Good Charlotte

Needs to make another song. The song "I don't wanna be in love" is a fabulous song - it was my mantra and motto two years ago.

But now...

I kinda want it back. I do kinda wanna be in love. It's a nice, fuzzy feeling, I'm ashamed to write. I mean, I thought I liked one guy but was that just because he started dating some girl? (By the way, she dumped him because she "missed her old boyfriend", so now he's going out with someone else and a few weeks later so is she... who happens to be one of his friends. *sigh* Girls. However, his friend was the one that did the asking, and I am not aware that this was planned by his friend to spite him. I don't think he would do that. He's too strange. I'm honestly kinda surprised that his friend isn't actually gay. Yes, that was mean of me to say, but it really was a bit of a shocker.)

Anyway, enough of me being catty, back to the whole purpose of this post.

It really is a beautiful thing. While it does tear you apart and leaves you crying in the darkness, it definitely is something worth it to fight for. It's fuzzy. It makes you smile just thinking about it.

You stay up at night, wondering if he's wondering about you. (If you're me, he's probably not.) You do everything just to impress him, and while he never really notices, you still feel better. You pick the petals off of dead flowers, frequently landing on he-loves-me-not and doing it over because that flower had a petal that fell off in the first place anyway. Right? Riiiiight. You search the internet and all your old yearbooks for his pictures, so you can sigh and stare deeply into his eyes without it getting too awkward.

You watch him when he talks, and smile when he smiles. Every song you hear makes you think of him. You wish on shooting stars that he'll notice you. You smile at him just to see if he'll smile back, and then you trip over something. He may or may not laugh, depending on if he noticed you.

You go where he goes, in a non-stalkerish way, of course. You write pretty poetry in your journals. You might even fit his last name up with yours, just hypothetically, of course. You giggle with your friends about him (or if you're anything like me, you keep it and take your secret to the grave, giggle to yourself, and look insane to your friends and passers-by).

You do something stupid and look over your shoulder to make sure he wasn't watching. You dedicate your every victory to him. You become a much more shy, insecure person. You lie awake at four in the morning, crying. You would go to the ends of the earth and back for him.

You play over imaginary scenes in your head where you actually talk to him. You remember every conversation you have had with him, and realize hours later how dumb you probably looked. You try to impress him, you try to make him laugh... Just being near him makes your heart skip a beat. You worry when he's not at school, your brain whirring into overdrive, dreaming up a million horrible things that could have happened to him. When you pray for your family's and friends' protection and happiness, you pray for his too.

You sit by yourself and daydream. His face haunts your dreams. Every journal entry you write mentions him somewhere. Your friends wave their hands in your face as you stare off at apparently nothing. They laugh at you if you tell them, but you don't care... or at least you pretend not to. You love him more than chocolate when Georgie's here, you love him more than a fat kid loves cake. You want him more than the desert wants rain, more than Miley Cyrus wishes she had real talent. You love him, you want him, you need him, yet you know that could never happen.

And so you fight for it. You fight for love. Something as stupid as that. Like bombing for peace and fucking for virginity. Fighting for love. A walking oxymoron (Taylor, three more for you).

But do. Do fight for love, and all the pain it brings. Love is a battle. Love is a truly wonderful thing, for without it we are bare calloused creatures. Sometimes I fear we already are...

I feel inspirational. The thing is, I think maybe I am (in love, that is). I think there maybe is someone who is starting to be all those things I talked about.

Here we go again.

I hope I'm right about that, or I'll have been hopelessly profound and dorky sounding for no reason.

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Wow, you really read all that? Danggg. Props! =]

Well, I see you've just had the imponderable joy of stumbling onto the blog of an 18-year-old girl who can't really describe herself in 500 words or less, such as in little text boxes like these. She didn't intend her blog to really become so much like her online diary (she was hoping it would have an interesting, helpful purpose to serve the world and all) but blogging is just kind of fun. This girl's a bit of an environmentalist and a full-tilt vegetarian, a bit of an artist who can't draw, a bit of a writer who can't find time to read, and a completely hopeless romantic. She enjoys white chocolate, coloring, wading in creeks, music, Doctor Who, and speaking in third-person when it's unnecessary like this.

Now go read the rest of the blog and meet her, if you like of course. :)