SonofaBastard

Cuz come fall, I'll be gone.

Fall is supposed to be here, but it's still a muggy swamp. Perhaps next week, things will change, so I can feel that way again.
Strangeness has already overtaken me though. There's a fraction of disappointment (that stupid dumb beautiful angel I hate to love), an ever-growing urge to see a familiar face of a stranger (but our paths haven't crossed yet this semester), a budding, ever-growing barrage of smiles from the redhead (that not stupid not dumb beautiful I'd love to love), there's hope (I spoke more than two words), there's work, there's schoolwork, there's Skyward Pyre.

Oh yes, Skyward Pyre is becoming bigger and bigger by the day, more dense and deep and dark. It's a horror story on all fronts. It's terrifying in its imagery, its characters, and worst of all in its morals. The only thing for sure is the paranoia.

I don't know what to make of everything, but today during all this strangeness, I came across an epiphany. A line drawn on a chalkboard about time being linear, a story, reminded me that these small seemingly meaningful events might soon be in the past, that every day a future is written, and I'm still the writer no matter how it feels.

It's all a matter of picking up the pen.

Is that all that remains? It seems like nothing in the scope of things. It seems so insignificant.
I don't know where else to post this. It's the only place I don't have friends that I personally know. I don't want them to see this, because truth is I am jealous that they all have someone and I have no one.
I'd kill to have you on my arm. It must be so great to have that. But there's no guarantee that you will even be there when I see you, that you won't be on the arm of someone else. That would crush me. But god, I would kill to know you.
11. and in a half hour, 10.

Then the prison sentence is over. 13 more days until I see that face again. I've dreamt of you more than anyone I've ever loved before. You're special. You count.
So what the fuck is this new venture creeping its way into my life? She's pretty, she's smart, she's cool.
She's not you. Only you are you.
So, instead of it being her, it's 13 more days until it's you.
Please stay in my life instead of my dreams.

How lonely must those days be? I see people. I talk to people. The things that should be making me feel happy only make me feel empty. I guess I just can't stop wondering what it would have been like to be with you. No one else matters. Nothing else matters.
I don't want to sing unless you hear it. I don't want to write unless you read it. I don't want to joke unless you laugh. I don't want to open my eyes in the morning wishing it was my dream that was real, rather than this bearded hell I've grown for myself.
I needed it to show, though. That's the purpose of the beard. I need someone to look at me and see a different man, a broken man.
No one has. No one has seen the deep sadness I live in. No one notices the way I want to avoid people and conversations. I'm not lonely in the sense that I want people. I want her, just her. I'm tired of everyone else. I could use a good solitary vacation to a remote island.
This cell is hot as the sun that envelops it, this prison stay more an endless yearning for something else than the treasures inside.

of course I should mention it is merely a metaphorical prison, but a prison nevertheless. It is a prison because I am locked away until July 31st. It will be until then that we meet again. The wait will kill me. But maybe it's supposed to. Either way this story ends up, I can't see you being written out of it just yet. Am I right? Is there more to us?
Please tell me that the end of this prison stay will be the beginning of our frolic. If it is, then I will wait it out. I will find a way to survive in this hell if your love is at the end.
Please tell me this ship has not sailed. I am in desperate need to board it. I'll even swim out to the ocean to meet you halfway. That's how bad I want you.