(no subject)
The "Writer's Block" today made me think about stuff. Like how it would be interesting to know what happens after we die
(like where's gianna?)
and if there's a heaven or a hell or an inbetween or just nothing. I guess I'd want to know.
I took a walk today to the cemetery down the road. I go there when I need to think and get out of the house. My mom thinks I just walk the loop around the cat house and then back home, but sometimes I'll visit with the dead people instead. Mostly the cemetery is filled with people who died in the 18th and 19th century. There are a lot of Civil War deaths and a bunch of little kids who I guess died of sicknesses and stuff.
My favorite grave is this one for a guy named Wesley Van Ripley. He died on October 29th, 1890, when he was 19 years, 2 months, and 19 days old. I like to imagine that he was a nice guy. When anyone asks if I'm single I tell them that I have a dead boyfriend. That's Wesley. If I'm feeling sad I like to lie down under his headstone. It sounds creepy, but it makes me feel better. My thoughts are looser there.
I feel like I'm going insane.
I feel so guilty. I wish that I'd known her. I wish that I'd been her friend. I only talked to her once or twice. She was so beautiful. She was only fourteen. She didn't deserve to go like that. She wasn't supposed to die. Hanging from the rafters in her room, jesus christ.
I barely knew her. I wonder if she knew what I thought of her? I didn't even realize until after she was gone. Can you have been in love with someone you never spoke to?
why?
Hate this.
I hate you, Gianna.
I love you.
You suck. I barely knew you and you suck. I had a crush on you and you suck. I have your facebook profile picture saved on the secret file in my computer so I don't forget what you look like.
It's been a year and I never spoke to you and you made me realize things about myself and you died.
And you're in the ground, and you aren't like Wesley, because he's long since decomposed and you're practically still fresh.
I didn't go to your wake.
I wasn't invited to your funeral.
Did you notice when I looked at you in class?
I hate this.
I wish you weren't dead.
I'm such a creep.
(like where's gianna?)
and if there's a heaven or a hell or an inbetween or just nothing. I guess I'd want to know.
I took a walk today to the cemetery down the road. I go there when I need to think and get out of the house. My mom thinks I just walk the loop around the cat house and then back home, but sometimes I'll visit with the dead people instead. Mostly the cemetery is filled with people who died in the 18th and 19th century. There are a lot of Civil War deaths and a bunch of little kids who I guess died of sicknesses and stuff.
My favorite grave is this one for a guy named Wesley Van Ripley. He died on October 29th, 1890, when he was 19 years, 2 months, and 19 days old. I like to imagine that he was a nice guy. When anyone asks if I'm single I tell them that I have a dead boyfriend. That's Wesley. If I'm feeling sad I like to lie down under his headstone. It sounds creepy, but it makes me feel better. My thoughts are looser there.
I feel like I'm going insane.
I feel so guilty. I wish that I'd known her. I wish that I'd been her friend. I only talked to her once or twice. She was so beautiful. She was only fourteen. She didn't deserve to go like that. She wasn't supposed to die. Hanging from the rafters in her room, jesus christ.
I barely knew her. I wonder if she knew what I thought of her? I didn't even realize until after she was gone. Can you have been in love with someone you never spoke to?
why?
Hate this.
I hate you, Gianna.
I love you.
You suck. I barely knew you and you suck. I had a crush on you and you suck. I have your facebook profile picture saved on the secret file in my computer so I don't forget what you look like.
It's been a year and I never spoke to you and you made me realize things about myself and you died.
And you're in the ground, and you aren't like Wesley, because he's long since decomposed and you're practically still fresh.
I didn't go to your wake.
I wasn't invited to your funeral.
Did you notice when I looked at you in class?
I hate this.
I wish you weren't dead.
I'm such a creep.