"Forever's an awfully long time."

Posts tagged ‘rant’

I Know You

In a crowd of a million people, I’d know the back of your head. I’d be able to see you, pick you out; just give me a telescope and I’d find you. I know you.

Blindfold me, and let me touch a thousand hands. I’d pick out yours. I know your hand.

Have everyone I know write an anonymous message to me. I know what you’d say. If it were handwritten, I’d say know your handwriting.

Let me cover my eyes, and have people talk to me. I’d know who you are. I know your voice. I know your laugh.

I know your experiences, your secrets, your dreams. I know how to make you happy. I know what to say to make you smile; I know what not to say to piss you off. I know when to leave you alone, and I know when you need a hug.

So why do I have to be punished for knowing you?

When reality slaps you in the face

I have just been slapped in the face. 

It was like a cold bucket of water. Funny how we become so blind in love that we tend not to see anything else in front of us. Funny how stupid we act when we’re in love. 

Funny that I can’t stop loving him, not now and not yet.

But I know that reality is cruel, and I have just been slapped in the face by it. 

You were never the right person to fall in love with.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now, and I’ll probably regret posting this a few weeks from now, but for now, this serves as a sort of warning to me. 

He is making you feel things that you shouldn’t be feeling. And it’s not those ridiculous bubbly happy feelings, either. It’s bad feelings.



Like I’m not worth it; literally.

He makes me feel bad about myself, and I know I shouldn’t. Why should I be giving him my time when he can’t be bothered with anything else, apparently?

I hate this.

I don’t hate him. 

I still love him.

But I still hate this. 

Sorry, dear, but I just love holding grudges

Yes, even though it wasn’t me that was wronged.

(WARNING: Too much hate. Proceed with caution)

How dare you. How dare you

I know how he says he’s over you, but I can also hear him when you pass by as if nothing happened. I can hear him calling my attention, and I can see the hurt that’s still in his eyes.

I’m neither blind nor deaf. I just pretend to believe him.

I just wrote this sweet little blog post to remind myself that I will forever be labeling you as a bitch, and I will judge you for the rest of your life. I have no plan of socializing with you any time soon.

Before any of you readers tell me that I shouldn’t be this judgmental and evil, I will tell you that I have evidence, and what she did to my friend is just… low.

So to you, if you ever read this. I’m watching you.

Hate. Hate. Hate. 

When the Mind is Overheated

I have pressed Ctrl + A and then Backspace so many times just thinking about the first lines and paragraph for this blog post. 

I promise you, no more deleting. It’s just so hard for me to explain my thoughts and feelings this time. Wait, let me rephrase. It’s hard for me to explain my thoughts and feelings this time… and actually make sense while doing it

It’s as if my mind right now is just a jumble of thoughts, words, colors, emotions and sensations that are just exploding at the same time and in such rapid motion that I can’t help but squeal like a little girl. It’s like being a machine that’s been overheated and can’t function right.

Heck, I have a fever right now and I don’t think I’m functioning right, so I guess that’s that.

It’s just being so happy because he said something like that, because I could see it in his eyes and I know he meant it, but being sad at the same time because I know he meant it, and nothing else, nothing deeper. It is feeling like you want to cry into a pillow, but you can’t because you’re so happy that he’s your friend. It’s like wanting to hate him and love him, and feeling frustrated because you can’t do either

It is wondering why you got yourself into this. 

When People Let You Down

I’ve been talking about sad things, lately. Forgive me now, since I’m going to talk about another sad occurrence. It’s a sad thing when people let you down. It’s even sadder when you thought that the people involve weren’t capable of letting you down, and yet, in the end, among all the people who could have, they did. And even after approximately seven months, it’s just sad that I’m still affected by it.

One day. That’s all I asked for. I asked them. TWELVE MONTHS IN ADVANCE. If they would be able to come. They said they could. They promised. All of them. My eighteenth birthday came and… let’s say ‘devastated’ is the wrong word for things. 

Now, there might be some of you reading this who are saying that I’m going to start making a huge gigantic fit about my eighteenth birthday. In my culture, we call our eighteenth birthday parties a ‘debut’. It is this one big special event (probably the equivalent of a sweet 16) where all your friends are there, you get to dance with the men of your life, you shed a tear or two while your girlfriends share all their happy moments and dreams for you, with you, and all your relatives are there. 


Now, I can understand if they were busy. I’m not so selfish to think that the world revolves me and I’d expect the entire world to stop turning just so that they could fly over and see me for one night

I do, however, think that it would be almost entirely impossible not to send me a video greeting on my birthday, when all of my other friends did. Heck, one of my cousins even got my favorite basketball team from here to greet me a happy birthday. But the people who matter more to me… They didn’t even say ‘HI’. Not a text on the day of my debut. Nothing. And it hurts more than I can bear. 

A grudge of seven months is not a pretty thing. Especially not when I was over at their place in January and I practically burst into tears seeing everyone all together. They couldn’t even do that for one night, just for me.

And they had the nerve to ask me why I was crying.

No. Until they know that I need an explanation, I will not relent. 

I’m not a spoiled brat. I asked for one night, that’s it. I don’t even like having birthday parties, but because it was my eighteenth, I considered it special.

I’d have thought you would have at least wanted to make me feel loved on my special turning of age ritual. Hm. 

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