This post has nothing to do with the song "It will rain" by Bruno Mars except that while this was being written it is the only sound that I allowed my ears to listen to.

AM.... 01/ 12/12

So why am I freaking out?
So why the hell am I freaking out? Because I bowed down so I wont get noticed . SO why am I freaking out?  because I didn’t care if he was there but he waited for me to look up so that he would smile and force a sheepish smile out of me. So why the hell am I freaking out? Because I wasn’t suppose to be giggly about it, im suppose to act like it didn’t happen because that encounter is solely negligible. So why the hell am I freaking out? Because he wasn’t suppose to know that I existed. I was suppose to live like I don’t exist like im not part of the human race but the thing is he knew. So why am I freaking out? Because I forgot that I once found him fetching. So why am I freaking out? Because Im freaking flattered and it’ s so rated 13 and im supposed to act like im 18 because im 18>>>this isn’t supposed to be happening to me, to someone whose 18 because this reaction is for 13 years olds only, whose undergoing puberty and not to some 18 year old because im supposed to be adult about it, civilized about it. Being naive should have been out of the list but it’s the only thing that’s occupying it>>>>freaking 18... 


AM 01/13/12
Friday the 13nth

The disastrous thing about expectations is finding out that you were wrong. That every stare that you assumed that were intended for you were just plain looks. That every encounter you thought destiny planned were just coincidence. That every time your heart skipped a beat were nothing but misconceptions. Every unnecessary behavior you stupidly made is just how fate wanted you to make a fool out of your damn self. With you thinking that you found have found LJ Smith’s silver cord to entwine with one other person , only to find out that nobody is at the end to hold it for you. That everything were just wasted efforts, frantic smiles, melting discomforts, that bulk in your esophagus that you cant seem to swallow, that make-believe eye that watches you, all of which are just part of a big whim. An impulse that should have been erased rather than treasured. This is when you realize that imagination brings you agony not awareness. Distress not remedy.