I hate you then I love you

you make me sad
you make me strong
you make me mad
you make me long for you

you make me live
you make me die
you make me laugh
you make me cry for you

I hate you then I love you

Celine Dion

Why is it that we can't say the things we need to? It's like you're about to type something or say something and you're thinking it, you know you need to say it but suddenly your throat gets blocked and it's like cement and you can't speak

I'm so excited!

I'm excited for everybody to get back from their various summer holiday spots,
to buy paper and pencils for school,
for the first day of school,
to take the school bus,
for opera season,
for the cooler weather,
to have unlimited texting,
to see my friends every day,
to learn new things,
to go to the market again,
for piano,
for Production,
to get new boots,
for Christmas,
and to bake and cook more!

You'll do, naturally, only as you wish

Morgan, I doubt you still read this, but on the day we all got our marks and went downtown for breakfast - why does it feel like that was the last hug I'll ever give you? And now why do I feel I'll never see you again? When you went home that day, did you have sex? If you did I hope it was better than hanging out with the people who loved you, cared about you and hadn't seen you in 5 months.

Never

I've realized that I'll never be the girl you've always wanted me to be; I'll never be the daughter you have designed in your head because I will be me, however I want to be.

What does she have to do to make you love her again?

You cannot tell yourself that you won't cry. There are going to be so many times in the future when you will cry. There are going to be so many times when it hurts so bad you can't be strong anymore.

He's one of those things that you've always wanted but know that you'll never have.

Sometimes I want to tell you but other times I'm glad you don't know.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done

You have no idea how much I hate it when you get high. I know when you're high. You don't have to try to hide it.
I know I can't do a thing about it and it pisses me off that you can do something about it but you don't. I wish you would realize that weed is slowly killing you, and that you are making one of the stupidest decisions one can make. It stinks, it makes you stink, it makes you sound stupid and makes people feel like they can treat you like an idiot when you're high. I love you so much. I wish you at least didn't do it so often.

I don't want to lose you.

The only thing worse than you yelling at me is when you yell at my my mother, your wife.

Just today I was thinking about Granny and Grandad and how they're so happy together. Grandad takes care of Granny every day and when she can't remember something Grandad just explains it to her. I sometimes see little old couples walking arm in arm or hand in hand, the man opens the door and waits for his wife to go inside. Obviously this stuff exists if we can see it, but I look at my parents and just can't believe it does. I want to prove them wrong.

We always see that things are wrong and we want to change them, but we can't change them. We can't change people and make them see, and it SUCKS.

Let there be condoms!

I was just thinking about that whole issue with AIDS and how it might be a bit better if they had condoms. I don't at all agree with the Pope saying no to condoms. Even if it's not going to solve AIDS, I believe that condoms would help. Some people with AIDS wouldn't get pregnant, and therefore the child wouldn't have AIDS, and if the people with AIDS (terrible to say this) eventually die out, maybe AIDS will be cured. People in Africa are going to have sex no matter what the Pope says, so they may as well do it with protection.

secret twelve

You've changed. You're becoming really annoying. You've changed and I don't like it.

It's so easy

I'll bet we spend so much time on the computer because it's just so easy to get lost. There are so many pictures we want to look at, so many songs we want to listen to, so many people we want to talk to, so many things we want to see and write.... there's so much on the internet. We can read books we don't own, get songs we don't buy, read someone else's diary without getting a hold of the book, travel to places we may never visit. When you're on the internet time just flies by... hours and hours are gone and you won't get them back, but you don't even care because it's like you're in a whole other world.

secret eleven

I'm scared that I'll never really feel love, only lust. Also I'm scared that if I get married, I won't love him forever.

secret ten

The only way I'm going to get by is if I focus on one thing: the future

secret nine

I'm not wearing any makeup and I think I look pretty

secret eight

I feel amazing right now.

secret seven

I'm really starting to dislike my brother, which sucks because we used to get along really well. He's turning into such a jerk.

secret six

I fall for people too easily, I'm too scared (but scared of what?!) to actually get involved, and I have a really hard time with the though of having a boyfriend, even though I've had boyfriends before.

Baby, it's a wild world.

Sometimes when I read my friends' blogs I just can't believe it. It seems like everyone hates themselves or wants to die. If I knew how to help I would, but no one's ever going to learn anything, do anything, feel anything, unless they want to. For the past few months, in my group of friends there's been loads of drama and loads of bullshit. I contributed to it, and if I could I'd go back and change that. What I have learned, though, is that each one of us has a story that could break your heart. It's incredible! You see all these people at school laughing, smiling, talking to their friends, walking around... and you just think that nothing's wrong with them and they're just happy. Then you think about how everyone hurts, everyone's going through something, and then you realize - holy shit... I wonder what kind of pain they're going through and if anybody knows.

From now on, I'm not going to talk about people, judge people, think too much about people or purposely hurt people. If anyone wants to talk to me about something that's been bothering them or something they just need to get out, I'll listen closely, but I'll try to work things out and help.

We're all going through something... why do we all have to go through something? Whether a family member has cancer, you're depressed, someone broke up with you, you're failing, your parents fight, you don't have a good relationship with your parents... it's amazing what a teenager has to go through every day.

Amongst all these issues, there is almost always a bright side, no matter how many tears are clouding our vision. If you're depressed, spend lots of time with the people that make you laugh, and spend lots of time doing things that make you smile. If someone broke up with you, it wasn't meant to be, you can flirt with whoever you want, fall for whoever you want... it's a new beginning and one day everyone will find the guy or girl for them. If your parents fight, it's not your fault. They're probably going through tough times or they've fallen out of love, but there isn't anything you can do about it. If you don't have a good relationship with your parents, try helping them out around the house and doing little things like asking them how their day went. Hang in there, because high school won't last forever and you'll be a better person for sticking through it and graduating.

secret five

Everyone says that being loved is the best feeling in the world. For some reason I think I'm scared to agree.

Dear Lacey

I think you are one of the most beautiful people in this world. I can't imagine what it would be like to just go to school one day and you not be there. I wonder if all the pain would go away if we all lived in a big house together and we could see each other whenever we wanted and we'd all be happy together. I'm scared that one day I'm going to wake up and someone's going to tell me that you're gone. I just can't imagine. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm always here for you no matter what, and so are all of your friends. You're a beautiful girl, Lacey. I'd hate to see you go. (L)

secret four

I don't want to like you like that

secret three

My skin is holding me back

secret two

Everything's going to be alright

secret one

It hurts every time you hug her good bye.
It's completely my problem.
I'm going to act happy.

Yeah.

Yeah, I know what a coma feels like too.
Yeah, come to think of it, I think I've had a couple of aneurysms over the last few months.
And oh yeah, I forgot. I've actually had a brain tumor before. Yeah.

Come on, now. Holy fuck, woman.
Just because your teacher has given up on your class and he's acting like a "fucking idiot" doesn't mean he's had a fucking brain tumor. Wait, my mistake. My uncle started acting like an idiot when he got his brain tumor too! I couldn't even type that sentence without crying. My uncle is dying, he might be dead before I start grade 11, he might never walk my cousin down the aisle, he might never cerebrate his 25th wedding anniversary, I may not even see him ever again.

Every time you bring up the fact that your head hurts, you say "My head hurts so bad. I probably have a brain tumor or something." or "Oh my God, I feel like I just had like a million aneurysms." I am constantly reminded of my uncle and the state he's in. Do you know what that feels like? Can you even understand? I treat you SO WELL and you don't take the time to talk to me. You're still mad at me and you don't have a reason for it. You almost ignore me; you talk to me to be polite and to try not to cause more drama and you don't even know what I'm going through. You think you have a brain tumor? Ask anyone with a REAL brain tumor and see what it's like.

How do you stop someone from getting high?

If you value our friendship, don't do this. We can only exist together if we both do it or if we both don't.

February 12th, 2010

We learned something new in math and I understand it.
Jess said no.
Dad said I could go to Patrick's after school.
Jess, Morgan and I went to Patrick's and I enjoyed every minute of it.
I danced until I was exhausted and kept dancing.

February 11th, 2010

Morgan and Lacey didn't get high today.
I payed Oliver back for the milk he bought me yesterday.
Becca had lunch with us.
Oliver sat with me on the bus.

February 10th, 2010

My iPod landed on Inner Smile, just the song I wanted to listen to.
I was surprised to see how many of my friends haven't been drunk.
I got all my work finished in French class.
I laughed all through English class.
I laughed all through lunch with Abbie, Patrick, Ryan, Oliver and Sam.
Oliver bought me a milk (I still have to pay him back)
It is a glorious day today.
Morgan loves my hair.
I looked good today.
We started watching "A Walk to Remember" today in PD class.

February 9th, 2010

Kara told me she liked my hair.
Halli told me my hair was cute.
Cathlia liked me hair.
I made people smile and laugh.
I looked good today.
Josh smiled at me in guitar class.
Numerous people liked my shirt.

We don't need to fight and cry

I'm really sorry for what I've done and I won't do it again but you're making this out to be a bigger deal than it needs to be. It's almost as if you don't want to let go of the fight. The fight ends when you want it to. I know I talked about you behind your back, but I'm only human. I make mistakes. Morgan and I aren't the only ones who have ever talked about you. Everyone has spoken about me, everyone has spoken about you, many people have spoken about that guy you see walking on the street, that woman you see in the superstore, that boy riding his bike. Everybody talks about everybody, because it's what we do and part of who we are. There's nothing wrong with it. The only reason we did is because we can't figure out why you're upset. You used to wait at the locker until I was finished and now you just leave because you have the option of hanging out with someone else, and that makes me feel like you choose them over me. You say you feel excluded. When have I ever excluded you from anything I've ever done? Just answer me that one question. I've never been the type of person to exclude anyone because I know exactly how it feels. If it's not me you're talking about but Morgan, then if you want to hang out with her and do what she does, then go ahead. They don't invite you because they know you don't like it and you wouldn't do it. I wouldn't do it, that's why they don't invite me. I don't even care, I accept what they do because you can't change it, I can't change it. All this drama is so pointless and it's got to stop... we've been friends for too long to just let this go. It all depends on you. If you want to stay my friend then I'd love that, but if you don't then you're losing something you'll never get back.

Nothing but a bit of money and a suitcase

My name is Diego Velazquez and I am an artist. I have always been an artist but I have not always had the same amount of money as I do today. Here's how I became who I am now.

The streets of little Spanish towns are always buzzing with culture, tourists and locals. There are stone fountains in many of them and the amount of people in each town remains the same as in the other towns, the majority of the time. I would travel from town to town with only some money, a suitcase of clothing, my chalks, easel and paint, along with the brushes. I always set up my easel at the end of a street, the top of a cliff, even on rooftops. How I managed to climb up to the cliffs is beyond me. People tell me I'm determined.

I suppose determination is what got me here. I would only paint on my easel scenes of little get-togethers at the cafe, a family on the beach, a goat in the mountains. I was good but it was difficult to sell my paintings. I tried selling them on the street... even at the markets. I made a bit of money but only sold a few paintings. I just wasn't getting what I wanted.

Sometimes I used my chalk; I chose an empty piece of pavement and started drawing. I mostly did the same as before (painted the scene around me) and people walked by and smiled. I kept going like this and my paintings grew larger and larger until I came to the decision to paint something huge. Something massive. Something that was going to blow peoples' minds.

I thought that since I was going to do something special, I was going to do it in my favorite place. I took the bus to Ercos, where I was born. It is a beautiful small town in the mountains. Ercos has a reputation for its beauty and tourists often come and visit here. I found the biggest bit of pavement that wasn't over-populated and took out my chalk. I re-created a picture of Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. Hours and people went by and I kept drawing. It was a sunny summer day but there was a breeze. I was halfway done when people started to throw coins onto my picture. I didn't look up, but I smiled and was extremely encouraged. I drew a circle and wrote "Gracias" under it and that's where the coins landed.

I relaxed when I was finished. It all happened so fast. An art dealer came and asked to see my paintings. I took him to my house and showed him around; he found my work highly impressive. Half a year went by and now I have my own studio and most of my paintings are in the Spanish museums.

The 9 or so following passages are from a book called Spanish Holiday by Kate Cann. It's my favorite book; I've read it at least 5 times. This book is so good! Reading the passages will give you a true sense of being in Spain. Enjoy!

Seville

As it turns out, we have perfect peace. We're in a room far away from Tom and Ruth, a beautiful room with two beds like princess beds in a fairy tale, all frilly covers and fat cushions. There's a round marble basin in the corner, an old oak wardrobe, and a huge, beautiful mirror on the wall reflecting the glow from the pretty lamps and reflecting us as we move about, smiling, getting ready to go to bed.

The best thing about the room, though, is the set of skinny glass doors that opens onto a beautiful little balcony. There's just room to stand on it, side by side. We're overlooking a courtyard, with windows and balconies just like ours on all sides of us, screened by trees and flowering creepers. In the courtyard, little tables are spaced out among the huge plant pots, and lamps are shining, making shadows in among the leaves.

We lean our elbows dreamily on the rail, breathing in the jasmine scent. "Oh, this is heavenly." Yaz sighs. "It's so romantic."

"Romeo!" I call experimentally, but no one answers. A small bat swoops into the courtyard, then swerves off again.

"I bet we'll have breakfast down there tomorrow," Yaz says, "if it's warm enough."

"Let's stay another night," I murmur. "Then I can hang some of my gear up in that wardrobe. I can leave my toothbrush out on the sink."

Yaz laughs. "Sad, Laura, sad. But-- yeah. It would be nice to stay on."

"You know what? I'd really like to find work here. So we can stay in the city. Imagine having that bar we went to as our local."

"Don't push it, Laura. One night at a time." We wander in and get into our fat princess beds, and they're so heavenly and comfortable that we're asleep within seconds.

Viva España!

And a mere hour and a half later, we're on the road to Ercos, with the keys to Pino Alto in the glove department, and a new map spread out on Ruth's lap and all the instructions and phone numbers Bella gave me safely stowed in my bag. I'm so excited I keep bouncing up and down in my seat, like a little kid ten minutes away from the seaside.

"We can have a bedroom each," Yaz says. "Not that I want to get away from you, Laura, but--"

"I want that tiny one," I say. "The one with the twisty bars on the window with the vine coming in--"

"Well, we're having the big one," puts in Tom, predictably.

"Yeah, yeah." says Yaz. "God-- the bathroom looked fabulous, didn't it? All the marble and stuff..."

"Bloody cold at this time of the year," grumbles Tom. "Did she say anything about heaters?"

"Only that there's a big open fire," I gloat. "And they burn laurel wood, and it smells heavenly..."

Tom snorts, and reminds us all for about the five-hundredth time that it's just an experiment and if we don't (meaning he doesn't) like it after a week or so we move on-- south. Then, just as he's explaining for the six hundredth time he wants to get to the south for the summer anyway, Yaz drowns him out by singing "We're all off to sunny Spain! Oh, viva España!" and I'm thinking: with any luck, things'll really come together in Ercos, and Yaz and I and-- who knows?-- maybe even Ruth won't be in the car with him when he goes.

Right by the bus stop

One of those little supermarkets right by the bus stop will do, I think. I reach the nearest shop a bit breathless, push my way timidly inside and pick up a battered wire basket. Then I hover for a bit, watching a woman moving along the shelves just in front of me, but it seems to be done just like it's done in England. So I pick up two loaves of crusty bread, one white and one brown, then I get some eggs, cheese, and bacon and a big box of tea bags. Sill thinking about breakfast (I'm ravenous) I get strawberry jam, butter, apples and bananas. After that I'm a bit stumped, but I remember the spaghetti and put a couple of tins of tomatoes and some onions into my basket. I'm by the tiny deli counter now. The stuff displayed there looks delicious; the girl serving it looks sulky. Still, she's only my age. I ask for olives, ham, yogurt.

On the wine shelves, I can hardly believe how cheap it is compared to home. I get two bottles of the third cheapest red (to go with the spaghetti), then I cram a cucumber and a large lettuce with real earth on its roots on top, and head for the check-out.

El Fain

We walk in silence to the gap in the cacti and prickly-pear hedge behind the house, go through it, and start to trek across the field. Rainwater is still streaming along the ground, running in gleaming rivulets along the side of the track, forming pools and puddles. The sun feels hot now, and steam is rising to form a soft, lovely mist in the air.

We walk along side by side. It crosses my mind that we could hold hands, but I know we won't, not yet. I'm so aware of him beside me, his easy walk, the way his arms move...it would be too much to touch him. "What's the place we're heading for?" I ask.

"El Fain", he says. "It's wonderful. It's a big old finca-- it does lunch a few times in the week, and always at the weekend. They know me-- I've worked there, serving at the tables. It gets busy on Saturdays, but they'll find us a place."

"Is it far?"

"Another ten minutes, maybe. Are you okay? It's far quicker to walk this back way than try to drive, the roads'll be flooded again..."

"Juan, I'm fine. This is blissful."

It is, too. Everywhere I look there's beauty. The leaves are dropping shining drips of water, and the earth smells so good as it soaks it all up. Our shoes are caked with orange-colored mud. I'm waiting for what he's going to say to me, and I'm starting to feel really, really hungry.

Swimming pool room

The door to the old changing-room by the side of the swimming pool is standing ajar. I slide into it, heart thumping, and Juan's there, slipping his arms around my waist, pulling me in close.

I sort of sigh out hello, then I whisper, "I can't see a thing. You could be a mass murderer for all I know."

Qhich is insane because I know it's him. Every one of my senses tells me it's him.

His mouth lands on mine, I push the door shut behind me, and it gets even darker, but we don't need to see. I reach up and wind my arms around his neck.

"This is all so stupid," he breathes, between kisses. "Acting like -- fugitivos."

"We are fugitives," I murmur. "It's quite fun. Romantic."

"Yes. It's romantic. But I want to be out there with you. I wanted to tell Ana -- go away. This is my girlfriend."

I can't speak, I'm too full of what he's just said. I slide my hands up his neck, into his hair, pull his head down to mine again, and we kiss, we kiss for ages, like we're learning new things about each other all the time.

Yucca plants and Balconies

We walk on, arms around each other. I gaze at lurid religious plaques nailed to the walls, at yucca plants spiking through the bars of balconies above us. The sheer exotism of Spain soaks into me, like it did in Seville, only it's indescribably better than Seville because Juan's here next to me. Then a church bell starts to ring, cracked and flat. I laugh, say, "You should hear English bells!"

"Why-- are they different?"

"God, yes! They're...musical. Kind of big and rich and full-throated. It's 'cos we've got a wet climate, it keeps them good. Although thinking about it, I'd go for your crap bells and some sun."

Siesta

It's siesta time when we wander back to the bike, and on upstairs windows everywhere the shutters have been closed. The shutters look mysterious, sexy--they make you wonder what might be going on behind them.

"Do you have a siesta? I ask.

"Only in the heat," he answers. I know he's looking up at the shutters, thinking the same thoughts as me, wishing it was the two of us up in a room somewhere.

Cooking, or so he says...

"No way--not yet! You're not leaving yet!"

I've got him trapped, up against the sink. He laughs, grabs me by the waist, lifts me up onto the kitchen counter. I throw my arms around his neck, hook my leg around the back of his knees, pull him up against me. And then we're kissing, but it's not lazy, post-love-making kissing anymore, suddenly we're frantic with wanting each other again, accelerating from 0 to 50 in about two seconds flat. I wrap my other leg around him and his hands slide under my thin skirt, and I'm so turned on I'm breathing all weird, I could hyperventilate, I could faint any minute--

--and he suddenly pulls away and turns his back on me.

And there's Yaz in the doorway, mouth like a steel trap.

"Hello!" says Juan brightly. "We're cooking!"

Jerez

Within fifteen minutes, it's all sorted and we're on the road and I feel free and fantastic. I've got jeans on and one of my favorite sleeveless tops and I reckon I look careless and sexy, even despite the helmet Juan's made me wear. All I've got in my tiny backpack is a sweatshirt, a brush, a bit of makeup, and some money. As we roar along the country roads I press myself into Juan's back, loving the smell of him, loving the way his muscles move as he maneuvers the bike.

"Where are we going?" I shout above the bike's engine.

He twists back to me; my eyes fix on his mouth. "Jerez," he says.

"Great!"

"It won't exactly be thrilling..."

"Yes, it will!" I reply.

A rant

I don't even know anymore. I have way too much time to think, and this time should be used to practice piano, read, study for upcoming exams, knit..... and yet I always come back to my good old blog so that I can bitch about something else.

Fuck is a word I've been saying more recently. Everything just doesn't seem to be going right. Most people at my school probably think "Oh, yeah, there's that girl who has no problems. She's smart and she smiles all the time." Yeah, I am that girl. I am smart, I have reasons not to smile but I do so anyway. When I'm sick, I go to school. When I'm pissed off, I still do the dishes. When I'm mad at something, I still talk to friends and I try not to complain about myself. I do complain, of course, and I think about how much I complain and that kids in third world countries actually have reasons to complain and then I think about how I could be doing something right now to help those kids instead of sitting here writing my blog, and that makes me feel bad. But I'm just so full of thoughts, I figured I would put them on here.

My mom got back from Oman on Monday night, and as soon as we all got in the car at the airport my dad started acting like an asshole. Since my mom's return, she has been constantly reminding us of how much better it is there, in Oman (she says our house is so small she feels claustrophobic and that it's horrible), and my dad basically lives downstairs, either sitting on his computer or sorting LEGO, which will take a million years and it will piss him off anyway.

At supper I was talking about what courses I had an my dad didn't hear me so he asked me to repeat what I said. He had food in his mouth at the time. My mom decided to act like a 7 year old and tell my dad that he was talking while he was chewing. My dad decided to act like he was 7 as well and he just ignored her. Fuck, grow up already. Or get a divorce. I guess it would be kind of hard to get a divorce when you don't have a marriage in the first place. Fuck, I'd rather pack up my stuff every week and spend every other week in a different house than listen to them argue. I don't' know what I wouldn't give to hear my dad call my mom Slodko (Sweet in polish) and my mom to call my dad Honey more often. Come to think of it, on Tuesday when she called him Honey, that was the first and only time I've heard her say it in what feels like a million years. I would give anything to see them hug each other, kiss each other, hold each other, go on a date, at least look like they're in love with each other. I know that they're both depressed, sexually repressed (which is really gross because it's my parents but it's so true), angry, tired.. the list goes on. I know they have a serious problem, and if the problem is that they don't love each other anymore (which is obviously the problem) then I don't know what is.

The thing is, my life isn't screwed up, it just has many flaws. I feel like I don't belong here, that I belong in Europe, walking down streets with my camera or painting a picture on the beach or sitting in a cafe or working in an orphanage. When my Science teacher talks about the climate in Scotland and tells the class where Scotland is, I think to myself "how can they not know where that is?" and then I feel like a total jerk for thinking that because obviously if my parents weren't from Europe and didn't travel then I wouldn't know where those places are either.

Weekends are for being whoever you want and doing whatever you want, after you've done what you have to do. And that's what I do. I don't want to hang out with my friends when I'm not in the mood because I just want to sit in the house and knit or read and be comfortable, not have to make conversation with anyone or ask my dad for a drive because I know he hates driving me around and he feels that I don't deserve to be driven around because sometimes I act like a bitch. And I don't want to act like a bitch, but sometimes my parents just act so immature it pisses me off, and then my brother comes and annoys me on purpose... I don't know. I don't know is becoming one of my more popular phrases. I wish I just lived in an attic on top of an old store in Europe and I could sit at my window and just stare at the world going by around me, and then when I'd finished my work I would get up and join them. I want to grow up and go traveling on my own and discover things by myself, but I know that when that time comes I'll regret wishing it. The thing is, I don't know how to make these years really worth living when I have to babysit my parents and act like Switzerland in World War II with my friends.

I can see the perfect sky is torn

I don't know what's happening. My friends are being torn apart during this stupid fight and I feel as if I'm in the middle of the tug-of-war. I know I don't need to be involved and I'm at the end of my rope. I can't help it though. These are my best friends.

You don't know that I know you did it but I do. I know you didn't tell me because you thought I'd be mad. Well congratulations, you were right. I am mad. I'm mad because you know that I hate it and it's not good for you whatsoever. I'm mad because it's as if you feel that you have to do this. I'm mad because you just want to try it, see what it's like and then you'll never touch it again. I'm mad because if you're going to do this, you'll probably think "Oh, well that didn't kill me so why should this?" I'm mad because I know you'll never stop. I'm mad because I can't stop you.

Maybe you just have no idea how much you mean to me. The four of us went downtown, went for sleepovers, laughed, gossiped, ate junk food, traveled, walk around, spent time together. Now where have all those things gone? Do you guys realize that you are my life? You think you can just put those memories on the shelf and forget about them? Well I don't want that to happen. I don't want to get involved in this fight because I don't see which side to be on. You're both wrong, or maybe you're both right. My life is not going to be me looking at you scowl at each other. I'm not going to sit there and smile at one of you while the other stands there with no smile on her face. I'm not. I love you all too much for that to happen and I know that you love each other too, but honestly, avoiding each other isn't going to solve anything.

Little Things

She sighed as she sunk into his warm chest. His arms had her in a tight grasp, but for her it was comforting. Being in his arms again felt like sitting in front of a warm fire after standing outside in the cold rain. She could hear the fast pace of his heart and feel his chest moving up and down as he breathed, somewhat quickly.

They were sitting on the couch in his basement watching a movie. She looked up at him and he brushed the hair out of her face, then stroked her temples, cheek, jawbone, neck. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead, nose, mouth. He continued down her neck and onto her bare shoulders. He raised his head and kissed her lips, but it wasn't just a peck. It was a deep, passionate kiss.

They kissed for a long time, neither could remember how long. After she lay across his lap, his arm cradled around her waist. He watched as she yawned, slowly closed her eyes and drifted off into a light sleep. She didn't snore; she was lovely. He sat there with her until the movie was over but the movie received only a few rare glances. Once the movie ended, he turned off the television; the basement completely dark except for the flickering orange light of the fire. He positioned himself behind her very carefully, still making sure his arm was around her, and his face was now behind her head. His other arm was beneath his head and her head was in his hand. He could smell her mango and peach scented hair; he thought it had to be one of the most beautiful scents in the world. As he lay there he realized he knew that she, her body, her love, her soul... was everything he ever needed. He fell asleep until they both woke up on a beautiful, sunny, Sunday morning.

Off to a fresh start

2008 was much better than 2009, and I'm determined to make 2010 better than 2009 for sure, but even better than 2008 as well. Last year I finished grade 9 which was great, but nothing really happened in the summer, I lost one of my best friends, a few family members and my mom's twin brother in Oman is sick so she was gone over Christmas to be in Oman. I didn't see any of my family last year either. The only bad thing about having European parents is that everyone lives so far away. I barely know my cousins.. some I have only seen twice in my life and it's not like I have tens of cousins. I only have 5.

Anyway, this year I want to knit a lot; maybe even a couple of sweaters since I'm really starting to get the hang of it. I want to read more books, take more photos and go more places... just over all live every moment better. I live in sort of a fantasy world where I see my friends and I going places and having picnics and taking photos in the woods and laying on the beach and that sort of thing, and this summer I'm going to try and make that happen. Also, last year I didn't have a birthday party. I'm going to see if I can take my friends somewhere for a few nights (camping or something). I want to make something for everyone's birthdays as well since last year I didn't exactly get everyone something, which isn't a big deal because they don't mind but this year I'll try to be consistent.