first floor, girls bathroom mirror

While worrying about my hair, complexion, makeup, and freckles, I noticed in the lower left corner of the mirror a yellow sticky note. It was folded and crinkly and it read: "You're beautiful :)"

I smiled and stopped worrying. What a day-maker.

snap, crumble, stay.

You picked the bubble head. In the dark on the bus ride home, it just ended up that you sat behind me. With her. The bubble head.

I heard every word you said to her- I really, really like you. You're a beautiful girl. But you explain how bad it would look to date again after you just broke up with a girl.

Oh god.

I whisper to Katalina, Oh god... sophie likes him, doesn't she?

She says, "yep."

I sit back against the window and we both listen. I don't want to hear any more but I'm stuck, transfixed. I can't believe this, but somehow it's just what I knew all along. Everywhere we go, we're together. You're sitting behind me. we still walk out for awards line together. we're both percussion captains. How can you say we're not meant to be?

I cry. I cried right there on the bus. I held it in, and Katalina held me, just like you should have, but never did, and never will.

I really hate Asian color guard girls and quad players right now.

Just... screw you.

and she's cute, too!

The other day I stumbled upon this lovely lady, Clara Chung, and her intoxicating voice. Seriously, how can this song just not make you fee happy? The thing she plays at the end is called a melodica... and now, I really want one. right there next to that ukulele. and i now also feel inspired to go practice my singing.

ok seriously, how is it that crap like justin beiber gets signed but not her? well, i shouldn't say that, because i don't know the guy personally or how hard he's worked... but you get my point.

what?

You broke up again. I better not get my hopes up for when you get back together again in two hours.
anyway. I generally have not many interesting things to say today.
Or this whole week. it's like... life is interesting, but not interesting to a stranger.
maybe it just takes me too long to explain and i'm being lazy.
But life is pretty ... simple, yet complicated.
Like math.
I just can't figure out what the hell is going on.
and i have fallen ridiculously behind in most of my classes, so my mom let me stay home after the stress of the weekend's competition and just catch up.
yay.
um... that's it.

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?