themostsophisticatedwoman:

This may be what happens the weekend of my 21st… 

I’m happier than I ever knew I could be.

Sometimes, to ease my nervous ways, I tell myself that there were millions of people before me and millions of people will follow after me and that my situations are minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

Dear male population:

It is not a challenge when I inform you that I am not interested. Please stop telling me that I’ve hurt you when I don’t reciprocate cutesy compliments or when you accuse me of leading you on.

Sincerely,
I’m not that naive.

Sometimes I feel like I exaggerate my emotions when I let them out but then I wonder if I’m just good at lying to myself during all the times in between.

I’m unsure why I keep holding onto hope that I know to be false. My heart hurts just thinking about how I fell harder than you ever did, and now I can’t seem to get my footing.

While I’m down here it would be more beneficial, for the sake of moving on, if I believed every malicious word spoken of you. But instead I am paralyzed in this state due to fond memories that should not have been made.

My sense of surroundings disappeared when you were in a room. The television would be on but I’d be unable to follow the simplest story line. Instead my heart beat fast and I became conscious of every tiny movement I made down to each bat of an eye. You could dare say I was nervous.

I’m not quite sure why my confidence always replaced itself with doubt in your presence; however, it’s rare that somebody makes me feel that way for I do not fall easily.

Normally I can be so nonchalant, but this mad desire drove me to impress you. And it would bring me great joy to see your eyes transform from dull and weighted from something, I’m not sure what, to luminous and happy, if that’s what it even was. If it was even anything at all.

I understand that all of these words are in vain due to the futile nature of not being wanted back. I don’t understand why I bother with writing them, though.

You can’t make me feel vulnerable anymore. You can’t take my confidence and belittle me to questioning everything that is me. I may not be invincible, but I’m one step closer.

I’m rereading old journal entries regarding the lovely gentleman I was seeing. He’s actually not so lovely. Really, he is fickle and that fickleness has been nothing short of hurtful. In fact, it makes me sick how in like I let myself get. I want to go back in time and drag myself out of the euphoric mess I fell into. All those times he lifted my moods with simple-minded testaments of my physical appearance should not have meant anything to me. Why do girls even buy into that garbage?

I feel disoriented and cluttered. I feel as if my mind is a pot of noodles that needs to be strained. I ache for the clarity I once had on everything. Where did it go?