I need you close, but also missing.

This is an everything or nothing case. Either we get along, we are good friends or something more, or nothing.  I don't want you to become that classmate who I only talk to to ask for dates of exams, and neither I want to become the same to you. I want us to mean something for each other. If that's not possible, I'd rather you to just disappear. I'm gonna give it one last shot. On monday, I'm gonna talk to you, about what's going on. I already told you I would, so there's no hesitating here, I just gotta go. Wish me luck, I'll need it. I'm tired of just sitting waiting for something to happen. It's time to make it happen, or move onto another thing. 

I need you. I fucking need you. But I see you don't need me that much. It hurts, it really does, but hey, life goes on. I just need some help to get back on my feet, like I always do, blow after blow. It's my way of showing life that it's dealing with a not-that-easy to break teenager. Here's a tough stone for the winding wind. I'm not that simple to erode, but once I am it just makes me a little beautifuler. A little wiser. Older. I hope you're not a blow, but a caress. But I know it's kinda impossible. 

 

And I guess...

I guess I'll never get over you while I'm forced to see you every day. I guess I'm waiting for something that will never happen. Well, no, I'm not waiting anymore, but still I can't get over you. I saw your best side, and liked you. Then I saw your worst, and I loved you. Because I know that you're not perfect, but at the same time I can't bare to ever meet someone who represents perfection and equilibrium better than you do. And I guess that you will never think the same of me. And I admit, that I won't be able to love anyone else while you're in my mind. But I also need to admit, I wouldn't like it to be any other way. I love you, I've always done, and while I can't put distance between us I always will. And I know this is pathetic, but at least, at this, I'm sure I'm hopeless.
And I guess, it's because there's nothing beautifuler than your once again gorgeous motherfucking face.

The never-ending loveless story.

I wanna ignore you with all my soul, but every time I do it I get this pang of guilt. When did you become my weakness? I can't stand to have you near anymore. But you're at my class, I can't help but see you day after day. Day, after painful day. From time to time I dare to look at you and I regret it every time. I can do nothing without you coming to my mind straight away, everything reminds me of you. I know your face so perfectly I could paint it with my eyes covered. My eyes which seem to see nothing but you. How do you dare to unable me to do anything but think of you? How do you dare to even talk to me after all that you've done? I'd like to say I would like you to leave High School, but I can't. It's not true. If you left I would lose all interest in going. Please, either leave or, notice me, because I'm dying to be able to say;

Astonishing idiot of not mine

I hate looking at guys who would’ve seemed beautiful to me before and don’t anymore, just because I compare them to you, and there’s nothing beautifuler than your gorgeous motherfucking face. I hate listening to love songs because automatically you and your lips come to my mind, and with them the thought -or lets call it knowledge - that they’ll never search for mine. I hate to get asked if I have a crush on someone because I have to lie. And I lie to the few people I dare to tell too, because I don’t like you, I’m in love with you. I hate studying because I remember that I’ll never be smart enough for you. I hate to talk to you because I have to repress the imperious necessity to move forward just a few centimeters more, and caress your feather-smooth face with my lips. I hate to have you sitting in front of me in class because I can’t stay focused at what I should. I hate when you touch your hair. I hate the fact that you’re too perfect. I hate to be left alone with my thoughts because all I can do is make up scenarios of you and me, and I crush harder and harder every time I come back to reality. I hate not being able to sit next to you when I want to, and feel your warm smile. I hate not being who you need. I hate you to be so nice to me most of the time, but I would die if you weren’t. I hate needing you in my life in any way. I hate that you are the first face I search for when I arrive at High School. I hate weekends because I don’t see you. I hate that my eyes don’t need glasses to appreciate all of you, astonishing idiot of not mine.  

Why is it so hard?

 

I don't wanna think of you.

Worthy of an Oscar.

It's amazing the way I can hide it all at my wish. If I don't want no one to notice I'm broken, no one does. This makes me wonder, how many teens are there at my high school doing the exact same thing as me? And in the whole country? The world? Pretending to be okay while everything falls by the wayside, and feeling impotent as you see you can do nothing but watch. Trying harder and harder every time to always fail. To always see how the ceiling you carefully built up to protect yourself from all that hurts you, succumbs at the acid rain. How it all collapses, and you're back to the start, back to zero, back to nothing. The world is full of actors and actresses a thousand times better than Johnny Depp or Kate Winslet themselves, but their life is their movie. They play the part of a happy version of themselves. This makes me wonder, how much will our movies last? And between wonder and wonder, the day is gone. This makes me wonder...

Hey y'all

First of all, I wanted to thank all of the people who read my blog, or who have ever read it. It really means the world to me that someone actually finds at least slightly interesting all of this I have to say.
Well, about this week, high school sucks. It really does. People are asshole, in extremis. 
But I don't wanna talk about them now. I've discovered I love the XIX century literature (Jane Austen, E.A Poe, Gustave Flaubert...). I like to read about those times when young people knew how to talk and write without committing MAJOR grammar mistakes, and were polite also. Sometimes I'd like my life to be interesting enough for someone to think it's worthy of being the plot of a book.
And I'm convinced that I was born at the wrong time, in the wrong place. I should've been born either in the XIX century, in the U.K or at the golden era of Rock n' Roll in the U.S. When people had a good musical taste. That would've been awesome. But anyway, I've got to cope with what I have been given.