99.

I'm so done with everyone and everything in highschool. where and when is my ticket out?! i'm so over petty drama and leaky mouths, and pitiful kids. I'm sick of being called a tease, and i'm sick of being called inconsiderate. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired over every issue that comes my way. What i want, what i really want is a fresh start: a new beginning. That's why i'm starting a new blog: that none of you will ever know. that's why, i'm not going to worry over anything, i'm not going to cry over anybody: i'm just so done. McGill, save me? can you come any sooner?

Adios, Au revior,

97.

"Part of me is still waiting for this silver moon"

96.

Valerie, shut the fuck up, it's time to rip these roots out of the ground and get a life. You're a pathetic mess with no perspective. Go be productive and stop wishing for love to come from shallow sources. You have montreal, you have the summer, you have a whole life ahead of you. Rip these roots out of the ground, before your world turns anymore upside down.

95.

Now i know, why you acted the way you did. I know why you hid behind all this ambiguity, and these lies, and these facades. i don't want to put words in your mouth or feelings in your heart: but you could've told me i was just a rebound, you could've told me you still had feelings for her.

Because now, the way you were with me, i am with everyone. I can't give anyone a straight answer on my feelings. I want to be fine, and be done. But i'm not: I'm strung out, and hung up, and this blog has become a ballad to you, and i hate myself for letting it get to this and you might even be reading my pathetic nature... every word of it.


I don't want relationships, i want to hide from my feelings: because they keep leading back to you. I HATE IT.
I guess gravity was a good choice for hepcat. goddamn it.







I hope you at least love her, so i don't feel like such a dope.

94.

There’s something beautiful in the sunset, even though in actually it signifies an end.
The pretty colors, the radiant pink clouds floating over us as the sky darkens, it’s lovely, and then the night set in. It’s this sort of expectations of the excitement the night will bring, it only shows us that half of our day is over and so much can happen in the dark of the night. Possibilities are as numerous as the luminous stars: each a wish for better, for newer, for more special, more unique lives we’re already living. Life is so much more than wishing on stars and mystical places, it’s appreciation, and I love. I love you, so much I can’t even begin to describe it; it’s at the point of our sunset, and I don’t think I should have to be the one to call you to hit up the night-lights. I mean, quite honestly, I know, that you fell out of love with me long ago: I can see it in your eyes, and your mouth when you purse your lips in indignation, when you furrow your brows at me like I’m some kind of love-crossed, idiot girl crossed with a pathetic puppy that’s been kicked.
Make our sunset beautiful and our night excited because on every star out there, I’m making a wish for you, for love. “To lay beside you when the day is done, and wake up to your face against the morning sun”
Don’t make me hide my heart away please.

And if you do, my dear, I hope that you at least cared for me at one point. I may be wishing for a ridiculous fairy tale, I wish for them often, and passionately, but I wish for magic. I make mediocrity, I wish for magic. Pretty woman, that old movie with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, made me as happy as a kid in a candy shop—I kid who REALLY wants Peachy O’s or whatever the fuck they’re called. I mean this Cinderella story, it’s beautiful and magical: but not in a corny way: not a Hilary duff way, in a Elizabeth Bennet way, a Gigi way, a Belle way—where someone admits they were wrong and they correct these major mistakes and accept love for what it is: unexpected, lovely, and magical. I wish for that kind of love because it’s the only kind of magic we have left.
Call me a fool, call me an idiot, call me a love-sick asshole or a teenage girl, but this story book love had to exist somewhere, or sometime, or else we wouldn’t have all these different renditions, we wouldn’t have it engraved in our minds. I don’t think my heart melts whenever I hear a sappy lyric for nothing. I don’t think I clutch my chest during a romantic kiss for nothing. It’s there, but we have to accept it when it comes, whenever it comes, and make the best of it: from beginning to end. Even if it shouldn’t end, or if you don’t want it to end so soon, because you don’t think it got the chance it deserved. So, in the not-so-wise words of the duchess in Adventures of Alice in Wonderland, the “moral of that is” but with my obviously more wise explanation: kiss often and kiss passionately, see into people’s souls, and keep your head in the clouds: you might get hurt, you might get burned or slashed or cut or maimed: but the feeling that you feel when you’re in it: head over heels? Those fuzzles are more than worth it. Cherish it, because as of now I’m living vicariously through you: give me something to live vicariously through people: Give the girl what she wants: besides peachy O’s and being held like the sun holds the moon, that would be nice.
“Fears the only walls that hold me here” Valerie.
P.S. You know what Mr. Hotel concierge in Pretty Woman, it is hard to let something so beautiful go. Every guy who wrote those lyrics, every guy who wanted to kiss a certain girl like that: deserves a quality handjob. Just saying. or something of that nature

93

i hold the moon in my hands,

damaged and bruised from all that debris,

the skin old and grey

craters as deep as the sky,

wrinkles across his face:

yet he ever glows in the night sky, soft and mysterious

in the corner of the room.

But you have to notice--don't you?

That man has a smile on his face,

even if his love is a million kilometers away,

shinning, solo, warming the world

the moon and sun only meeting ever so often,

when the spheres align

and the worlds collide.

But they intertwine and revive

and the stars are always shinning under the clouds.

Old age, millennia even: they grow old, but the beauty still remains

of their opposite's polarity.

92.

"This is how the story went,

I met someone by accident"

(Fuck iTunes for joining it with a song that i don't care about)

but yeah, it's beautiful, like so many other things in life:

like regret. Again i never disclose what i want.

On to Thermodynamics: Valerie

P.S. my words were: passion, kick, and dream.