Leave me alone.

Don’t look at me. Don’t smile at me. Don’t even think about me. Push me out of your mind and your life. Just leave. Leave me alone.
I don’t want to be close to you. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your love. I just want you to leave, and take all the memories with you. Leave and never come back.
Stop thinking about me whenever I turn my back. Stop looking at me when you don’t think I’m watching. Because I am, and I know you’re watching me. It makes me sick.
I never want to have to feel so conflicted again. I’d be okay if you never tried to comfort me again. I think I could manage if I never heard your voice or sensed your presence again.
Sometimes you haunt me, and other times you don’t. But I’d gladly forgo the times we spend laughing for the times I spend afraid.
Just leave. Leave and never come back.


MM*: A dull ache. A gentle humming.

Live & Learn


every now and again,
you will feel a dull ache in your soul.
a gentle humming around your heart.
a longing for something without a name.
if i ever told you to obey anything,
this would be it.

listen to the call of your authentic self.
that part of you that lives just outside of your own skin.
let it have its way with you.

i have died a hundred times trying to ignore it.

~ Mia Hollow


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913 in PM

Can’t sleep. It feels so late and yet it’s only 913 914 915. It’s so fascinating. Time, that is.
My bed is too hot. My cheeks are flushed pink with blanket-induced fever. I suppose taking my sweatpants off would probably help, but then I may be too cold.
915 916
916 917
I can write so little in a minute. My thoughts can’t collect themselves enough to form cohesive sentences in 917 918 merely a minute.
What would the world be like if time didn’t exist? It is said that time is the 4th dimension. So what happens when we lose that? 918 919 I don’t know. Would we be frozen? Would time essentially freeze all molecules–all matter–in the universe? 919 920 would all space cease to exist because the fabric of space-time will have been destroyed?
I’m so tired but I just can’t bring myself to sleep. 920 921 It has been only 8 minures since I began writing but it feels like a millenia. I wonder where our internal concept of time comes 921 922 from? It has taken me several minutes to formulate these sentences, and yet it has taken fewer, still, for you to visually devour them.
This is just a WordDoodle. I have 922 923 no idea what I’m actually saying or if it makes any sense at all. Probably not. I have an induced fever and am running on 5 houra of sleep. I’m as good as miserably drunk.
923 924 the night is a very lonely and very boring chore 924 925 when nobody is there to spend it with you and you cannot escape to 925 926 count sheep. I just keep rubbing my hands over my face (giving myself wrinkles) while 926 927 I try to coax sleep into my buzzing neurons.
I’m kinda scared of the dark 928 929 to be honest. Ha! A legal adult scared of the dark. I hate feeling as though I think somewhere is safe, but it might actually 929 928 (I think I imagined the clock moves faster than it actually did) 928 929 be quite the opposite. That is one of my worst fears, I have come to realize. Which, 929 930 I suppose, isn’t an entirely irrational fear to have. I mean, it keeps me from wandering ignorantly into dark alleys at night.
Ohhhh my god I’m so 930 931 eternally bored right now that I might as well just watch 931 932 grass grow.
This is pretty much stream of consciousness, right now. A WordDoodle. Me hoping that my slip-of-a-tongue will somehow make sense on 932 933 paper. 933; 3×3=9; I just sneezed 3 times. 933 934 934 935; 35÷9=4; at the last

“4” mentioned I was 935 936 talking about what a boring chore the nighttime is. Nevermind. 35÷9 is not 4, and I don’t know what I’m thinking. I even used the old school finger trick for multiples of 9s.
I probably shouldn’t complain so much.
936 937 there’s nothing too special about 937 to my knowledge. There probably is, I just don’t know it. Maybe it’s a Fibonacci number 937 938 or something.
938 943 time is beginning to pick up a little, but it is still moving so incredibly slow.
I suppose I should just stop watching 943 945 the clock and start sleeping.

Two Candles

I just lit two candles in my room. They’re the tiny kind that you put in the jack-o-lanterns on Halloween.

My parents are fighting downstairs. It probably has something to do with my brother getting a haircut. And by haircut, I mean shaving half of his head and getting a blonde stripe dyed in on the other side. I don’t know. I think it looks pretty cool.

Both the candles are about to go out. Their wicks aren’t very long, so the only flame they can bear is the little blue part. You know, the hottest part. There’s still a little bit of orange at the tip, though. Kinda looks like a short mountain, but instead of snow, there’s the orange flame.

I’ve never really heard my mom yell, but she just did. Something about “not giving someone satisfaction.” Something about making my brother’s lunch tonight. You know, because he’s 15 and can’t do that on his own. Maybe his haircut means he’s mentally retarded or something to them.

I wonder how long these candles will take to burn out? I mean, the packaging said something hopeful about 12+ hours, but that’s all marketing, right? It’s not like you can really validate it until you buy it.

My parents tell me that I’m not allowed to have candles in my room. Well, mainly my mom. She sees them sitting on my desk with their black wicks and tells me not to burn them in my room. Kinda like how she tells me not to paint my nails in my room when she sees the nail polish bottles out.

I might just blow these candles out. They’re not really serving any purpose. The idea of them is nice, I guess, but they don’t even smell or anything, and I’m typing on my laptop, anyways, so I don’t really need them.

I closed my door. Mainly so that if my parents were to come up and say hi to me, they’d see it closed. Hopefully they’d think I’m naked or something and knock so I’ll have time to blow the candles out. You know, so my mom can have peace-of-mind knowing that I’m not gonna burn the house down or whatever.

I keep looking at the candles. I haven’t blown them out or anything yet. I don’t know why I keep looking at them, as if they might be burning my dresser secretly behind my back or something. Like they’re playing some kind of pyromaniac game of Red Light, Green Light.

It’s also closed so I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Is there really any point of blowing the candles out? They’re not hurting anything. But, on the other hand, they’re entirely pointless.

My mom bought me peanut butter Oreos today. I wanted them last week and my dad couldn’t find them in the store because they didn’t have them there.

I just remembered that I have another candle in a glass jar that burns pretty well. The only problem is that it’s a pain in the ass to light without incinerating your finger.

I don’t really want an Oreo right now.

Well the candle in the jar was a rip. I lit it with the purple lighter my mom took from me about a year ago (she forgot about it and I took it from the drawer that she hid it in. She hasn’t noticed, or at least hasn’t mentioned anything about it. We fought about it at the time). Anyways the candle completely extinguished in under a few seconds.

I’m sure I’ll want one eventually. Especially with a glass of milk.

I did find another tiny candle similar to the last one in there, though, and it burns a lot brighter than the other two. It’s flame is more orange with no blue. Just kidding I looked again and there’s a little bit of blue at the bottom. I blew the other two candles out.

I bet if I turned off my laptop Pandora that I could hear what my parents are saying.

I tried again to light the candle in the jar with the purple lighter but no such luck. This time, the wick just turned a little orange, and died, as if it had even less life in it the second time. I also made a bunch of black stuff on the jar with the candle flame and now it just looks plain gross.

I hate this song, actually.

The only candle burning right now is the little tiny one that I found in the jar. I was gonna put the other two away, but I was scared they’d be too hot.

It’s taking forever to thumbs-down this song. I’m just gonna refresh the whole damn page.

They’re probably not hot anymore so I’m gonna put them away and throw the glass jar in the trash.

I had a dream last night that I was trying to make pizza and couldn’t because my friend was being deported to Iraq. I fell in love with a kid that I saw at a bar a few nights ago.

I threw away the jar candle. It’s trash anyways cause all the wax from the candle overflowed and filled the jar.

I can’t hear them saying much, anymore. I really like this song.

Thank God Noone Reads This Blog

Did I make a mistake breaking up with you? My friends say “no,” my heart says “maybe,” and my brain doesn’t know anything. Now that you’re leaving, I miss you more than I thought I would. For some reason, it feels good; to have been close enough with someone to miss them. But it sucks, too, because now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.

You say we can be friends, but do you mean it?  I know how easy it is to say “yes” and then just never speak to one another ever again. Is that how we will be? A shattered dream of a future together? I will miss your friendship and I can guarantee you that ten years down the road, I will still think and wonder about you.

I hope you get everything sorted out. I hope you realize how amazing you are–how amazing you can be. Please don’t be stuck in a rut the rest of your life; you deserve more than that. We were gonna fight through this together… and if you allow it, we still will.

Did I break your heart? Did it hurt so much that you threw my letters away? Do you reread them with disgust, thinking I filled your head with bullshit, crumple them up, then throw them away into your waste basket? Do you look at that waste basket often? Do they seem to glare at you even harder from that cold, metal bin? Or do you not look twice as you throw away my words? Do you even know what you’re feeling? Because I don’t. Then again, I never really have. This all started fast, and I suppose that’s how it ended, too.

I realize that I love you, and I always will. The fact that I miss you is proof enough, to me. I’m going to walk into what will soon be only a room for one, and see your once-cluttered desk wiped clean of the math we did together. Where it was once sprinkled with snow-white papers, there will be only the imitation swirls of wood on its plastic surface. Your air fresheners will be gone, too, or maybe they will linger, pushing a thick scent (that can only remind me of you) into the half-filled air. The bean bag that we cried on, laughed on, and passed out on will vanish, leaving only the gaudy, minimally thick carpet behind where its soft, cozy fabric used to be. The containers of condoms, food, and a first aid kit that I stole a BandAid from when you were sleeping will disappear, too. The drawer of silverware that jingled in sweet protest whenever it was yanked open will cease to make its cacophonous music. The bin with the animal cups will be gone. The towel hanger that indifferently sported your hats will have dispersed into the thin air. The dresser–made from that same fake wood that the desk is made of–will be undressed from the inside out–stripped of its contents. And just like that… with your towels gone from the bathroom, your toiletries removed from the sink, and your bong taken from its hiding place and stashed into that blue backpack… you’ll be gone. It’ll be like you were never even there. The room won’t know any different; kids have lived in and left that room many times, and that is how it has always been and how it will always be. But it is in this absence of you that the south-facing room that always seems so stiflingly hot, will now be cold and barren. It will be the silent type of absence that reeks with desertion and the loss of a friend–one of my best friends.

I dread going into that room and seeing that reality. And the worst will be the things unseen. The memories will be the loudest reminder of you. Those wild nights that we had there, the laughs we shared… all replayed before me, as if wanting to rub my nose in the dust that you left behind when you rushed out of my life. And all I can do is watch you leave, and wonder–or even worse, hope–that you will come back into my life.

Will I ever see those pretty eyes again? That striped hoodie you always wear? Your worn down Airwalk shoes that could definitely stand to be replaced? Will I ever smoke with you again out on those rocks outside the dorm? Will I ever hear you laugh? Even see your smile? I think all of these things and feel so guilty for openly missing you when I know that I was the one who kicked you out of my life. I love you, but I’m not in love with you, anymore. Is that a reasonable thing to say? I don’t know. I just don’t want you to leave. We are good, just not good for each other. I just want to be friends. I want to support you, and I want you to support me. Can we not be able to still lean on each other when we’re about to fall down?

Can we be friends? Do you mean it?