Dear sister. We've been sharing a room for less than a month. We're never in the room at the same time unless we're sleeping. BUT
Quit fucking touching my stuff.
My computer? NOT FUCKING YOURS.
My pillow? ESPECIALLY NOT FUCKING YOURS. DON'T STEAL MY FUCKING PILLOWS. PAY FOR YOUR OWN GODDAMN SHIT.
My D.S.? Leave it the fuck alone. Don't touch it.
and how about you actually get fucking dressed in the mornings so I don't have to listen to dad yell at you and slam on the lights every morning at 7:00 am. If it's gotten to th epoint where I have to open my eyes to tell you to put some fucking clothes on so Dad doesn't yell, it's become a fucking problem.
Love,
Ashleigh.;
Honestly can't wait to get the fuck out of here again.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
What I Never Told Anyone (About That Night)
I'd prepped my entire self for that night.
Damnit I was ready. There were a few hitches - as there normally are when you're drunk.
But then we finally had the room just the two of us. I've already written down on the sweaty details, but towards the end when the alcohol had finally completed the process of turning your brain into mush, you asked me
"Baby, am I your boyfriend?"
In my own drunken state, I knew these words wouldn't last. You were speaking with the words of a 12 year old. Having consumed less than half the alcohol you'd had, I knew that my response could be construed as me taking advantage of you. It wasn't like I wasn't drunk - but I'd remember this in the morning and for weeks to come, and you wouldn't. Were you my boyfriend? For that time we'd been dating, and hooking up drunk and sober? The question hung there for a millisecond as ten thousand thoughts ran through my mind. You were the only person I was seeing, but you weren't captured in the exclusivity of being mine. We called each other baby, and had grown comfortable in each other's presence and it was a regular occurence to cuddle watching movies. Our quasi-relationship had become the talk of the building. And this night - our last night - was a night meant to boil down to this very question, yet meant to be asked in a very different state of mind. When I got off the plane in a different state the next day, would you be my boyfriend? Would I be your girlfriend? When I returned to this city, the same I called home, and you were gone, would you still be my boyfriend? This was the talk we were supposed to have that night, but didn't soberly discuss. Instead we'd polished off Miller Genuine Draft and Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka, and gotten to know every inch of each other's naked bodies. When we finally stopped touching and tasting and teasing, we'd settled into a comfortable position, me with my solid buzz and you with your solid drunkenness, waiting out the remaining time until your roommate returned, under the guise of trying to fall asleep. I hoped beyond hope that my answer would remain in the morning, but I knew with all knowledge that it wouldn't. Your question still haunts me and it's been 36 days since you've asked but never again asked me sober, and the answer still I wouldn't change, still ringing in my ears.
"Yeah, baby. Of course."
Damnit I was ready. There were a few hitches - as there normally are when you're drunk.
But then we finally had the room just the two of us. I've already written down on the sweaty details, but towards the end when the alcohol had finally completed the process of turning your brain into mush, you asked me
"Baby, am I your boyfriend?"
In my own drunken state, I knew these words wouldn't last. You were speaking with the words of a 12 year old. Having consumed less than half the alcohol you'd had, I knew that my response could be construed as me taking advantage of you. It wasn't like I wasn't drunk - but I'd remember this in the morning and for weeks to come, and you wouldn't. Were you my boyfriend? For that time we'd been dating, and hooking up drunk and sober? The question hung there for a millisecond as ten thousand thoughts ran through my mind. You were the only person I was seeing, but you weren't captured in the exclusivity of being mine. We called each other baby, and had grown comfortable in each other's presence and it was a regular occurence to cuddle watching movies. Our quasi-relationship had become the talk of the building. And this night - our last night - was a night meant to boil down to this very question, yet meant to be asked in a very different state of mind. When I got off the plane in a different state the next day, would you be my boyfriend? Would I be your girlfriend? When I returned to this city, the same I called home, and you were gone, would you still be my boyfriend? This was the talk we were supposed to have that night, but didn't soberly discuss. Instead we'd polished off Miller Genuine Draft and Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka, and gotten to know every inch of each other's naked bodies. When we finally stopped touching and tasting and teasing, we'd settled into a comfortable position, me with my solid buzz and you with your solid drunkenness, waiting out the remaining time until your roommate returned, under the guise of trying to fall asleep. I hoped beyond hope that my answer would remain in the morning, but I knew with all knowledge that it wouldn't. Your question still haunts me and it's been 36 days since you've asked but never again asked me sober, and the answer still I wouldn't change, still ringing in my ears.
"Yeah, baby. Of course."
Saturday, June 11, 2011
You know that ridiculous stupid smile I have when I'm ridiculously, stupidly happy? I love that feeling. That smile ensures that for a good amount of time afterward, colors in my world are brighter, sounds more in harmony, and life a pure symphony. Even if the person making me smile like that ends up being a fleeting memory when I've finally found The One who always makes me smile like that, having those days, weeks, couple of months that the world was more beautiful always feels great, and I get a little nostalgic to feel it leave.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Shhhhhhhhh.......
Tomorrow, I will allow myself only five minutes to be completely and blissfully happy at your existence in my life,
and after my five minutes is up, I will reign it back in and maintain some semblance of reason with my heart.
well, at any rate, i'll maintain a semblance of reason with my mind and use that to keep my unruly, blissfully unaware, content and passionate heart in check with reality.
and after my five minutes is up, I will reign it back in and maintain some semblance of reason with my heart.
well, at any rate, i'll maintain a semblance of reason with my mind and use that to keep my unruly, blissfully unaware, content and passionate heart in check with reality.
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