“I don’t know” is likely, my most used phrase. Ever. I can say it in different ways, in that the meaning behind such a simple phrase could mean something different, but still relative.

It could mean:

• I’m too lazy to tell you.
• Go away.
• What’re you bothering me for?

Or simply,

• I don’t know.

Since I’ve used it in several other contexts, the phrase itself just manages to infuriate me. Is it that I really don’t know, or is that more that I don’t care? Maybe, it’s even more meaningless that I’m just thinking about why this simple sentence vexes me so.

Why do I do these things. . .

If anything, I’ve become a cloud that’s been struck by sunlight on multiple occasions, these past few weeks.

Floating from one person to the next, flaunting off my dimming rays of light.

That’s how it honestly feels.  On the outside, they see this happy-go-lucky guy greeting everyone by their first name, but then crashes towards the end of class, because all of his joie de vivre was provided by an energy drink or sugary confection.

Even when I’m struck with illness, or just not having a good day, I still manage to put on this façade, this morphing countenance, that I’ve grown accustomed to wearing almost every single day.

Don’t assume that that is who I am, when you don’t know me.

That’s the thing. We never had anything together. A lot of things in common, but nothing . . .solid. But, I felt whole.

I’m still uncertain about my feelings about you- whether or not I’m in love with you. It’s a big deal for me, and I’m scared. I really am. I know that I love you. I do. I can call you a friend, if I can certainly admit that, but I want more.

Because, being with people that aren’t you just doesn’t feel the same.

It’s been awhile, and a lot has happened.  Maybe I’ll start using this instead of another blogging site, to write down my thoughts.

Every now and then.

Good news is I’m getting better, in a way.

I definitely think so.

Tired.Drowsy.Sick. . . of things.

Why can’t I sleep? Am I thinking too much? Jeez, overanalyzing things is a pain in the ass.

I sit back and watch. Sit back and think of what to say, things to make you realize whatever the hell you’re doing is stupid. You don’t realize the fire that just keeps burning -your words the fuel to the argument, our condescending thoughts of what you are now, proof that you truly are ignorant. A string of carefully researched words forms your wall, a wall we aim to tear down so you can finally grow up. Your attempts at trying to keep up are an annoyance. Accept. Accept these insults and change. Accept the childish deeds you’ve committed and stand on your own, don’t decide to take up the tasks that belittle the thought of you even further. You’re better than this, but you choose not to change. It’s been the same for two years, how you’ve ever retained an intimate relationship with anybody is beyond me, because they do not see what you do.

I tried. . . .I gave my two cents, again for the past two years.

You haven’t changed.

Today, I cut my hair. It wasn’t because of him or anyone told me to do so. I cut it because it annoyed the hell out of me. However, I thought that if I did cut my hair, I would be over him. . . It didn’t work. I don’t know. It’s just something I’ll have to live with, I guess.

I can’t think of him without smiling, I can’t sit in class without stealing a glance his way, I can’t help. . . .liking him.

No, it was worst. With house arrest, you were at least allowed to go away from your house at a certain distance. I did nothing exciting. Everything I’ve done on the weekend of my so-called “Spring Break” isn’t part of it, considering it was all under the pretense that I had school the following Monday. My bestfriend’s birthday. After that, a dull and depressing week followed.

 ”Are you going out?”

 ”No.”

 ”Good.”

Family holds me back. A cage I was born with; something I desperately need to get out of. Oh, what I could’ve done with those days. . .

Well. . . it’s been a month. . .a long month. I’ve been trying to figure things out for myself before. . .yeah. (Damn, I’m vague) Anyways, I haven’t talked about him yet, but it was almost all about him this month I’ve been away from blogging. (That and schoolwork) It was his birthday. You know, I’m . . . I don’t know where I stand with him. It’s all very complicated.

I mean, I like the guy. . . a lot (that’s not saying a lot, though) and he KNOWS that I like him, but has someone else in mind. I’ve been pondering that for a full week now, just back and forth; should I tell him? Should I even bother? I mean he still surprised me without knowing, (at least, I think he doesn’t know),  by inviting me to his birthday party, let alone, actually go to his house on his actual birthday. I feel like I’m singling myself out to be something remotely special (even though I know I’m not). Were those all of my chances of confessing given to me, by him? What were they?

It was beyond me though; I didn’t have time to think further of those actions. In the days up to this blog, a few family members have passed away. I let the tears flow without him knowing; caring only for the thoughts of close family members. I was in mourning. If I told him, would it have made any difference? The fact that his warm embrace would’ve made the pain less for me to bare. Would he have done that for me? No. . .I don’t know.

I wish I did.

There’s more to discuss, but I’ll leave that for a separate post when I have the time, considering how much I focus on the past.

Ahh jeez. What have I gotten myself into?

Just reading those sentence threw me off balance. I couldn’t keep myself from going crazy. I didn’t want to lose control. . . These thoughts are just welling up in my head, waiting to just be said. . .and I cant say them. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain from not saying them. I’ve found that to be my resolution, but I don’t consider that strong enough to finally confess.

Will I regret not saying what I need to say? My friend went through the same situation. He planned to confess through out the years that’ve followed his graduation to his friend, but he’s yet to do it. Will that be me? In a few years, if I see him by chance or at a friend’s house, will I be able to say the words that have been on my head for the past few months to him? Will I be able to move on?

There are plenty of other fish in the sea, but I really just want you.

Months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds are passing. Time just goes on as I spend every moment being a coward in not confessing, throughly convinced that it’s not going to get me anywhere. For now, I’m just waiting for the pain to gradually stop; waiting for time to heal my self-inflicted broken heart.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep thinking and thinking of things that haven’t really happened, waiting for one of them to come true, waiting to just cry my eyes out. I’m waiting for that moment that let’s me know that I was right about you; I shouldn’t have wasted all of my time, my feelings, my thoughts, my nights, especially these words that I hope you’ll never see, on you.

There’s only a sliver hope, that you’ll be the one who’ll prove me wrong. I’m holding onto that thought for dear life.