My thoughts, made to sound meaningful

May 23, 2012
By Risabella SILVER, Asheville, North Carolina
Risabella SILVER, Asheville, North Carolina
7 articles 0 photos 2 comments

He professed his love for me, I took to long to realize that I felt the same. It's been too long now, and last night, I sent an email. I hope he got it. I hope he feels the same. Maybe we can go on a date. Or maybe I'll be stuck in this emotional limbo, somewhere between love and hate, stuck in a place where no option seems right. This is hell on earth--sitting right next to him, but not allowed to touch, so close to him, but not allowed to be anything more than friends.

What will the others think? What will the other say if they find out how much I like him, how I feel, how I can imagine spending the rest of my life with him? They wont agree with me. They'll think I'm crazy. But the way his hair curls like a poodles above his head is so adorable. The way his eyes light up when we talk about technology and survival skills makes my heart pound. . And I can't help loving the warmth of his skin and his endless enthusiasm--even if it is coupled with a painfully short attention span. I wonder if he's seen the email. I wonder if he still likes me . I wonder if he is waiting to respond, nut sure how to phrase his let down or his get together. I wonder what he's doing right now.

I wonder if he's even checked his email since I sent it. Probably not. I'm still just left here, stuck here, waiting, in limbo, somewhere I can never be freed from unless my own emotions can be kept at bay, not taking me over and running me aground. That's the story of my life--too emotional, not thoughtful enough. But love is a powerful thing, is it not? Even the puppy love that haunts teens is more impressive than any other feeling that could possibly plague the human soul. Amazing, isn't it? The way one email has left me hanging on the edge, checking my gmail every several seconds, hoping, wishing waiting? The way a human can be turned into a puppet so easily is astonishing.

They way I hang on to these hopes, these scenarios that play out in my head are ridiculous. My first kiss plans, the way I had always assumed that we would see a romantic comedy at 7 o' clock, and kiss at the end after holding hands and my head resting on his shoulder for the entire movie. It's been a given for so long, I can't remember when it last was that I thought about how things might actually happen. I can't even begin to imagine that he doesn't like me anymore. That, too, has been a given. Just as surely as the sky is blue, Vance likes Raven. Only recently has it become equally as clear to myself and others that I reciprocate those same feelings--only I fear his are gone.

The blocks of text hurt my head. My mind is full to the brink and I feel that tears may pour over the edge any moment now. This is an impossible charade to keep up--the uncaring, nonchalant Raven who has no emotions. No, I do like Vance. I have crushed on Spencer, although I'm straight. I think. Who knows. Not I. I know nothing anymore.

I can't even tell what my own feelings are anymore. I think I know them. I have to--who else would? Who else could crawl into the dark recesses of my mind and pull my deepest emotions and secrets out to share with the world than myself? Who could complain so endlessly about my cheap mascara and petty boy troubles than my own self, the one who fills this empty shell that I live within--this slightly overweight, frizzy haired, mildly crazy eyed shell?

Me. Everything that I am is wrapped up in my bag of notebooks, the words on the pages swirling together into a continuous sheet of words and phrases filling my soul and my being with meaning and with passion. Each story is another's life--a perfect one or one more flawed than my own. nearly all are reflections on my own self--my past, my thoughts, my hopes, my future. But can I see the meaning behind my own words? Will I ever know the real answer to my own questions?

There they are. More questions left to swirl in my mind tonight as I try to sleep. I will not sleep. Between the email and my own thoughts, I will be lost in my brain until the sun begins to rise tomorrow morning.

But for now, I'll sit on the couch. I'm not making use of the fold out recliner, but instead extend my legs along the length of the couch. The metal beam digs into my thighs, but I'm much to lazy to move as my fingers fly over the laptop that rests upon my thighs, which lie beneath a blanket.

My thoughts sound so eloquent when I type them out. Perhaps only to me. Only choice phrases sound elegant when left alone, however, I read this and I nearly cry, the onions sliced on my lap are clearly present. I didn't know my own emotions could become so long, so complicated, so intertwined with all the drama and the gossip and the Caleb and Sierra got together, why can't Vance and Raven.

Vance and Raven. What a cute couple we'd be. I even asked him out. And now, I wait. I can't stand it. I want to see his eyes again, and his cute hair, and his hysterical laugh. I want to hear him explain midi or figure out how to use the microphone most effectively, or tell me about the latest spy gear and survival technology--the blade contained within the bracelet he wears. It took all of my energy not to lean into him today, to rest my head on his shoulder and hold his hand in mine. We were so close. So, so, close. Too close.

But does he still feel the same?

I feel empty when I think of a world where Vance has stopped liking Raven--where the sky has stopped being blue. At least I don't slash my wrists open. I don't pop pills and I don't take the knife to my own flesh. I deal with pain like this--typing endlessly, fingers flying--each word a scar avoided. And that's fine with me, because I'd like to keep my complexion nice--that's just how petty I am.

And there I go again, so perfect, so beautiful, the words entwined with meaning and despair. Why can't every word be one of those, one that makes your eyes well up or your heart skip a beat? Why can't I live like that in every aspect of my life, in day and night, in thick or thin, in unique, or, more likely, cliche?

But what if he says no? I keep on coming full circle to my first world problem that's left my stomach churning, tying and untying it's complex knots. And the little green icon that means that he's online never pops up. Not on gmail, the only way I can contact him. Why can't he have a facebook? Or a phone? I would be all over him, all the time.

I can't keep up like this. My mind is running slower. I'm going to talk to Caitlin now. Probably unleash some intense awkward upon her.

Goodbye. I'll leave you with my thoughts.

The author's comments:
A piece from my online journal. I like the way I write when I'm not thinking. I'll probably post more like this.

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