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Tag Archives: sad

young and sad

25 Mar

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Now, I guess, I almost sort of regret that I always said Zayn was tied for last as my favorite member of One Direction. Because I realize that without him, without Liam, even, the band does not exist. I mean, it does, technically, but not in the way it did, the way it should, or ever will again. And I’m closer to thirty than I am to sixteen so maybe they’re not as much mine as maybe NSYNC should have been, but no. They are. And I’m young and sad, and it’s heartbreaking to see them separate.

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but all we want is danger

20 Jan

 

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Most days I think that if I’m not generally sad, I’m generally boring. I don’t know where that comes from. Happy is not an interesting word. Not really. Happy is just happy. It’s not even funny. Sad, though. There are so many great words for sad. And you can say you are all sarcastic but still, like, really mean it. I’d hate for my blog to become a collection of recipes I tried out during the weekend with my family or encouraging marital muses. Ick. I know I’m too old for it now, and it’s really sad that I feel this way, but I still want my teenage liberties–bad hair decisions, spontaneous travel plans, ugly, messy broken hearts. And I also want to feel good and happy about all of it.

restless

20 Apr

I kind of just feel like there’s somewhere else I need to be. There’s a mountain someplace that I need stand atop and cry, or something, because lying in bed this Sunday with another work week looming just a few hours ahead doesn’t feel right. Never feels right. But now, especially, for no real reason other than another bout of Sad, I think I can find some clarity someplace other than here. Maybe we can take a trip. Maybe Daniel and I can be real stupid and leave tonight. I catch myself searching for excuses to be so reckless, but I’m too old for that now. Can’t get sad enough to be that bold.

nostalgic

23 Apr

Some nights it gets really dark and I can see the stars, myself at fourteen looking up at them wishing to be loved and feeling furthest from it. I let it eat me til I was only bones, and they were the saddest parts. But they knew good people and they were loved in the sweetest ways by boys in buttoned shirts and jeans who cared that I’d be cared for by some other boy, some other time. And I’d remember them at nineteen crying on some other boy’s bed because he said I was even less than I thought, less than bones but he’d love me anyway, less than him, but we could be okay. Some nights it got really dark and the orange light from the city below his apartment hid the stars the way they hid when I was fifteen in my room with the cordless phone pressed to my ear at 3am, wishing to be loved and feeling furthest from it. I let it break me til I was dust on the hot cement, trying to gather itself together to be as hard and angry as it felt. But it knew good people and it was loved in the best way by a boy with kind brown eyes, long wavy hair, and big hands to hold it all at once so that it can feel fourteen again, and whole.

this was yours

25 Nov

Got word over Tumblr this morning that a couple related to the family I watch on YouTube has divorced. A couple whose music I enjoyed, who were pretty together, who were sweet and kind and loving, who I never actually knew, split. And it bothers me more than I care to admit. Feeling things again. Feeling feelings that aren’t even mine, like they are mine, like I can’t trust anyone to be kind. And it’s dangerous and unhealthy and I don’t know how much more I can feel before I die in the dark, in the cold, naked, alone. And I don’t need someone to talk to, I don’t need to be understood, I just need to be fixed, to be normal, to be good. The light from the Christmas tree makes the whole room glow a warm yellow-orange, the color of contentedness, the temperature of calm. And it mixes with my dark blues, my purples, and greys, the color of distance, the temperature of wrong. Because it’s November, because we gave thanks, because of the lights and the cranberry sauce and the Christmas specials on TV. And I can’t drink too much or drive too fast or run away because I’m tired, because I still care too much about the strings.