Him

I'm tired. I have something in my eye. My nose is stuffed up and packs of homework are calling out to me from hidden parts of my room. My room, chaotic and filled with molding clothes, should be cleaned. But I don't clean it. I want to listen to music, but I can't put my finger on what I want to listen to. Depressing Nirvana? Pass. Spice Girls? I'm not in the mood.
Sipping on hot cocoa and reading seems to be the only valuable explanation I can come up with as to why I don't want to do anything. Lately, I've been getting these obstacles of instant drowsiness and urge to sleep in my bed all day and only let sunlight illuminate through a slice of my drapes. I keep thinking of speeches inside of my head. I hate this. This feeling of never knowing. This feeling of knowing that life is just one big mass of indiscretion. I can't ignore the lead that surrounds my heart or the many feelings of regret. It's like warm soup slipping inside of me, it makes me feel whole, feel human.
Last Night I went to a festival with my supposed best friend. It was boring, in some way, because I feel utterly depressed and hiding it takes a lot of energy out of me. I was tired, cold, and hungry- though nothing would fill me up. I had a salty churro, a diet coke, and barbecue chips. It was satisfying, but something was missing. Where the festival was was the first place I was him. He came off the metro link and I was waiting for him quietly, excitingly. I remember I was wearing my maroon baby doll top and my long black jacket. It was the same maroon top that I wrote when I was invited to my first exboyfriend's house to eat pizza and play pool. I wanted to look beautiful, or semi attractive. It was maybe the 5th month I had my license, and I felt so powerful that I could drive anywhere I wanted to, at any given time. I remember him looking me up and down, remembering the memories we shared together. That summer I didn't let him in to my heart, so he stopped talking to me.
The coffee shop by the metro link was adorable. I bought chi tea for me, and a hot coca for him. I waited, patiently, for the train to arrive. The man that stood by me looked creepy with his beard and stern face. The train arrived and I was so scared.It looked like a massive bullet creeping toward me. I looked, confused, waiting for the doors to open. They sounded like a space ship, and he stepped out. He was beautiful. Was.
I can't write this. Maybe one day, but not now. It's an Eternal Sunshine type of moment, where I want to lay in the grass and feel perfectly in bliss that my heart is still attached to my body without any memory of anyone breaking it before. But it's not like that, and I wish it was.