Pick Me.Choose Me.Love Me.

So here goes my second attempt at clichéd stories.

The writer sits at her desk, well, writing. Or trying to, at the very least. She's been meaning to complete this article for a while now, but, at the moment, she can't seem to focus on anything at all. She rises from her chair and paces around the room and decides to go for a walk. She walks to her little living room, puts on her coat, wraps the scarf her ex boyfriend gave her last Christmas around her, sighs at the thought of said ex boyfriend, puts on her boots and walks out of her apartment. She walks down the rickety steps, bids good evening to her downstairs neighbour who just entered the building from some last minute Christmas shopping and starts walking towards the little park near her apartment complex. She was whistling to herself, thinking about the upcoming Christmas party at her office, when suddenly she steps on something and hears a loud 'crunch'. She peers down and spots the offending object. It is a crumpled up sheet of paper. She picks it up and attempts to smooth it out. Its a letter. Addressed to a 'Jake', curiosity overcame the writer and she sits down on a bench nearby and starts to read the letter. As soon as she started, guilt seeped into her pores like the light snow which started falling. 'This letter seems private. Its obviously meant for the eyes of this Jake person, how can I read this? Im invading someone's privacy!' This internal struggle went on for almost half an hour but the growing suspense won out and she read the letter. It went,
'Jake,
I don't know what to say. I don't know how to persuade you. I don't know how to express what I feel when I'm in front of you. So, I decided to write this letter.
I've been wrought with fear, anxiety, sadness, pain. Pain over losing you. Your love. Didn't you say you love me? Didn't you tell me you wouldn't go back?
She came back. I haven't seen you since. I haven't heard from you. You said you needed your space, but its been a month. What am I to think?
I feel like I've lost you. I feel it in every bone in my body.
I haven't cried. I'm too numb to cry.
I waited at our spot everyday, until today. Today was the last day I waited.
I regret everything I haven't said to you. I regret not saying 'I love you' when you did. I regret not telling you how I feel about you everyday. I regret not opening up to you.
I wish you knew. You wouldn't have left me then, would you?
But I don't blame you. How were you to know? You tried your best to relieve me of my loneliness, my fears, me reservations. You tried to understand. But I didn't let you, did I?
And now.... you've left.
For the first week, I stayed with the one person I could tolerate other than you. I know you hate him, but he is my best friend. But after a while, I left. Even he couldn't do anything to save me.
I put the letter under our little rock or  'Brody' , that stupid name you gave it.
I'll be waiting at the cafe next to Smith's tomorrow at 6.30. I know you won't find this, but a girl can hope, can't she?
So Pick me. Choose Me. Love ME.
Because, I love you.
June.'

The letter was dated the day before that fateful day. It was 6.15. The writer had to see what happened. She ran towards the cafe. 

Will you?

So I found the book of poems I wrote when I was about 14. Yes, I was a sad little teenager with a book of poems who used to write sad little poems in a dark little corner, away from everyone. It was a phase. Boohoo. Have no idea what was going through my mind at the time. Here's one of 'em

People say we're infintely different from each other,
But about what people say, we shouldn't bother,
Admittedly, you drive me completely insane,
But what's love without a little pain?

Maybe I control everyone,
You know I can't control you,
Even though you don't know I'm the one,
You'll always need me won't you?

Maybe one day you won't need me,
You know I'll always need you,
I know you know that,
But will you be there to see me through?

I've been hurt before,
It felt like my heart was being sliced into half,
I don't want to feel that anymore,
So will you be there to see me laugh?

Ok so the poem goes on to some 6 more stanzas and honestly I don't have the patience or the nerve to go through with this. I don't even know why I'm putting this up. I feel stupid. And Emo-ish. And stupid. 

There's No More Fight In You.

For a moment there you feel helpless,
Scared,
You're all cried out,
There's no more fight in you.
The going got too tough,
You didn't know how to cope anymore,
Your nightmares turned into reality,
Your dreams shattered into oblivion,
You're standing on the edge of the sea,
Incapable of thinking, comprehending,
All hope is lost,
All your faith, dissipated.
There's no more fight in you.
You're fallen to your knees,
The tears start flowing for the umpteenth time,
You bury your face in your hands.
What do you do?
You get the fight back.
How?
Think of one thing you love,
One person, one book, one show,
The one thing you absolutely believe in.
And there you go,
You get the fight back in you.

Demons

I've never had any 'past demons' or 'skeletons in the closet'.

I've been brought up in a healthy, happy environment with enough luxuries and an adoring family.

I've always been strong emotionally and I'm thick headed half the time.

So, I've never actually known what real pain is.

Or the real troubles of life.

Honestly, I live in a bubble.

In this bubble, I frolic about with my happy thoughts and inane musings.
And most people might think that I'm self centred or shallow.
Although, truthfully, I just dream a lot.
I care about all my friends and my family so much that I would do anything for them.
They're mine.
But back to the issue at hand.
I daydream a lot. I get distracted. I think about nothing to everything.
My mind is like the middle of Times Square on a busy working morning.
But for a few months, I cant seem to shake this feeling off.
Maybe it just angoisse d'adolescent or maybe its something else.
Maybe its a boy?
Not likely. I haven't found anyone remotely interesting enough for quite some time. Or someone who can
keep up with my ravings.
Bah. I'm picky, I guess.
I still don't have any demons.
I don't know if I want them.
I just want to know how it feels?
I honestly don't comprehend what inspidious, befuddling ravings I have composed.
Lord Help Me.
Who is reading this stuff anyway?
You stupid sack of wine, no one is.
I must stop conversing with myself.
See ya when I see ya,
That Girl with the Smile.

Desire to break free.

'Tis a teenage thing, I reckon - the persistent desire for freedom. Why? I think its just our way of thinking.
We're under the guidance of our parents through the most tumultuous period of our lives - the start of *ding ding ding* PUBERTY.
Not that I'm suggesting that Puberty is the reason we like to rebel and yell 'FREEEDOOOMM FROM THIS MONSTROSITY!!' (I think that last part is just me) But, it is a part of it.
Our hormones go uppp and downnn and we're under the impression that no one but our friends shall understand what we're going through.
We have school work to do.
We have grades to keep up.
We have fandoms to follow.[Potterhead, Starkid, Gleek, Holmie (see what I did there?]
We have crushes to drool after.
We have feelings to hollow.
We have friends to share laughter.
We have times to face, solo.
So after a certain point, I think all of us want to rise from the ordinary and break away.
That's why I think the summer programme I attended was good for me, in a way.
I love my family and friends but I had that small time window where I could breathe the fresh air of change.
Change in the environment, people, food, change in the type of freedom.
It surged through me, electrically and I felt it all the way up and down my spine.
It was one of the best feelings in the world. For me, atleast.
It just changed my outlook. Not wholly, of course but to a certain amount.
I haven't changed personally, in my opinion.
But I want to feel that feeling again.
That charge, that excitement. The adventure of it all.
This, is a personal feeling.
I don't know who reads all my rantings and ravings anyway but if you are reading this, it may be different for you.
Maybe it isn't the freedom per se, but the thrill for the unknown.
Or both.
Whatever it was, it made me ... shine brighter, I suppose. It guided me toward my place in the world.
Now all I need to do is go and find it.
Bon Voyage, cheries.
That Girl with the Bright Eyes and the Big Smile.