an apostrophe from cypress to the guy she's liked since pretty much second grade.

Apostrophe: figure of speech in which an absent person, a personified inanimate being, or an abstraction is addressed as though present. The term is derived from a Greek word meaning “a turning away,” and this sense is maintained when a narrative or dramatic thread is broken in order to digress by speaking directly to someone not there.

O, long lost love! Forget this, it's not English class. We're in the same one of course. Everywhere I go you're right there. And you're back with her again! I said I was sorry about you breaking up. I was. But now you're back to making cow eyes at each other. I can't deal with it anymore. I'm trying to make myself like another guy who, ironically enough, I still have no chance with, but I have a bigger chance with him than with you. At least he's single.

Last night after the competition, we went out on awards line like we always do. First place percussion, you dut 4 times and we march out together to receive the cutesy little trophy. You take it from the guy there, you shake hands first, but then you smile at me and ask if I want to take it as we march back. I say okay, and go put it behind the line. (We always put awards behind us, instead of in front like other bands, because we're trying to send the message that awards don't matter. You know this already, but you're not the one reading this because you don't give a shit about me in the way i want you to and I'm saying all this to my blog readers, not you.)

I'm always glad we go together. I couldn't do it alone like everyone else goes out. One goes out for marching, one goes out for music, one goes out for guard. but we go together for percussion. i hurry along to keep up with your long strides, i worry about my marching, i worry about doing something stupid, but i know you're not going to mess up, and i feel totally safe like nothing bad is ever going to happen, just as long as your're right there on my right side.

And as a tradition, everyone on awards line takes an award and we link arms and walk back to the band, singing our cadence in the absence of a drum line. You suggest we both hold onto the award. We're together, finally, compressed in a line of eight others each with their own trophy. As we wait on the field to go back to the band, I realize, this is the closest I have ever been to you and the closest I will be. We squeeze together closer to fit in a picture, and I plaster on a smile. Our hands touch, our arms link, our hips brush, we laugh together. Together.

and you will never know how that feels, will you?

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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. :)