My Birthday

Its my twentieth on Monday.
The big 2-0 where I'm no longer a freakin' teen. I can't use that excuse anymore, but you bet I'm totally gonna try.
I'm at a point in my life where I'm nothing. I don't have a proper job, I don't have university, I really hate my parents, and I can count all my friends on one hand.
Its sad and depressing, and the worst thing is- I can see change, I just can't fucking get to it.

So this is what I'm going to do, I'm going to pretend some more and make a list.
I'm one hundred percent sure Monday will be a horrible, horrible day of wallowing in self pity for me so I will make a list and throw it out to the internet.
Because what if my Fairy Godmother follows this blog? Privately of course.
I need to help her out.

For my birthday-

• I want a college education, and I want it my way. I want to go abroad, outside of this horrid country, and if not that then I want to go to NCA or BNU to study Graphic Designing.
• I want a room of my own. Just a space which is mine. Mine and not yours, or hers, or theirs, or shared- Just mine. Where I can sit and think, dance and sing, write and draw and not give a flying fuck to you or them or her or him..
• I want friends, and lots of them. The kind that can be called close. The kind that get you and are genuine and cool and have brilliant personalities and no restraints.
• I want true love.
• I want a huge birthday party filled with everyone I know- all there for me. I want to feel special.
• I want that cake. You know the one. The kind of cake that costs an arm and a leg and maybe an eye. The sort that's the definition of toothache, with bright colors, personal touches and a large dose of yummy.
• I want a laptop, gift vouchers to bookshops and body shop gift hampers.
• I want dinner and ice cream at a shit expensive place.

That's all I want for my birthday this year. 

We'll get through the rest of my list next year.

Its Still Me. Sad and Stupid.

I still remember the day when you told me you wanted to spend eternity with me- for the very first time. My innocent heart sped up ten fold at the impossibilty, and the hope that tinged it.
I was so happy that you wanted that, and were actually voicing it out loud. I was so scared that it was never going to happen.
My cheeks warmed at your honeyed words and my secret smile refused to leave hours after that phone call.
But as usual, I was right and you were wrong.
Only this time, I wish I were wrong. I wish I wish I wish.
I miss you. And as crazy and out right retarded as it sounds, my heart still loves you. Your sense of humor. Your soft brown eyes. Your ability to annoy the hell out of me. Your easy grin and that adorable curly hair.
Why must I be so sad and so stupid.

Last Christmas.

I miss you a ton. And even after 7 months, the fact that you left me is difficult to wrap my head around.
It hurts when you dominate my dreams, and how its so easy to talk to you. You'll never know the effect you had. It was love honey, the purest, messy kind. Behind every word was affection and behind every critisism was fear, laced with honesty.
Does that make sense? Probably not. But it was all I ever knew.
Your shoes are so big, I'm afraid they'll never be filled. I wish they didnt have to be and you still wore them.