FRUSTRATION
it's all I feel
Pourquoi?
I haven't the slightest
Maybe it's the Russian
Maybe it's the Japanese
Maybe it's the guitar
Maybe it's my love life
--or lack thereof--
Maybe it's nothing at all
Or maybe it's that I can't freaking WRITE
and no one pays any freaking ATTENTION to authorly.

It's okay, baby. I love you. ♥

In it to Win it

Dear Late Night Inspiration,
No, seriously, man. In. The. Morning.


-----------

Finger in my mouth
It's a barrel of a gun
There goes the last straw
The trigger gets pulled
Blam blam blam
Oh look I'm dead
Good thing it's only, only pretend

Can play all I want
Mope around all day
say that life just sucks
I know that's all just talk
'Cause me, I'm in it to win it

Depressed-like thoughts
Encircling my head
Just can't seem
to get out of bed
It seems some things might really be bad
But that's okay
'Cause I'm stronger than that

Can play all I want
Mope around all day
say that life just sucks
I know that's all just talk
'Cause me, I'm in it to win it

Won't give up like that
I can't let them down
I know they'd all be sad
I can't let death win

Can play all I want
Mope around all day
say that life just sucks
I know that's all just talk
'Cause me, I'm in it to win it

Running Away

Dear Late Night Inspiration,
Call me in the morning next time.

-----------

Gasping for breath, look over my shoulder
You aren't there
Can't seem to get over
This is such crap, can't believe I'm still in this
Thought you had my back but I just can't win this

You are coming, coming
And I, I just can't get away
You, you're right on my heels
And I, I just keep running, running away

Childhood memories, so dear
Now only something I fear
Without all this maybe I could stay here
But with you at my back, I've got to leave

You are coming, coming
And I, I just can't get away
You, you're right on my heels
And I, I just keep running, running away

Got to face the facts
Things can never be the same
I'll just keep on running
Won't be here ever again

You are coming, coming
And I, I just can't get away
You, you're right on my heels
And I, I just keep running, running away

Running, running, running, running...

Not Fair

Lines are blurring
Gray is everywhere
What's a girl to do
When life's not being fair
And she's following suit
No idea what to do
There's no handbook for this
I'm on my own

My head's exploding and my heart's sinking
Don't know if I'm good or horrid
What's wrong with me
All or nothing
Am I too close
Or not close enough

Please help
I need assistance
Can't do this on my own
Once Independent, now quite the opposite
Or maybe I never was
Maybe I've just
Just finally opened my eyes

My head's exploding and my heart's sinking
Don't know if I'm good or horrid
What's wrong with me
All or nothing
Am I too close
Or not close enough

Life's not fair
But then again, neither am I

My head's exploding and my heart's sinking
Don't know if I'm good or horrid
What's wrong with me
All or nothing
Am I too close
Or not close enough

untitled.

My heart doesn't ache
But it doesn't flutter, either
I'm not slumped on my pillow
From depression
Just exhaustion
I'm not bouncing around happy
Pretending to be an airplane
Because I feel like I'm flying
I'm planted solidly on the ground
Just stuck where I am
Yet I feel myself moving forward
I haven't felt like this lately
Or ever.
It's weird.
It's unnerving.
It's scary.
It's...normal?

Big Picture

I just don't understand

Who's wrong and who's right?

You make sense, yeah,

But what I think feels true

Could it be we're each half of

a bigger picture?

You say, "You're ridiculous!"

I say, "This is the truth."

You say, "It's not that simple."

I say, "You can't understand."

You say, "I'm trying my hardest."

I say, "That's not quite enough."

I don't want to argue on this

But I just can't help it

Your apparent ignorance annoys me

I want you to understand

Just why it's hard to do that

"Me" isn't that easy

You say, "You're ridiculous!"

I say, "This is the truth."

You say, "It's not that simple."

I say, "You can't understand."

You say, "I'm trying my hardest."

I say, "That's not quite enough."

Can't I

Just agree to disagree?

Can I

See the big picture?

I say, "You're ridiculous!"

You say, "This is the truth."

I say, "It's not that simple."

You say, "You can't understand."

I say, "I'm trying my hardest."

You say, "That's not quite enough."

--------

I has no real idea how this would sound, I guess, other than the last bit would be sloooower than the rest.

Karen might star in a scary novel of sorts?

Karen walked through the through the aisles of Babies R Us, looking at toys for her sister's diaper wreath. She really wasn't sure what to put on it, as Sarah seemed to already have everything. Rattles, spoons, cuddly elephants: You name it, she had it. Karen sighed, beginning to think her quest was utterly hopeless.

Then there was a tugging on her shirt. She looked down and saw a little brown-haired girl in a blue dress gazing up at her. Karen guessed shs was probably five or six years old.

"Hi there, sweetie," she said, her motherly instincts kicking in, "where's your mommy?" She looked around but saw no one anywhere near her.

"You need to be careful," the little girl told her seriously. "Bad things are coming."

Karen laughed nervously.

"What...what do you mean?"

The little girl didn't answer, but looked at the shelf Karen had been browsing.

"I'd get the Pooh Bear plush," she said thoughtfully before walking away.

Karen tried to follow her with her eyes, to see that the girl was real and maybe had been playing a trick on her. That she was just some michievous little girl. But the little girl in the blue dress disappeared without a trace, just as the others had.

Harriet isn't very happy.

She'd given the note to him. Crumpled as it was, she'd given it to him. Now she waited, just waited, for a response. He was actually standing before her, reading her little blurb this second. She couldn't wait to see what he had in response, though the anxiety of actually handing over the paper may have killed her before she even knew what he thought about it. She admired him, really. He was a great guy other than this whole "hurr hurr why can't girls be more unique" thing and seemed to get people. That was probably what upset her the most about the whole thing. Harriet had been so sure that he could read people that it shocked her that something she understood so well seemed to have slipped right under his nose.

He sighed in a way that said "Oh Lord, not this again". Harriet straightened up, alert, ready to defend her position on the matter. She wasn't going to back down, not now, when she'd finally gotten something that mattered to her off her chest to someone that she cared about. Usually such subjects stayed locked away in her head for fear of displeasing someone she wanted to stick around. But now? Now she was being more confident because she actually did know a bit about insecurity. ...ha. She was confident about insecurity? Harriet smirked a little. Was she the only one that found that funny?

"Harriet, look," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I get what you're trying to say here, okay? But if it's really that hard...then obviously you're doing something wrong. Just be yourself. That's it." He shrugged. "Changing yourself for people isn't ever going to work. You can't make people love you that way." There was something in the way he said this that made Harriet feel he was referring to her little crush (read: undying love) for him. This kind of made her even more frustrated with him.

"Love--" he started, obviously going for the obvious in case his tone wasn't clear enough. Harriet quickly cut him short.

"Look, guy," she said fiercely, jabbing him in the chest with one finger, "that might be true and all, but have you ever tried being insecure? Like, really, really insecure? Now, I'm not a psychologist and I don't plan on ever being one, but this is what I know: It freaking sucks, okay?"

He looked like he wanted to cut in, but she wouldn't let him.

"Insecurity, in my case, makes you too scared to want to try and be yourself. You're too worried that the people you want to be around won't like the real you, so you hide it. Maybe one or two people get to see what's underneath your makeup, but the rest just see whatever mask you've adopted. For example, I've taken over a nice scene look. Makes it easy, doesn't it? You'll notice a lot of my friends--the ones I hang out with on a regular basis, that is--dress about the same way. It makes it easy so you can fit in right away. And if you don't fit in right away, well...then it's not so easy."

She chewed on her bottom lip a moment and looked at him, feeling tears well up. They weren't tears of weakness or sadness or longing. They were just angry, frustrated tears. He didn't look like he was going to say anything, so she continued on, her fists clenched tightly.

"And...and you get that you should try to be yourself sometimes." She rubbed her eye with the hem of her sleeve, probably smearing her makeup but not especially caring right that moment. "It makes sense to the logical part of your brain. And you want to try it sometimes, too." Harriet turned away from him and leaned back on the lockers next to them, staring at the floor. "But y-you're just so scared that you can't. You're too afraid that you might end up saying or doing something wrong and you'll lose that person forever. So you pretend and pretend, just so you can keep those happy moments. Sometimes you're not even sure who 'you' really is, so pretending is just more comforting."

Suddenly, Harriet clutched the sides of her head tightly, like her head was splitting in half from pain.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, shaking her head while still holding it, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

She turned and took off down the hall, hands still on her head as if she were trying to keep it stuck together.

And he was still standing there, holding the paper. Harriet could picture it. Now, now she just had to wait. But that was okay. After all of this, she was good at the waiting game. Oh, oh so good at it.

Harriet is insecure.

She scribbled angrily on the lined paper, her face scrunched up intensely. This letter would get to him. It had to. Then he'd see.

"HEY JERKFACE!

You shouldn't talk about girls you don't know. A lot of the more insecure ones (myself included, thank you very much) just like to be labels like that because it makes us feel safe. And preppy or scene just happen to be the safest. That rocker girl you want? She needs freaking confidence. Confidence some of us don't have. Just look at your real beloved rocker girl. The one that gets paid to do it. SHE has confidence. The majority of us? Not so much. And you know what, asshole? That isn't our fault at all. Our minds are just wired that way. We're scared of being rejected and being told we're stupid, so we find labels that people seem okay with and we stick with them. So DON'T talk about how more girls should be unique. It's freaking HARD, alright?

Hope you've gotten the message.

Love,
Harriet"

She looked at the note a long moment after she was done writing it. She reread it several times. Then she broke down crying, crumpling the note in her fist. It was hard. Harder than he would ever know. He was so confident. Of course he didn't get it.

She tore the note apart and threw it away. A confident rocker girl would've told him how much it pissed her off that he'd said that. A rocker girl would've made sure he knew that that could hurt. But she wasn't a rocker girl. And that's why she knew it hurt. She collapsed on her desk, just staying there.

It just hurt so bad.

Promise

You've made me cry.
You've made me scream.
You've made me pissed.
You've made me panic.
All these things, well, they really suck.
But you know what? That's okay.
Because you've made me laugh.
You've made me sing.
You've made me giddy.
You've made me dance.
And, really, all those are great.
So I'd like to stay like this
and it'd be great if you, y'know, stayed.
But if you have to...well...okay.
But promise you'll write.
Promise you'll come back.
Promise you won't forget me or replace me with someone stronger.
Promise we can still be as close as we are.
Promise you'll only break that promise if we're getting closer.
Promise you won't hate me if (when) I don't answer your calls because I hate the phone.
Promise you won't laugh if I start freaking out at the awkward silences.
If you promise all that, I promise I'll keep on missing you.
I promise I won't send you a message every day (...maybe).
I promise I'll answer your calls and only hang up if I'm seizing from pure awkwardness.
I promise I won't try to get closer by prying and promise to break that promise if you want me to.
I promise to try to not think of you every minute, promise to try not to live my life waiting for you.
I promise to move on (eventually) and I promise to be a supporting friend if you ever change your mind and my heart's someone else's (unlikely, but just in case).
I promise I'll be there for you like you've been there for me.
I promise not to be too giddy if you choose to trust me with some secret.
I promise to keep as many promises as I can and make more if it means you keep yours. Or you're happy. Whichever applies.
I promise that someday I'll be okay, if you ever worry.
I promise to give you a really freaking big hug when I eventually see you and I expect you to do the same.
You're awesome and I really hope you read this someday.
Imagine there's a heart at the end of that sentence because this thing hates me and won't lemme put one, okay? Okay.

More Jeremy and Aaron, finally.

Aaron crab-walked across the couch in Jeremy's apartment, then stopped to stretch his legs across Jeremy's lap. He ended up sitting sideways on the older boy's lap, somewhat like a little kid would on Santa's.

"Hi," he said brightly, leaning against Jeremy and looking up at him through the hair in his eyes.

"Hi," Jeremy replied, brushing the hair away. "How can you stand to have it hang in your face like that all the time?"

Aaron shrugged and shook his head so the hair fell back. Laughing at Jeremy's displeased look, he said,

"I dunno. 'Cause I look cute with it like that?"

"You don't sound so sure," Jeremy said, wondering if he should get Aaron off his lap.

"Well, I don't know if it does or not," Aaron told him very matter-of-factly, "because I can't tell if it's just me that likes it. Do you think I look cute with it like this?"

Jeremy looked at Aaron oddly for a moment. Was the boy trying to trick him into saying something that might betray any feelings he may-or-may-not have harbored for him? Or was he just asking because Aaron had no tact? He couldn't be sure.

"It should only matter what you think, though," Jeremy dodged. "Not what I or anyone else does."

Aaron pouted, but again, Jeremy couldn't be sure why.

"I've never fully agreed with that," Aaron muttered. "I mean, yeah, you should be doing what you do because you want to, but is it really wrong to wonder what the people you care about would think? Like, if you were going to steal something? Or try some of that scream stuff you like listening to?" Jeremy smirked.

"You like listening to it, too, Aaron."

Aaron waved his hand, dismissing the fact. "Yeah, yeah, but that's beside my point. Is it bad to wonder what the people you care about think? Those are the only opinions I'd ever worry about myself. Yours and...uh...some..somebody else's, too."

Aaron seemed embarrassed by not being able to come up with anyone else. Jeremy suppressed a spurt of giggles that was bubbling up. He didn't want to laugh because of whatever reason Aaron's poor insecure mind had come up with; no, he just thought that the blushing boy on his lap was kind of adorable. Upon realizing this himself, he felt a blanket of dread cover him. Even though Aaron was only a year and a half younger than him, it made Jeremy feel like an old pervert to think that because Aaron was so much smaller than him.

"I don't know if it's bad, Aaron," Jeremy replied after pushing these thoughts aside, "but don't you think it'd be less stressful to just do what you wanted just for you? Without worrying what anyone else thinks?"

Aaron shrugged, looking down at the floor without another word. Jeremy was worried that he'd said something wrong, but he wasn't sure what to do. Had Aaron really felt that his words were true? Was he hurt by Jeremy's questioning them? He'd really just been trying to get his mind off the picture of him as a Nabokov-esque old man and thought that it'd be the right thing to say. He'd just wanted to keep the conversation going. Jeremy really didn't think he could stand Aaron being mad at him, but not because it'd hurt him. Well, it would, but not as much as Aaron's melodramatic actions would annoy him. It'd happened in the past a couple of times and Jeremy really didn't want to repeat the experience.

A sudden tremor against his chest pulled Jeremy from his thoughts. He looked down and saw that Aaron was shaking, rather violently, with sobs.

"Wha-- Aaron, what's wrong?" Jeremy exclaimed, gently holding the boy's face and turning it up to his own. Aaron's face was soaked with the waterworks and he was looking at Jeremy pleadingly.

"I j-ju--I just realized...i-if you ever luh...leave...I'll...I'll have nobody!" Aaron managed to choke out. "I d-don't care what...what anyone b-b-but you thinks...so if you l-leave, I'll have no one...no one I c-care about!" The sobs' intensity doubled after this and Aaron started to have troubles breathing.

Jeremy was frozen. He had no idea what to do. Aaron had never done this with him before. He actually had very little experience with tears in any manner. His hands were away from Aaron in a "WTH!" fashion of shock and he felt that he should probably change that, but he wasn't sure how. Hesitantly, he put his arms around Aaron and held him tight.

"That's..that's not true, Aaron," Jeremy told him shakily. "You have more people that you care about. What about your parents?"

Aaron snorted through his tears and started to say retort but Jeremy stopped him.

"Stop saying whatever you're going to say," he said firmly. "You and I both know you love them, whatever you might say. They're your parents, Aaron. They haven't done anything bad to you at all. Even I still love my parents."

Aaron was silent. Obviously Jeremy had gotten his point across. He was unsure whether he should continue or not, but felt that he had more to say, so he did.

"You shouldn't worry about that stuff, anyway," he said, still holding Aaron tight. "There's nothing you can do about me leaving, so it's silly. And anyway--" He loosened his hold and turned Aaron's face up towards his with one hand. "--I don't plan on going anywhere. You're great, kid. Why would I leave?"

Aaron's lip trembled and the tears that had slowed down started up again, though not as abundantly as they had before. He threw his arms around Jeremy's neck and held on so tightly Jeremy started to cough.

"Th-thank you, Jeremy!" he cried. "Thank you s-so muh..much!"

Jeremy smiled weakly and hugged Aaron with a little relieved sigh. "Can't breathe all too well, Aaron," he wheezed, secretly really glad that the boy needed him so. Things were good.

--------

I really can't express how much I love these two.

(Also it took me three hours to write this, with all the interruptions I had. :O Did not realize.)

Me + You

This is rather wordy. Beware.

----------------

You confuse me to no end

You're gone then back again

Why is it that you can't decide?

I'm really very tired of trying to hide

I know I'm awesome and I'm great

But both these things you seem to hate

I'm so confused, how'd we get here?

When once before it seemed we were so near

You make me wonder what to do,

Need to solve this, what's me plus you?

So, yeah, you've been with that girl

My head 'n heart have been in a whirl

Whether this is jealousy or hate, though,

Oh, I just can't kno-ow!

Now she's ignoring me, too, oh gawsh

What'd I do to deserve this hogwash?

I'm so confused, how'd we get here?

When once before it seemed we were so near

You make me wonder what to do,

Need to solve this, what's me plus you?

Are we friends?

Should this end?

Please, I need to know,

So I can let you go.

I'm so confused, how'd we get here?

When once before it seemed we were so near

You make me wonder what to do,

Need to solve this, what's me plus you?

----------------

Heck yes I used the word hogwash.

Middle Ground

Random maybe-song I came up with? Needs musics, though. And that I can't do, unfortunately.

*coughhacksomeonehelpmemaybecoughcough*

-------------

It seem words fail me

When I want them most

When you're being...y'know

And doing...that thing

Then when I have them,

There are way too many!

Sometimes I think that, maybe,

I shouldn't say a thing

And most times I find that, really,

I do.

I need to find a middle ground,

Speak without blabbering on

Wasn't lost and still not found

How can I tell you what's going on

If I don't speak at all?

My mind is spinning

When you enter the room

My is tongue tied...yet

I feel it...coming up

Just like in Mean Girls

It's word vomit, all over your shoes

Sometimes I think, maybe,

I shouldn't say a thing

And most times I find, really,

I do.

I need to find a middle ground,

Speak without blabbering on

Wasn't lost and still not found

How can I tell you what's going on

If I don't speak at all?

Here it comes again

Tangled sentences

Awkward silences all around

Where's my middle ground?

I need to find my middle ground

Speak without blabbering on

Wasn't lost and still not found

How can I tell you what's going on

If I don't speak at all?

Adriana sat with her arms folded on the window sill and her head resting on her arms. She was waiting, but she wasn't sure just why yet. For some reason, she felt like she needed to be sitting here. Terrance had mentioned stopping by, but only in passing. He hadn't said anything specific, not at all. So why on earth was she sitting here waiting? It made no sense at all. But still, she sat and waited.

There was nothing really to look forward to even if he did randomly appear. What were they going to do? What would she say? Should she invite him inside? She sat up from the uncomfortable position she was in to stretch her back as she looked around the room. The house was a mess. There was no way her mother would let anyone inside, even for a moment. What would they do? There was nothing interesting around her house. Could Adriana manage to talk to Terrance without freaking out? She didn't think she could. He made her so, so happy, but still...she couldn't talk around him. She was usually a blabbermouth, too, but he made her clam up. It was so obvious that she liked him because of it. Obvious as it was, though, Adriana had still told him that she liked him. Twice, actually. First a few months ago, when it was still blooming, still kind of unsure, then a little while ago, when she was certain it had to be love. But, both times, it was ignored. The first time she pressed and pressed for an answer, though. She received a "you're a great girl, but...." in return. She told him it was alright, that was what she needed to hear, but...she still hadn't moved on at all.

Adriana pushed back her long dark hair from her eyes, still diligently watching for Terrance to come up her drive way. Why would he come by, anyway? There was no reason. No reason at all. She flopped backwards onto her back, legs still criss-cross-applesauce in front of the window. Try to relax, she told herself. Don't get your hopes up, that'll just make you hurt more. But she couldn't help it.

As she tried to relax, though, the days of being out in the fresh air caught up to her and she drifted to sleep.

Adriana dreamed vaguely of being happy sitting next to someone. She didn't know who it was or why she was so happy, but she was. She couldn't even see where she was. But she was snug against someone and everything was good.

"ADRI!" her mother's shrill voice yelled from downstairs, suddenly waking her up.

She sat up, confused and frustrated to be woken up before she could figure out why she was happy. Her mother yelled for her again, so she stood up and hurried down the stairs in her pajamas.

"What, Mom?" she asked in a very annoyed fashion.

"Someone's here to see you," her mother replied, pointing to the door.

Adriana gasped and ran to the door, despite her pajama'd self. She couldn't believe it. Had he actually come? Had Terrence actually stopped by her house? She turned the doorknob and yanked the door open, her eyes greeted by his smiling face. Adriana grinned back brightly at first, but then it tampered down into a shy smile.

"What're you doing here?" she asked softly, her hand still on the doorknob.

"I had a question," Terrance replied. "A question that couldn't wait until school."

Adriana looked at him in bewilderment and he laughed a little.

"Oh, come on," he said, "you don't have a clue? Really, Adri? None at all?"

She shook her head and he chuckled a little more.

"Well, I just stopped by to see you, honestly," he told her, "and ask if you'd like to go out with me."

Adriana squealed like a little girl who'd just been asked if she wanted a pony. Terrance laugedh again, but not in a malicious way.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

Adriana nodded vigorously and jumped up to hug him. He picked her up and held her tightly.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you," she chanted in his ear, so happy she could very well start crying. Then she stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Who's that in the car?"

Terrance set her down and turned back to the car.

"Oh, them? My family. We were out to lunch and I made them stop by here."

Adriana looked at him incredulously. "Really?"

He nodded. "Figured now was as good a time as any for them to meet you."

"What?!" she squeaked, her face flushed. "Now? But..I'm in my pajamas...and I don't have any make-up on..."

Terrance kissed the top of her head, making Adriana very literally go weak at the knees. He laughed at this and held her up.

"Oh, hush. You're beautiful."

Jeremy glanced over at Aaron, who'd fallen asleep at the computer. The younger boy's dark hair fell over his face so it was hidden, but Jeremy could still tell he was out because of the utter calm that had settled over the room. No place could be this calm with Aaron around unless he was unconscious.

He wasn't sure what to do with the boy. Aaron had come over to his apartment because he'd needed time away from his parents. They were a little overbearing sometimes, Jeremy had to admit. But where he saw good intentions, Aaron saw a need to control every part of his life. Jeremy could tell that Aaron's parents just wanted him to have the best life possible and that they cared about him. He'd even told Aaron to trust him on this: He knew crappy parents when he saw them. One look at his own family would make that apparent.

He shook his head and the thoughts disappeared like the doodles on an Etch-A-Sketch. He didn't want to think about those idiots. They probably never thought about him, so why should they plague his thoughts daily? Because they were still his parents, that's why. He knew that's why he thought about them so much, and that's why he wanted them back, but he still hated that he longed for them so.

Standing up, he started to clean up the living room a little. Aaron would probably end up in his bed and he'd be on the couch, like the gentleman he was. Despite Aaron's being a boy, Jeremy still couldn't let him sleep there. Maybe it was because Aaron was younger than him. Yeah, it was probably that. Jeremy picked up the pizza box and a couple of soda cans and moved into his tiny kitchenette. Setting the box on top of the trash can, he made a mental note that tomorrow was in fact trash day and hoped he wouldn't forget again. The small apartment already stunk to high heaven from last week's leftovers. He didn't need a bulky pizza box getting in his way, too. He put the cans in the sink, then looked across the counter and through the hole in the wall to the living room. Aaron was still slumped forward on the keyboard. He was probably drooling, too, which would mean Jeremy's keys would start to stick or something. Great. The high school graduate shook his head and sauntered back over to the younger boy. Jeremy saw the bright yellow cords that led from Aaron's ears to the computer and he wondered what he'd been listening to. Jiggling the mouse a little, the screensaver of swirling colors stopped and Youtube came up with a Silversun Pickups video playing.

Jeremy smirked. He'd mentioned the band not half an hour earlier and already he was listening to them? Maybe Aaron liked him a little more than he had realized. Jeremy removed the earbuds from Aaron's ears and pulled the computer chair back while supporting the boy's upper half. It was a little bit of a juggle, but this very same situation had occurred enough times that Jeremy had grown accustomed to it. Letting Aaron lean back in the chair now, Jeremy bent his knees and scooped the small teenager up into his arms. It was ridiculous how different in height they were sometimes. But, as Jeremy often thought, it was also lucky. If they were closer in height or weight, he wouldn't be able to carry a sleeping Aaron like this. And he would miss that.

Down the narrow hall he went, careful not to bump Aaron's head on the walls. He slipped into his similarly small bedroom and laid the boy out on the bed, pulling a blanket over him to keep him warm. Jeremy stood there a moment and just looked at the boy before him. Aaron was probably his best friend, though they'd just grown close recently, after Aaron had forced himself into Jeremy's life. He smirked again, remembering Aaron's forwardness.

"Hey, dude, you're freaking HUGE!" he'd told Jeremy one day in the hallway at school.

"Uh, maybe compared to you, short stuff," he'd retorted, glaring down at the short boy.

"Pft, no," Aaron had replied, shaking his head, "you're a giant compared to everyone, dude."

Jeremy laughed out loud then, so tickled was he by the memory of their first encounter. Despite that odd beginning, they were still close. Maybe it was because their first meeting was so odd that they were close.

"Nnnnnnn," Aaron groaned. "Looooove you, Germy..."

Jeremy froze for a moment, unsure if Aaron was awake or not. But the sixteen year old didn't say anything else nor did he move, so he had to be. Right? Jeremy waited a long moment more before moving. Then he crouched down beside the bed and looked at Aaron, his head propped up by his elbows that rested on the bed. He watched Aaron sleep.

"Love you, too, Aaron," he whispered.

He could have sworn Aaron smiled in his sleep at this. He smiled back. Maybe he did love him.

Aaron reached towards Jeremy affectionately, trying to hold his hand. The instinctive pull-away he received made the younger boy frown. It was so frustrating, liking someone that obviously didn't like you in return. Even more so if you stayed friends with them. And near best friends? Pft. Nearly impossible. Aaron didn't see how he could have survived the past several months as his infatuation grew exponentially and their friendship followed suit.

"Quit it, Aaron," Jeremy said absentmindedly, looking down at the guitar in his hands intently.

"But I'm bored, Jeremy," the boy whined, leaning on his taller friend. "Looking at guitars is only fun for so long when you can't play 'em."

"Then you shouldn't have come along," Jeremy replied, still examining the guitar.

'But I like hanging out with you,' Aaron thought stubbornly, sighing. The two had been wandering around downtown for a couple of hours now, Jeremy on the look for a new guitar and Aaron just goofing off. The boy was sixteen-going-on-seventeen and still he had problems sitting still.

Aaron cast a sidelong glance at Jeremy. Thinking about his age reminded him that Jeremy was heading to college this fall. It wasn't like he was leaving the city or anything--thank GOD--but still. Aaron wouldn't see him every day at school anymore. And Jeremy would be meeting new people. As silly as it was, it made Aaron jealous. He had no reason to be, obviously. Jeremy was in no way his, despite the way he hung off of him. They were only friends. Friends had no reason to be jealous of other people seeing them.

Aaron stood up from his place next to Jeremy on the floor and wandered around the store. There were guitars of every shape and color hanging on the walls. Aaron stopped in fron tof an acoustic guitar and just looked at it. It looked like any other acoustic guitar: The front was made of light wood and the body shaped in that classic fat-peanut style. He had always lked acoustics better. They had a simple, sweet sound and look that comforted him.

There was also the whole start-a-band thing. Jeremy was completely psyched for college because of it. He wanted to meet new people for this band, get good, then get famous. That was really what Aaron worried about the most these days. He wanted to be the singer for this band. He wanted to be part of the group that saw so much of Jeremy. He wanted to taste fame. Jeremy knew Aaron could sing and write. Usually it was only short little blurbs about nothing at all, but after some effort, he'd managed to spout some nearly lyrical pieces. And Freddie Mercury was his idol: Aaron practiced to Queen so much that he was definitely able to get up in a higher range and dance about with no issue. Aaron might have been a worrier and act a tad bit insecure, but he was great at acting. Being in love with one of your best friends did that.

"You like it?" Jeremy asked, his mouth down by Aaron's ear.

Aaron jumped. "Uh, yeah," he said, sounding more calm than he felt.

Jeremy looked at the price as he straightened up. "It's pretty reasonable. You should get it, if you like it. I know you have the money."

"Money or no," Aaron told him, blushing at the mention of his parents' ever-flowing funds and his near-complete access to it, "I can't play. It'd just sit around and collect dust."

Jeremy put an arm around Aaron's middle and pulled him close, deepening the high schooler's blush.

"I'll just have to teach you, then, won't I?" he said. "I mean, Freddie played guitar and piano, too. You can't expect to get into the band with just your singin', can you?"

Aaron's eyes lit up, but he didn't voice his excitement.

"No, I guess I can't."

B-bmp. B-bmp.

The hand on my chest feels the beating of my heart all too well. I don't quite know who it is in front of me, who is feeling my heart thud, but it makes me happy that they're there. I can feel love through that hand, feel caring through these fingers on my sternum. I want to see who it is that loves me so much. I want to open my eyes and throw my arms around them, hold them tight and never let go. I know I can't, though. I can't see. I'm not meant to yet. Still, I try to steal a peek, and open my eyes...

...to see my bedroom ceiling. I'm awake.

Paramore'd

On a good day, I'm crushcrushcrush. I get that I'm pretty freaking head-over-heels and I'd like to charm you into maybe realizing that you at least like me, too. A few details are off; you have no little spies (or at least I don't THINK you do), and I don't catch you looking at me all the time. You might stick by my side a lot when we're with a group of friends...but that's probably just because you realize how insecure I am. I do know that one thing is very, very much the same: I want something more than this. I want to be more than just your friend. I want us to be all alone and to tell you to gimme something to sing about.

On a bad day, I'm All I Wanted. I'm mopey. I lay on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, watching TV. I feel like crying. A lot. I'm tired. I want to scream. I want to do something, but I also want to keep lying there and doing nothing at all. I just want to feel you beside me, even if you're not holding me or even acknowledging my presence. I just want you to be by me. I just...want...you. And that's all I want.

On a normal day, I'm The Only Exception. Now, I have to say, you're not the only exception. I'm a normal girl with her normal, multiple crushes. I've even liked a guy or two to the point where I thought there might've been some love involved. And there probably was, but I'm almost certain that what I felt then wasn't anything like what I'm feeling now. On these days, I realize what I feel is pretty strong. And I know that it hurts. And I know we're only friends. I know that you're going to go when we meet up, and I know that anything that I might perceive as a returning of feelings is just you being a good friend. I feel bad that that's all it is, but I realize that's the way it's going to stay, now and forever. You...you don't love me that way. You probably care, but only as a friend would. I'll probably never get to have that.

I thought today might be a normal day, even a good day, or a really, really good day, which I can't even think of a song title for. But, no, I see you log on and lookie there, I'm just wanting you. I'm just wanting you so, so bad.



I find it kind of funny that the one person I'd love to read this probably never will.

......dammit.

What's in a name?

(Most cliched title for this sort of thing EVER.)

Hokay. So I had this GVSU writer's camp thing. And we wrote about our names. So here's my tidbit, 'cuz, well, I liked it. :D

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Jenna. J-E-N-N-A. People usually get it spelled right without asking, but every once in a while they'll ask "with two N's?" At least everyone assumes correctly, whether they are unsure of it or not. There have been a few mispronunciations, though, like Jeena or Jenay. I fend them silly because, well, does it really look that hard to pronounce?

And then there's my last name: Crouch. You'd think I'd be just fine with that because it's a word in the English language, right? Wrong. People want to spell it with a K, they say couch instead, they think it can't be as simple as it sounds, ever. One girl even asked if my last name was "crotch" (I must say I didn't like her much after that--nor did I think her very smart).

I've also come up with a few nicknames over the years. Jenjen and Nenna are the ones that have stuck the most. I refuse to respond to Jenny because it's a female donkey (as opposed to jack-you-know-what). My sister calls me Genevieve, like Madeline's dog (don't know who Madeline is? You suck).

I know only a few others with my name. They range from ex-porn star (thiiiink about it long enough and you'll get it) and an animated husky (from Balto, of course).

I think Jenna means pure, white, and little bird. I don't know about pure, but I'm certainly white (darned Irish blood) and definitely short. And I sing, so...I guess it all fits, huh?

typey typey.

I'm a little girl who just wants to smile. I don't want to deal with my troubles or any responsibilities. I just want to be five and worry about what crayon to use next. I don't want to worry about offending this person or that person. I don't want to worry about losing friends. I don't want to deal with this. I just want to be a little kid again and be happy forever.

Smooth: Entry One.

Sooooooo. I'm attempting to write a new story called "Smooth." I'm not entirely sure what's gonna happen in this one yet, but it's set in a regular old high school and focuses on this girl, Moira (either nicknamed Mo or Rara, I haven't decided yet) and her trying to figure herself out. It's probably going to be written in a diary format, since that's kinda how I started it, and this is the first entry. Feel free to leave any comments. c:

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September 29th

I was five years old when I first thought of shaving my head.

Usually, that might not be so weird, I guess. Some kids like no hair at all, right? You see little boys with buzz cuts all the time. But, of course, I wasn't a little boy, so it was understandable when my mom had looked at me strangely and laughed it off nervously.

I didn't like my desire being laughed at, though, and started to throw a fit like most five year olds do when they don't get their way.

"Why can't I get my head shaved?" I had screamed. "I wanna be like Mr. Clean!"

"Moira, honey," my mother had said, trying to calm me down, "girls don't do that. They don't shave their heads. That's what boys do."

I frowned, but hadn't pursue the subject further. Even at five years old, I knew when to quit. And I left the whole thing alone for a long, long time...ten whole years. But I've decided to bring it up again because, well, it feels right. Why? I have no idea, little diary of mine. It just does. Just like locating an old notebook and scribbling down my thoughts did. I'm very spontaneous that way; I like to do things without much thought and because they're different. Most of my life has reflected this, from marker tattoos to bright clothes and hair dye. I've stood out from the crowd as much as I ever could. The only thing I've really wanted to do that I couldn't though was shave my head. And it really bothered me. So what'd I do?

I went out and got my head shaved, dammit.

I had just enough for a haircut saved up from various odd jobs around the neighborhood. There was a hair salon perfectly on my way home from school today, so I popped in and got it done. When I stood up, my head about a pound lighter, I gawked at all my sandy blond hair on the floor. Surely it was not all mine! It amazed me that my short bob had actually been made up of so much hair.

The stylist, coincidentally named Shirley, laughed at my expression.

"Didn't realize there was that much hair on your head, did you?" she asked.

I shook my head vigorously, shocked that there was no swish of hair. This would take some getting used to for sure. I was grinning widely, though. Finally, all that stupid hair was gone. With the lightness of my head, I also felt a lightness of soul. I 'd finally done what I had wanted to do for ten years. I was bald. I ran a hand over my head, savoring the smoothness. It felt beautiful.

I went home and went about business as usual. I did my homework and started a load of laundry like I was supposed to. The only difference was the mix of eager anticipation and worry. I was curious to see how my mother would react, but also deathly afraid. What if she took away my iPod? I wouldn't be able to survive without McCoy. He was the only thing that kept me sane most days.

But, that's the risk with these sorts of things, isn't it? You do them as haphazardly as I had, then you were met with the consequences. And I would just have to deal with them.

My mom eventually did make it home from the pharmacy, where she worked. I met her in the kitchen, which was always her first stop after a long day of work.

"Hi, Mom," I said, watching her carefully for a reaction.

"Hello, Moira," she replied, distracted and not noticing my hairlessness. "How was school?"

"Fine," I told her, still watching, "got a B- on my math test."

"Oh, good," she said absentmindedly.

I frowned, ready to just tell her I literally cut all my hair off (well, not literally, really, because Shirley did it, not I). She finally looked at me, though, and her jaw dropped. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from giggling.

"Moira...what did you do?!"

"Oh, this?" I asked casually, touching my smooth cranium. "Just decided to get a haircut is all. You like?"

At first, her expression said she most definitely did not like. Then Mom's face changed to one of complete concern. She rushed off and I heard her go up to her room.

I'm still confused now. Why was she all worried looking? I swear, I'll never understand her.

I want you to want me.

The girl was dancing across the stage, off in her own little world enough to have fun, but focused enough not to fall off it. She smiled out at the crowd, her body a little tired from this small concert but at the same time ready to go on forever. This was what she lived for. This performing, it was her life. She loved it. She never got a chance to do this in real life. She was never herself off this stage. It was just timidness, this shy little girl no one ever noticed. But now? Now she was a little rocker, ready to belt out the lyrics and make the audience scream.

"I want you to want me,
I need you to need me,
I'd love you to love me,
I'm beggin' you to beg me!"

It was an older song, admittedly, but the crowd still knew it. How do you not know "I Want You to Want Me," no matter how young you are? It's one of those songs you just KNOW and have as long as you can remember. Her voice was a little higher than Robin Zander's, but she had a way of mimicking the original singer's voice that just made it sound perfect. The band around her, made up of friends and a guy she'd definitely love to love her, were playing perfectly. They had better all be doing great; it'd only taken hours and hours in the past weeks to make this work.

"I want you to want me,
I need you to need me,
I'd love you to love me,
I'm beggin' you to beg me!"

The simplicity of the lyrics already had the audience singing along and they all looked like they were having a great time. She smiled even wider, if it was possible. Yes. Yes. This was all so, so perfect.

"I'll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand new shirt.
I'll get home early from work if you say that you love me.

Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?
Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin'.
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?"

She glanced over at the guitarist, the one she wished she could sing this to. Even if she was on stage, singing to all these strangers, she couldn't do that now. It'd be too true if she tried. He had felt all alone, he had felt like dying. She'd seen him cry, too. It wouldn't be right. As close as they were, he didn't know about her feelings at all. She'd thought it'd only make thing worse for him.

"I want you to want me,
I need you to need me,
I'd love you to love me,
I'm beggin' you to beg me!
I'll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand new shirt.
I'll get home early from work if you say that you love me."

This song was really repetitive, but that's what she loved about it. While saying the same thing over and over, it still made you happy and want to dance around. All the great old songs were like that. It was a surprise to her, upon more research, that this song hadn't made the charts. How the heck had people not loved this song? It was great and honest. You wanted someone to want you. You needed them to need you. You'd love them to love you. You were beggin' them to beg you. It was just this simple feeling of just absolutely wanting-needing-loving someone to want-need-love you. It was amazing!

"Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?
Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin'.
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?"

The return of this part made her look over at him again. She watched him instead of the crowd, an idea forming in her head as he focused on his guitar and playing. He had a rough life. Abandoned by his father, ignored by his mother. Her life with no money and a million siblings seemed perfect compared to his. At least her parents loved her. She'd seen him at his worst, when the others had already vacated her basement and practice was done. He had stayed over at her house instead of going home so many times she couldn't remember them all. She started the final part of the song, still looking at him. Despite her mind being elsewhere, she'd still managed to stay with the song.

"I want you to want me,
I need you to need me,
I'd love you to love me,
I'm beggin' you to beg me!"

Then, she decided. She started to walk towards him, the rest of the band too into the song to notice her.

"I want you to want me."

She ignored the audience and just focused on him. She sang to him. He still didn't notice and that's what she loved about him. He got so into playing that a train running right by him couldn't break his focus. She smirked a little as she continued to sing.

"I want you to want me."

Now she could feel the stares of the other band members on her. They were confused, obviously. This wasn't what they had practiced. She was supposed to do some weird-but-normal caressing of the mike stand while continuing to sing the last four "I want yous". This was too different from every other show for them not to take note. But they kept doing what they were supposed to be doing, a Godsend for her.

"I want you to want me."

He still hadn't looked up. She smiled a mildly frustrated smile and then stood so she was almost on top of him. He finally did look up from his playing, but kept his fingers moving when they were supposed to. Not a note was missed in his small part as he looked at her, trying to figure out what she was doing.

"I want you to want me."

This last line was soft, so soft that the screams in the audience very well drowned it out. But she was okay with that. He'd heard it. And that's all that mattered.


(I Want You to Want Me = Cheap Trick's, not mine.)

Post Numero Uno: Crying.

(This isn't actually what will probably go here half the time, but I feel the need to post SOMETHING.)

Crying doesn't need to be sad, no, not at all. It's just another release, another way to calm yourself down. It's just like punching a wall, screaming, or kicking a chair. It isn't a sign of weakness. It's a sign of life. You're not emotionless. You're not unreachable. You're a living, breathing person that someone can relate to. Someone that can be loved. Without showing any emotion, not a thing, how can you really be known? How can anyone ever know you? How can someone fall in love with you? That one cry in public, that single sign of "weakness", as you want to call it, could mean someone sees the real you. It could mean a new best friend. Or it could mean meeting the love of your life. So don't hold back the tears any longer. Don't hide your emotion. Let them fall and start to feel better. It can only go up from here.