It will explode like a dying star.
It has come to my attention that some time has passed since the last time I posted something other than writing--or, indeed, anything at all. So I felt as though a little check-up was in order.
First order of business: the writing. Is not going all that well. I attempted my third NaNoWriMo way back in November (and brought home my second failure), and have since been writing only sporadically, flip-flopping between fanfiction and original stuff. Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of inspiration. However, most of that inspiration has been weighted heavily with the sad angst of a lonely teenager, and, as such, has been rendered, for the most part, useless. Perhaps if I was less psychologically weighed down, I could turn some of these inspired ideas into pretty pretty pictures.
And, I mean, a certain amount of darkness--of depth--is perfectly understandable, and even ideal, for a writer to have. However, there is a careful balance, and this scale has been tipped waaaay over, to the point of immobility.
Which brings me to my second point.
So there's this guy (shocking, I know)--we'll call him Eli, an arbitrarily picked name that is arbitrary and has nothing to do with the real live person's name. (No, really.) He's dorky, and quirky, and charming, and not really "hot," per se, but very much good-looking and adorable. He's passionate about the things he likes, and he's patient and kind, if reserved. He knows when to speak and when not to, even if he sometimes speaks too little; he finds it hard to trust people, yet he's a hopeless romantic, still optimistic at the prospect of finding that special girl and spilling his guts to her and not having to care about the consequences.
Here's the problem: I want to be that girl.
Which, well, by itself, not a huge problem. However, several factors that contribute to the inherent problem here are: a) we're in high school, and are both likely to change drastically in the next five or ten years so that even if we fit together now, we probably won't later; b) my feelings have sat, stagnant, for close to two years now and still no progress has been made; and c) he has a girlfriend.
Well, had; they broke up. But the fact that this breakup was not too long ago means that, as far as me being with him, he may as well still be with her--that is how much progress I'd be able to make if I tried now. Which sounds heartless, but is also true. There is also the I-don't-want-to-hurt-him-by-trying-too-soon aspect of it, but I'm not going to lie and say that's all there is to it. The bigger issue here, though, is that I am anything but subtle. I am anything but subtle, and everyone has known about my pathetic puppy-dog obsession for months. Apparently, the ranks of "everyone" include Eli himself. During their relationship, I felt like he was sending me mixed signals--and there was something between us initially, something that neither of us acted on, hence the current predicament--so, understandably, I'm angry with him. Royally pissed, in fact. What the hell kind of selfish, shallow guy throws 110% into his relationship, and then somehow has a little extra affection to send to Girl #2, and then mixes that extra affection with an extra dose of Cold Shoulder? It's back and forth with us--one of us is on while the other is off, we're both turned away, or we're both turned so far toward one another it's almost palpable. None of it lasts. It's a cycle, a vicious cycle, and I'm afraid that even now, when he's no longer tied to another girl (officially, at least, though he still cares for her, and he's still ripped apart by their breakup), it won't end. I'm probably just clinging desperately to a sick little fantasy that will never come to fruition. I should probably focus on something else.
She blamed me for their breakup--the girlfriend. That one hurt. I mean, I'm not that girl. I'm not. All lust for another girl's guy aside, I would never actively screw with someone else's relationship for my own benefit. I'm no stranger to heartache--what's one more weight added to the load? I wouldn't--I couldn't--interfere, no matter how strong my own feelings were. Maybe that's just because I don't respect myself enough, I don't know.
Long story short, I liked him, he liked me, nothing happened, he started dating, I still liked him, she knew, he knew, and it caused lots of problems. Looots of problems. I don't want to seem selfish, but I'm hoping, now, that their breakup marks a turning point--that after everything, the fog will lift, and I'll maybe be able to write something again. I did, actually--write something, I mean. Yesterday. It felt good.
There was a short time, too, that I tried to convince myself that I didn't care about him. It worked, for a while--but that was before he started dating. As soon as he asked her out, it threw a wrench into everything. So, no fooling myself into thinking there's nothing there--but at least I can focus on other things. Like writing. And friends, and AP tests, and getting a job, and...
At times like this, I tell myself to sit back and take a deep breath. I tell myself that life will get better after high school. And it will; if all goes well, I'll go to college in England, and get a job at a bookstore or a coffeeshop, and have freedom from shallow high schoolers and cagelike homes and the dark, overbearing presence of a dysfunctional family. I'll do lots of writing, and become successful, well-off, and maybe even a little famous; I'll meet a handsome British boy, we'll get married, have two children (mustn't contribute to population growth), and spend our lives together, peaceful and fulfilled.
Life will get better.
"What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?"
--Langston Hughes