Short-Lived-Jokes

You're looking at her again. Pictures of her at least (there aren't many, you wonder why more people don't take pictures of her, she's bloody adorable. She has that cute button nose, even though you don't think people can HAVE button noses, after all, noses aren't buttons, but she does, and a permanent blush and a spiky boy's hair cut that somehow looks feminine on her.). And you're smiling. GOD how are you smiling, the sort of goofy, toothy smile that braces almost rid you of, but sheer will power kept a hold of. You aren't quite sure when it started. Sure, you'd had crushes on her on and off since seventh grade, when puberty demanded you

In and Out in and out and in. You kiss me, and it's so right. We laugh and fall back in the field, a tangle of limbs on the cold grass. I look up at the stars and tell you "I love you", and you don't say it back. A minute later, you kiss me again. Out and In and out and in and out. "I hate you!!" you shout. Doors slam, and I kick the wood, telling you to go to hell and that I never want to see you again. You through something out the window, but I don't bother checking what it is, and I just run. In and Out and in and out and in. "I'm sorry," you whisper. I forgive you, I always do. I take your hand and we drink coffee and make silly j

She was just lying there in boxers and a t-shirt, her favorite jazz record blaring Dixie at her again, though it hiccupped and skipped when it hit a patch that had been long ago overplayed. She began to drum along in the air, her hands moving like they used to before the surgeries and pills and heart breaks. She missed the drums, they'd been… they'd been safe. Home. For a while. Maybe he could re-teach her how to pound a beat out and make it seem like a melody, how to hit two things together to imitate life? And him again. What was it? Why did he keep wriggling up in her thoughts? She was GAY, wasn't she? She knew she was. But what i

"Yeah, well, what about flying?" I ask, worrying my thumb nail. "What about falling?" she counters. "What about love?" She smirks, "And what about hate?" I give this a pause, what ABOUT hate? "What if—"I start, "what if hate doesn't really exist and we just measure in units of love?" "Then," she said, "what about the people we don't love at all?" "Then those are just people we haven't taking the time to get to know," I try, breathing in sharply. Bruising, bruising, bruising, today isn't going like I planned it, "But I don't think there's anyone you can't love anything about." "Are you saying you don't hate ANYONE?" she asks, p

I AM GOING INSANE. i just spent five hours listening to the beatles and thinking it was celtic and my hair is a mess and I have blue paint on my face, which is weird because i was painting with red, and i want to go to sleep but i haven't for three daysand i've beencrying for an hour andidon't want to stopeven though it hurtsbut I just needtocry andi don't knowwhy andican't stopthinking aboutyoubutyoutold me to and ikeep lookingatmystatusto see ifanyonenoticeshow sad iam and ismelllike a cateventhough idon'tevenhavea cat and I'mwonderingifjohnlennonliked communismbecausethatone guy sharedhisnameand ifyoucan take goldfishonanairplane or iftha