Fee fi fo fum, my heart beats like a hummingbird trapped in a coin purse.
I’m supposed to be writing a 4-5 page paper for my cinema class midterm right now. It’s due at 7 p.m. tomorrow. I’m not worried about it. Is that a good or a bad thing? I’m not entirely sure yet, but I’m sure I’ll know the answer when it’s 4 a.m. and I’m still only on paragraph one.
I’m distracted, and it’s annoying, but that annoyance is nothing compared to the constant feeling of dread that hangs over my head like a halo, except the thoughts I’m having are anything but angelic.
In the span of a little over a week, my personal life has gone from being a constant ticking in the back of my head to a lit match and a fuse in my hand, and the idea that something, anything, will tip my emotions into the danger zone is making me feel nauseated.
It doesn’t help that a lot more people know about the way I ~~~*feel*~~~ now than before, and they’re winking at me across the metaphorical room while I’m trying not to stop breathing.
It’s not that I don’t want to do something. Oh I do I do I do, every time the chance to talk to him arises, my mind screams at me to take it take it take it, except not in a creepy “Dexter” way, except it probably is objectively pretty creepy, except
except except except
when I looked for him the other day and didn’t see him, and then he was right there next to me and he didn’t see me seeing him and I felt like I was being so invasive but it was a public place but he was so not THERE and I was so COMPLETELY there and I whipped my head around so no one else would know I was looking and then I was on my way.
If the real world were like kindergarten, and people gave out gold stars for being pathetic, I’d be covered in tiny shiny foil stickers.
This is bad. This is so, so, very very very very very bad. Because I have time; urgency forces my hand, for better or worse, leaving me no choice but to push forward or drop it entirely. But now I have time, and I know him from the start, so it wouldn’t be two strangers meeting on a train or something like that.
It’s still not something that “makes sense” though. Did it come out of nowhere? I don’t know, did it?! I can’t remember when this started exactly. I can’t remember why this started exactly. I don’t think I care.
This is dumb. I shouldn’t be writing about this, the “romance” tag on this blog shouldn’t have so many entries, my face shouldn’t flush when I think about it.
But I am, it does, and it is, and I’m listening to “Heartbeat” by Annie on repeat so I know that I’m doomed, for at least this night, for at least the next few nights, for
(Image: Come With Me by Ellie Davies)