going to.

a brick for this blog post, and all of the others like it.

a brick for creativity, because apparently, it doesn't exist.

a brick for my headache,

and a brick for my bad mood.

a brick for teenage angst,

and a brick for shaky hands.

bricks for pinky promises.

bricks all around for the people that think I'm weird,

so I guess another brick for myself,

but another brick for myself because I like it that way.

here's a brick for my car,

and one for my cat.

here's a brick for my dad, who decided it would be better if we parted ways, but still pretends like he is significantly a part of my life.

a brick for my mother, who is losing her sanity by the moment.

a brick for all of the alcoholic step-fathers,

and a brick for all of the high-school drop out brothers.

a brick for love,

and a brick for all that's been lost.

here's a brick to shady people, although I might throw it a little harder in their direction.

a brick for the people that found out my blog name, and decided to share it with others.

a brick for you, because the last 2 lines were for you specifically.

a brick for how many times I've seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off,

and a brick for how many times I still laugh when Cameron pretends to drown.

a brick for my bed, because it's the most stable thing in my life.

a brick for my step-sister, because she is my best friend.

a brick for the puppy that I wished for, but never got.

a brick for all of the winter heartaches.

and a brick for all of the overcast mornings that make me smile.

a brick for all of the raindrops ever.

a brick for the keys that have been lost,

and a brick for the screens that have been cracked.

a brick for the boys that break girls hearts,

and a brick for the girls who pretend they don't care.

a brick for school,

and a brick for all of the classes that I've actually attended this year.

a brick for coffee, because without it, I couldn't be writing this post.

a brick for John Mayer, because he is God.

a brick for blasphemy, because it makes me laugh,

and a brick for swearing.

a brick for caring, although it might be absent sometimes.

a brick for absentminded-ness,

and a brick for random thoughts.

a brick because this blog post might be too long,

but one more brick for not caring.

reflective thoughts.

I've been dreading this all weekend.
I really don't know what to say here, and I am surprised at myself.
Kind of like last night.

Walking around the quiet streets of Provo at 4 in the morning, and you had a bottle in your hand.
I quietly realized,
'This isn't the life I want to live.'
So I won't.

I made sure you got home safely and that everyone else was safe, including myself,
and I left.
And I won't go back.
But we can still be friends.
All of us.
We have to be.
But Jonny, you scared me. And I don't think I can ever look at you the same again after the things you said.
After the things you did.
I never thought I would say that.

And three phone calls through the middle of the night, and two more throughout the day cemented my thoughts that you really do care.
And after what my mom said oh-so-casually today, I know that I do too.
And she asked me where I was going to school today, and if you would have asked me 2 months ago, my answer would have been , "Georgia. I am going to Georgia."
But now I just don't know.
It was really unfair of you to ask me to go to school here so I can be closer to you.
Really unfair.
You ruin my life in all of the best ways imaginable.

But now my mind is a bowl of mismatched, colored marbles of all shapes and sizes, when before you it was just a color-coded, size sorted, labeled, box of Legos.
Ready to be built into my plan.
The plan that was already laid out.
We were just waiting on time.
I was waiting on time.

But now my car smells like campfire and cigarettes because I gave you a ride home,
and that was your only chance.
So.

So.



So.





So long to the Lego brick house,
and welcome to the swimming sea of uncertainty once more.

I did not miss you.

a crazy little thing

it's funny to me how the 4/5 of my existing posts are about love (if you can really call it that), but now that I actually have to write about it, nothing seems to come to mind.

but I guess that's the funny thing about love, and how it works.

you know, you'd think that I would be the expert on this topic because of the way that my head has been pounding,
and my heart has been racing,
and my knees go weak,
and my breathing quickens,
and my face flushes,
and my feet grow cold,
and my mouth ever so slightly curls up into a subtle smile,


just to know that you've walked into the room.

but no, I'm not in love. at least not for now.


but here I am. It's a Tuesday night, and I'm staring down at my phone, waiting for your call.

we haven't planned it, so I guess I shouldn't be disappointed if it doesn't happen.

but I didn't expect it last night, and I went to bed smiling.

and I've only ever felt this way about one other person, but still maybe not quite to this extent.
and it might be stupid of me to say that it was two years ago because I was a sophomore then, but Nelson, here's the answer to your previous question;


I never had a good relationship with your mom. It wasn't bad, but I guess it just wasn't there, and your dad scared the living hell out of me, but he was one of the nicest guys around.

and on those summer nights after you were gone, I would curl up into a blanket on my tramp and think of the time that it was you and me. your long curly hair shining in the starlight as I ran my fingers through it, and how you would softly hum your iTunes library in my ear.

and the first phone call you ever gave me woke me up from a nap.

that was the only time I was ever happy to be woken up, until this morning. that makes 2.

the feeling crept through me, like alcohol through the veins. warming up every inch of my figure, until I couldn't take it anymore.

but you went with someone else to prom.


and our first date was 90% laughter, with 10% of the jokes that caused it in between.
and yeah, we had a third wheel, but that made it even more memorable.
and maybe you were two years older than me, but that made me look even cooler in my friend's eyes (not that I was very cool to begin with).

but you're gone now.

two years.
two years, two years gone.

and yeah, I wonder about you a lot.

I think about shooting you a quick text "how's life?", maybe a nice phone call, or just a quick catch up date,

but what's the point in trying? two years is a long time.

but I saw your mom today, and she just smiled. because I was with the person that waiting for two years gets you.



someone else.

error in communication//

because even though that phone call lasted thirty minutes shorter that I wanted, my heartbeat is still at an unsafe tempo.

because I didn't say what I wanted to yesterday and I'm still mad at myself, and that phone call was my second chance but I didn't take it.

and yes, I've been a John Mayer fan, or more like a disciple since I can remember, but I still didn't take his advice no matter how many times I've listened to that damn song.

because of the way you dumbfounded me when you told me you didn't want to talk about it anymore.

because of the way you asked me then next day if we could.

because of the way you claim you're so mature, but I feel like you're the one that needs the lesson on how to be an adult.

because my teenage angst overpowers my well practiced maturity.

because I've never had to deal with someone like you before, and that drives me crazy. 

because you know how to piss me off.

and you're good at it too.

because that does piss me off.

because my heart stops,

and my breath quickens,

and my hands shake every time my phone goes off.

because my heart sinks when I see it isn't you.

because I'm writing this post about you when I told myself I wouldn't.

Damnit

damn your beautiful brown eyes.

damn the way you looked at me through your lashes and said I was beautiful.

damn you for calling me sweet, because I have a love/hate relationship with that, because while you might think so, most people don't think that.

 including myself.

but damn my mind for dreaming that dream last night, they all told me that this was all a game, and I couldn't help but wake up scared of this. of you. of what is supposed to happen.

and damn you, because I think I'm starting to really like you, and this wasn't supposed to happen.

but damn myself, because I'm glad it did.

damn it all.

crayons

we've traded in the crayons for car keys, girlfriends, late nights, and tears.

but in some way, we had to.

we are no longer the naive little six-year-olds hanging off monkey bars and hoping for the new Easy Bake Oven for Christmas. 

that all seems so adolescent now, but that's because it was.

it is.

something is missing from my messed up teenage mind, and maybe it is my crayons.

or maybe it's the almost stupid, but beautiful innocence that we possessed when we were that young.

a blissful bubble that consisted of Blue's Clues, animal crackers, and swing sets.

but not anymore.

somedays, I'm glad that those days are lost and behind us, 

but believe me when I say, somedays I long for those days to be back. 

you. me. paris.

I want  to go to Paris with you.

Walk the streets and look at the sights.

Hand in hand as we walk around the city, down the Le Champ de Elyseé.

And maybe we'll look like tourists for awhile, but who cares, because I'll be with you.

And maybe it will rain.

And as everyone takes shelter, we can slow dance in the middle of the street together and melt into the Parisian life, no longer a pair of dinky American tourists.

We'll speak French, but then we can whisper in English when we don't want people to know what we're saying.

Sometimes we'll pretend to be those obnoxious Americans when we want to, but not long after, you and I will realize how nice it is just to be a part of the locals.

We can live in the city, but own a small cottage in Tours for weekends when we want to be lost together. Your big brown eyes lost in mine as we sit in a field of lavender and gaze at each other as I whisper your name over and over again, like the first time when you asked how it would be said in French.

I told you then, and I'll tell you now; there isn't a translation.

But saying it with my not-so-perfect French accent made you laugh, and that was good enough for me.

We don't have to stay forever, but just long enough to make it count.

You'll probably want to go back home, and I'll go with you, because your home is mine as well.

And when we are finally done with Paris, we can move on to the next adventure, but hopefully that won't be for a long time, because I love Paris,

but not as much as I love you.