Monday, February 7, 2011

My Heart is a Lonely Wanderer

Somehow I can't help myself from writing up this psycho-analysis bullshit. Seriously, I turn into an angst-filled twelve-year old with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It's pathetic. Fuck. Maybe I should just stop here.
I don't really know what I'm doing wrong, I guess. Well, maybe I do, but I just don't want to believe it. See, when my girl friends and I go to parties, I always end up kissing the boys I shouldn't (one of my brother's closest friends/roommate, for example). I'm the girl in the corner with the boy, making eyes, saying sexy things, letting my lips linger and stray along my teeth. I give off the vibe of a sexual, hungry animal (or so my friends say). Last Saturday was different though. As I was walking to my friends place to hang out before we went out, I passed by the house where this guy I was really into last year lives now. I was in love with this boy (even though we never "dated", just spent every day together and made out and so on) and he broke my heart. I walked past his house, and just as I get to the point of a little before the door, the door opens. Out bounces his new girl, and he comes out too. It was dark, and far enough a way that I'm not sure he could tell if it was me or not. I'm pretty sure he recognized me though, because he just stared at me. I walked on, knowing full well that my butt (the butt he so loved and lavished adoring comments about) looked amazing in my pants. I wonder if he looked at my butt.
By the time I got to my friends, I was pretty depressed, and I spilled my guts, like a pathetic heartbroken, weak girl does. They resolved to me drunk, and I obliged.  We went out, to an apartment to hang out and then we went to a party. I was pretty unaware of my surroundings, but somehow I ended up kissing a boy. I'm not talking about makeout, sloppy, drunk party kisses. I'm talking about sweet kisses, along my neck sometimes, his hands always respectably on my waist or cradling my face. No grabbing my butt, no trying to unzip my pants, nothing. Just...kissing. And I haven't done that for a while. I was so perplexed, I even whispered to him that I wasn't going home with him, that he could "find another girl" to take home. And he said no. He said it was fine, and that he wasn't going to leave.  And he kissed me again.
My friends left, and I was still there, kissing this boy. He called a friend, who drove us to our homes. I gave him my number. He has not text or called.
I shouldn't think that because something is different that it is special. I shouldn't get used to the feeling of worth that I get by just kissing. I should not expect anything.
But I do. And it frustrates me, and it's infuriating, and it hurts me. Why do I care so much about one guy, whose name I don't even remember, but whose lips brushed mine so gently and kindly that I would do anything to have been a little more together, so I could have been a little different, so that maybe, just maybe, he would text or call that different, slightly more put-together girl.
I don't even know his name.

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