My Essays, Poetry, and Randomness

This Crazy Life

Sometimes life is just like a roller coaster. Sometimes you feel like you're on the top of the world, and everything is going your way. Life has dealt you a lucky set of cards that can only be described as almost unbelievable. You can't control your happiness and joy. It sits obviously on your lips, unable to escape your grinning smile that inevitably will never stop existing. Your heart pounds unevenly as it picks up speed, increasing with your accelerating adrenaline at the very thought of your own bliss. Whatever caused your indescribable joy, a dream job, another person, or simply an inspirational message from a novel, it doesn't matter as long as the result positions you at the height of the roller coaster, when you're screaming with ecstasy. You couldn't possibly be any more elated; you couldn't go any higher on your ladder to eternal ecstasy.

That simple fact is so completely true in all of the crudest ways in that you can't become any happier. Your optimism is almost tainted with the knowledge, the anticipation that soon your bliss will come to an abrupt halt. Although you constantly try to ignore it, you're not oblivious to the fact that exuberance doesn't last forever. If it did, our lives would not be what they are. They would be perfect and in all things, not human. But of course, we are fully human; so, we are filled with suffering, bitterness, regret, animosity, and dejection. These things are all of the opposite of happiness and its achievement. This unwanted thought lurks on the edge of all our minds, just begging to be brought out; so, that we will lose all measure of jubilation and dwell upon the unhappiness that will inevitably entail. Dwelling upon the bleakness that is obviously going to follow is exactly what launches us into the waves of the ocean that make us plummet to the depths of the roller coaster, knocking us down from our high of blitheness. If only we could think that the exhilaration would last forever, then we would never force ourselves into the depths we could hypothetically avoid. Unfortunately, avoiding such times of melancholy and despondency is impossible, no matter how much we try to ignore their very existence. Ignoring that they exist only makes them ache so much worse when they so suddenly stab into the very souls of our lives.

But that is the eternal question, which is better? Is it really better to prepare yourself and live in constant paranoia that the next day could be the fall of your very own bliss? Or is it better to live in oblivion, obviously lying to yourself that misery will never happen to you and then become blindsided by the very pain you tried to ignore? Is either one really healthy for the development of our hearts and souls? Isn't there an option C? Shouldn't there be an option C? Why does it have to be one or the other? Truly, it doesn't have to be such a clear cut line between pessimism and pretending pain and calamity don't exist. Of course, there must be an option C for the rest of us who don't live our lives in constant fear that our ecstasy is going come to an abrupt end, and we will end up shattered into a thousand pieces. Those individuals who do are terrified of getting crushed. They don't want to let anyone else close enough to hurt them. They're frightened of the unknown; they don't want to try something new and experience life. They just want to avoid the pain they have so obviously experienced before. But then again, isn't it wiser to try to avoid affliction and disappointment? Wouldn't that seem like the most logical thing to do? If only pain, disappointment, enmity, and despair were avoidable, then that would be a very reasonable solution. But they aren't avoidable; they are inevitable. No matter how many walls you put up around yourself, blocking out the people who only want to get to know you and help you understand yourself, you can't evade your problems. They just begin to escalate until when you finally realize they aren't going away, they have put you in an enormous hole you don't know how to get out of, and all your hope is lost. When you feel like your world is overwhelming and spinning out of control, you truly believe you are stuck in the mess you have made for yourself that you could have prevented ages ago if you had only taken the time to step back and look at your life and the direction it was headed.

If only life was predictable, but that's not what life is all about; it's not perfect. Life is about making mistakes, screwing everything up in major ways, but also making major comebacks. It's full of unexpected twists, heartbreaking moments, and heavenly dreams come true. Because of all of its crazy spontaneity, life is in fact, identical to the path of a speeding roller coaster. No matter how many times you study the dynamics of a roller coaster and prepare yourself that one moment of pure terror, it still hits you every time. One unexpected twist sends your heart flailing in all directions, and screams of terror and mixed delight escape from your grinning mouth. No matter how many times you prep yourself for the disasters that are certain to occur, they will still unexpectedly slap you in the face just when you're feeling cheerful and smiling at your own joy. It really couldn't be any other way, now could it? If you had time to prepare for your own despondency and hopeless times, then you really wouldn't be that despondent or hopeless, now would you? But if you spent all of your time fretting over the forsaken times that would absolutely ensue, you would miss out on all the enchantment that was really happening around you, all because of your insecurity of being distressed, that you really weren't happy at all.

Life is usually a healthy mix of both overwhelming ecstasy and disastrous suffering. We can't ever be completely joyous; it's as simple as that. To be completely happy, our lives would have to be perfect and perfectly boring. It's the mistakes that make our lives interesting and worth living. If we didn't make wrong decisions and careless errors, we wouldn't be the people we are, and we wouldn't be able to retribute and learn from them. If life was only sorrow and suffering, then we wouldn't really think sorrow and suffering were so despairing and depressing because we wouldn't know anything different. Because we've experienced both incredibly high happiness and sorrowfully low despair, it makes the exhilaration even more even enjoyable and the despair even more painful. Pure bliss and happiness aren't healthy either because they simply contradict the point of life. Life is full of imperfection, just begging to be noticed and acknowledged. No matter how hard we try to be perfect, our imperfection keeps slapping us in the face, constantly reminding us that we've never going to perfect, that we're never going to be really happy. This is all a test of our security that if we can really laugh in imperfection's face and embrace our imperfection as our individuality that makes us so interesting, then we are truly secure, happy people who don't need anyone else's approval to be ourselves and completely happy.




~Abortion Is Murder~

Induced abortion is deliberately terminating a pregnancy. The word abortion itself can refer to a miscarriage, therapeutic abortion-when an abortion is performed to save the life of the pregnant woman-, or as it is commonly thought to be, induced abortion. Induced abortion was legalized in 1973 in the United States and has been going on for thirty-five years. Induced abortion should be illegal in the United States because it is murdering an innocent life.

The embryo growing inside a woman's womb has been scientifically and medically proven to indeed be a human life, regardless of religious beliefs. First-degree murder is the premeditated unlawful killing of one human being by another. When a woman commits abortion, she is committing first-degree murder by planning to kill her own child. Induced abortion is nothing less than an inhumane way to murder tomorrow's generation because they can't speak for themselves.

When a pregnant woman is murdered, the murderer is held responsible for two counts of murder, but when a helpless fetus is mercilessly murdered by its own mother, no less, it is considered respectable. When our society members are murdered, we stand up for them by standing as jury members in a trial. Who is standing up for the unborn children? Because unborn children can't stand up for themselves, they are mercilessly murdered and seen as nothing more than an inconvenience and hassle rather than a miracle and incredible gift.

Although women should have choices and rights, the unborn child has rights, too. As the embryo has been proven a human life, as a U.S. citizen, the embryo has the right to live a full and productive life under the U.S. Constitution. When committing abortion, the unborn child's rights are ignored and violated. While our U.S. Constitution protects even guilty criminals from cruel and unusual punishment, the innocent unborn are brutally and cruelly murdered in various ways of abortion. Depending on how far the pregnancy has progressed, these methods of murder vary from taking a pill that kills the child, cutting up the baby with a knife and sucking the pieces through a tube, tearing off the limbs and crushing the skull, inducing labor to kill the unborn child, injecting the baby with poison after it's born, to sucking the baby's brain out once the baby is born alive. As abortion remains legal, today's society approves of these murderous acts to be perfectly acceptable.

What did the innocent child ever do to you? Unborn children are brutally murdered because they can't stand up for themselves. One and a half million embryos/fetuses are aborted every year, one in four of our generation is not living, and one in every six women has an abortion. Unborn children's rights are ignored because of our society's self-centered habits. We should respect the fully human lives of the unborn by making abortion illegal. Abortion is first-degree murder; so, if we are legalizing abortion, we are justifying murder in our society.




~Fearless~

Bang! Boom! Crack! The sound of scattering glass enveloped the room. The barrage of sledgehammers obliterating the window suddenly ceased. Heavy footsteps and the stomping out of fallen glass could be heard. Oblivious to their own conspicuous, clamorous manner, they shouted in booming, terrifying voices as they smashed their surroundings. Slamming weapons everywhere, they shouted in German, “Aus! Aus! Out! Out! All Jews, surrender!”

All that could be heard throughout the capacious bookstore was the heavy pounding of men stomping and crushing everything around them. The men searched, eager to capture yet another Jew. All the soldiers wanted was to hunt out more Jews and taste their blood and sweat as they suffered.

Victory! In a food cellar just behind the bookstore, a victorious soldier stood over his prey, beaming that he had been the one to ferret out the ever-elusive Jews. A haggard-looking old man sat in front of an 18-year-old boy. The older man looked resigned while the boy looked petrified at the sight of the burly officer.

The soldier stepped down into the cellar, his boots clashing roughly on the cellar door. He spoke coarsely to the older man, “I’ll allow a minute for you to collect your belongings. Move quickly, gentlemen.” The old man and the boy stood up quickly and scampered around picking up odd items like pots and clothing. Careful to avoid the food pantry, the old man and the boy gathered what few belongings they had and followed the soldier, seeing no other option. The soldier inquired, “No women in this house?”

The older man hastily answered, “No, sir. My wife passed away. It was the fever that took her. God bless her.”

The soldier seemed satisfied as he continued, “Very well then. Head out, gentlemen.” The pack of soldiers grabbed everything of value and exited the bookstore through the front door, contrary to the way they entered. The head soldier—the one who cleverly discovered the pair of Jewish men—took up the rear as the captive Jews filed out.

A look of relief—almost inconspicuously to the point of being imperceptible—passed over the old man’s face. Not one soldier observed the eccentricity of the old man. One would think it odd that after hiding out in a food cellar and finally being apprehended that this man would be relieved. Fortunately for this old man, no one perceived any relief emanating from him. As the dust settled, finally all was in silence and peace.

Chocolate irises pierced the treacherous darkness in the suffocating cellar. Just behind the food pantry—which the old man had oh-so tactfully avoided—stood a 17-year-old young woman whose breath was slowly evaporating as she gasped for air. She shoved the pantry to the ground and breathed in much needed oxygen. When the family had heard the soldiers, one final attempt to save them had been made. Being the only family member thin enough—she only weighed sixty pounds due to intense malnourishment—to wedge herself in the slim crevice behind the pantry, she had managed to squeeze her tiny body into the miniscule space. While not breathing, she had bordered on the edge of consciousness.

Her waist-length sable hair fell loosely down her back while her dark eyes searched the black room for any light. Finding none, she stumbled around the cellar searching for the door above her. Finally, her hands fell upon the heavy door. Not bearing much strength within her frail body—though greatly determined and strong-willed—she heaved all her weight at the cellar door. Even with her most determined efforts, the door did not budge. She collapsed onto the hard dirt floor in capitulation. Breathing heavily, a single tear streaked down her soft cheek.

Closing her eyes and obstructing anything but darkness from her view, she exhaled. She thought to herself, How can I give up now? Everything my father and brother did for me would be for naught. I can’t give up now. I am a Jew, and I’m proud of it.

With newly-established will power, she once again pushed all her weight against the cellar door. The door opened a tiny fraction; a sliver of light crept into the black room. With new found hope, she pushed harder against the door until she could squeeze her thin body through the narrow opening.

Rubbing her eyes from the intense brightness of the sun, she looked around her. There wasn’t a Jew in sight behind any of the buildings. Distant callings of loud soldiers loomed in the distance, a constant reminder that she wasn’t safe. As she stepped quietly through the bookstore, she noticed that everything was destroyed, and nothing had been untouched.

She didn’t know what to do. Her family had been taken captive, and her home was annihilated. No, she thought. I’m not giving up again. Determined yet again, she walked out her front door and cautiously crept down the street, sliding behind storefronts every few meters. She then saw it; it was a beacon of hope. One Jewish store had been left fully intact and undamaged. It was her one hope of surviving and standing up to the Nazis. As she dashed for it, she heard shots of gunfire behind her.

Bang! Boom! Crack! She didn’t hesitate; she sprinted as fast as her skinny legs would take her with her sable hair flying behind her in a wave of curls. She wasn’t going to surrender to the heartless, cold-blooded Nazis. No, she was strong. She was daring, courageous, and valiant. A tear spilled down her cheek, but it wasn’t because she was despondent. No, it was because she was victorious. Maybe the Nazis would win this battle and capture her, but one battle doesn’t win a war. Her bravery lived on to fight the war against the Nazis and proved that she had shown much greater strength than the Nazis would ever show: She was fearless.





My Poetry


Only You

Staring across the room
I can't stop
My gaze is pulled upon
Your perfect gold-colored eyes
My heart beats unevenly
Thumping loud inside my chest
Threatening to burst at any moment
I randomly start smiling
Thinking of your very existence
Everything about you
Makes me smile
I laugh spontaneously
At every crazy thing you say
Every oh-so casual hair flip
Every ferocious batting of my eyelashes
Every wink from my delicate hazel eyes
Every coat of strawberry lip gloss
Every unexpected smile
You should know
Is because of
And for
Only you



Apprehensive

Her stomach tied up in knots
Anxiety bursting from her heart
Nervous glances across the room
Her breathing slows
Nails being nibbled on
Putting her hand on her chest
Feeling the warmth behind her neck
She's so scared
Butterflies fluttering inside her
Her face
So hopeful
That just this one time
Things might go right
Biting her lip
Closing her eyes
Terrified yet anticipating
Those few words
That will either crush her
Or make her ecstatic
She waits
Her heart still thumping
Loud inside her chest
Small tears fall down her face
What is going to happen?
Will I be blissful?
Will I be heartbroken?
She's so apprehensive



Baby, Be Strong

Breathing in his mesmerizing essence
Snuggled up against his chest
Safely tucked into his warm arms
Staring into his breathtaking eyes
I actually gasp for air
A smile tugging at the corners of his lips
Knowing my indecisiveness
He kisses my head
Like I'm his little girl
And in a way, I am
He turns me around
Knowing I'd never go on my own
Unwilling to leave
His comforting arms
I take his warm hands
And entwine them around me
Wanting him to never stop holding me
Only wanting what's best for me
He sexily whispers
Baby, go
His lips brushing my ear
I turn my face until
His face is only inches away from mine
I whisper back
I can't
The tear that has been
On the verge of bursting
Finally falls out of my right hazel eye
And spills onto my soft cheek
Not breaking our gaze
He takes his thumb
And wipes my tear away
Gathering me into an embrace
He whispers into my ear
Baby, be strong
Kissing my tear-stained cheek
He looks into my eyes once more
And I know I can
Taking a step back
And fitting my small hands
Beneath his large, boyish ones
Gazing at him
I know
It's not just another lie
I'm telling myself
But it's the truth
I can
My chapped lips turned into a smile
Releasing his loving hands
I turn around
And take the first step
To controlling my own destiny
And the rest of my life



The Tears I Never Cry

Sometimes I wish they would just fall
They sting the back of my eyes
Always threatening to burst
But never falling onto my cheeks
I'm always blinking
Holding them back
And for what reason
Why
Why do I care if someone sees
Why does it matter
If people see me breakdown

Because I don't
I'm the strong one
I don't cry
And nothing is ever wrong
But why can't I tell them
The truth
That every night
One more day passes
To the end of my happiness

I want to say I don't need him
I joke about how I'm going to break up with him
But I just can't
It's deeper than you think
It's not just some passing fling
Some guy I spent my freshmen year with
He's more than that

But no one can ever know that
I have to go on
Every day
Still pretending
I don't need him
And the tears I blink back
Are just allergies
Or laughing too hard
But in reality
They're
The tears I never cry



Reflection

Reluctantly, instantly with regreat
She opened her red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes
To her reflection staring back at her
As she gazed into the mirror
She didn't recognize herself
Who was that girl
With the perfectly straight black hair
Who was that girl
Whose already beautiful eyes were tainted with smudged black eyeliner
Who was that girl
Whose smile never reaches her eyes but lay falsely upon her lips
Who was that girl
Whose clothes hung loosely over her constantly-thinning, nonexistent frame
Who was that girl
She, the girl who always had the answers, was speechless



January

White dusts of snow falling
Sparkling softness, blowing in the wind
Delicacy caressed between fleece fingers
Shrill giggling echoing through empty trees
Snow angels carved into snow perfection
Scalding hot chocolate warming
Pink cheeks laughing and smiling
Happiness skipping
Snowflakes fluttering
Delicate white specks falling
Covering the emptiness



RANDOMNESS


CONFESSIONS OF A RANDOM~AHOLIC

*SMILE- YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!!! =D*

Randomness is my middle name. I will spontaneously start laughing because of something funny that happened last Thursday. I don't believe in conforming or conventionalism. I also don't believe in preheating the oven, but that really has nothing to do with what I was talking about. Talk about random? Interested in the life of one of the most severe cases of randomness and too much time on her hands? Do read on, but understand it is at your own risk and severe mutilation by giant black frogs. Just kidding. Well, not about the giant black frogs part because there are an unusual amount of giant black frogs currently inhabiting St. Louis right now; so, you never know with me. :) I have people.

Staring around the ever-colorful and ever-changing walls enclosing me into my claustrophobic room, I can't help but thinking that a person's room defines who a person is. Whether how stereotypical that sounds, it remains true nonetheless. Don't deny it; you can't. My room is extremely crazy and random which describes me perfectly. Pictures of my friends and me cover my walls, but also it must be noted that the colors cover up the ordinary cream walls hiding beneath. Am I really covering up my ordinariness with my randomness and craziness? Of course, if anyone really got to know me, they would soon realize that I am in no way ordinary, but in many ways, incredibly insane and wacky. :) That is all just a part of who I am. Every strange outfit of sparkly dresses, sequined jeans, and snow boots defines the very core of my personality. I don't want to be ordinary. I don't want to be some girl on the sidelines who just merely fades into the background, the humming noise that you always hear but never really recognize.

That is why I do everything the way I do. People do notice me. I am not ignored, but actually envied. While it makes me sound like a complete selfish, conceited bitch, you don't know how many times I've wanted to say those words. Someone is actually jealous of me. Someone wishes they were more like me. You can probably see the light flickering in my eyes just thinking the thought. I've always wanted to be popular, no matter how superficial that may sound. It's true; I've always been the major dork in school. There was nothing really wrong with me, just too much intelligence for anyone's comfort zone and railroad tracks stuck on my teeth. Did I mention the dorky frames? Wow, maybe I was more of a dork than I gave myself credit for. :)

The really crazy thing was that was soon as I started high school, everything changed. I was no longer the brilliant nerd with the dorky braces. With my grown-out newly dyed black perfectly straight hair and braces-free teeth, I seemed to capture the attention of so many of my peers quickly. The truth is that I had never realized that so many guys could like me. All of the sudden, I was the "hot" girl in their eyes. I'm still gaping my mouth in shock, clearly denying the fact that couldn't ever be true. Another thing about me is that I'm athletic. Where will you ever find an athletic, smart, fashionably creative girl? Sure, some girls like to play sports, get good grades, and wear cute clothes, but there is one thing you should know about me; I don't go halfway. I go all out. I put all my energy into soccer and cross country. I'm an overachiever and currently ranked #1 in my class. I've innovated so many different fashion choices that no one has ever tried before. Another look I've personally innovated is wearing a t-shirt over a dress with leggings and snow boots. I take pride in my appearance and especially the fact that I don't look like everyone else.

I'm not an easily embarrassed person; I'm actually never embarrassed because I don't care what people think about me. I click down the hallways in my three-inch black boots, sparkly turquoise mini dress, and black dress pants, my head held high, a smile forever plastered upon my happy face. I wave and squeal hello's to my best buds in the hallways. I walk down the catwalk in front of the room before class starts with everyone staring at me only because no one can stop me. I lie down on the floor in front of the classroom during lunch and sing Taylor Swift songs. I dye my hair pink for Valentine's Day and wear a black dress, black tank top, black leggings, and black boots. I carry around a Halloween basket on Valentine's Day to deliver Valagrams. I wear a frog sticker on my face when I make out with my crushes in the snow. I make pizzas and cookies at four in the morning. I dance in the rain until I'm shivering from the cold. I make lip gloss kisses on my mirror and write 'I Dylan' in lip gloss. I swim in a lake when it's 40 degrees outside. I draw colorful pictures in Citizenship. I tease my boyfriend about his dorky orange coat.

I'm not perfect; I'm not trying to be. I'm not normal either; that is apparent, but I don't want to be. Craziness and spontaneity are what make life interesting and worth living. I don't want to be anyone else, and I wouldn't trade this life for the world. I love my friends and my family, but most of all, I love myself, no matter how much superficial bitch that sounds, it's true. ADMIT IT; YOU KNOW IT. IT'S ALL ABOUT ME!!!




More Morbidness

How can I even begin to put to paper the feelings going on inside my head? You don't know how badly I wish I could just not need you, but I do. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but it happened. We were the most unlikely couple, but I never want to say that again. Were. As in past tense, as in we no longer are. That's not true yet, but it's only a matter of days before all happiness comes to an end. This is all insanity. I've never been so influenced, so changed by just one guy. How did you do it? How did you make me feel things I've never felt before? Why do you have to leave me when everything is just going right and I'm finally perfectly happy?

Or maybe we got lucky. Maybe things were going to get really serious, and we were going to stay together for the next two years, but then something happened. Maybe our relationship ended tragically and abruptly with both of us hating each other. Maybe you're moving because it will spare both of the even greater pain of going through this for three years and then suddenly breaking up. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. I might have not loved you, but I know I'll never forget you because you were my first boyfriend. You were my first kiss, though I'll never admit that to you because some things you just don't need to know.

Wouldn't that be really funny if you met your husband your freshmen year of high school? Wouldn't that be even funnier if he was the only guy you had kissed your entire life? I wonder what it would be like kissing the same guy for basically your entire life. I don't know. Even though it was completely irrational and completely unlikely, you and I talked about marriage, not necessarily to each other, but we discussed it on more than one occasion.

I miss those times when things used to be so simple between us. Nothing was complicated. We were both just carefree to live and laugh and like each other without the pressing issues closing in on us. What are we going to do? Okay, it's simple. We have to break up. There's no way getting around it. I'm not going to torture myself this summer or all of next year sitting around paranoid by the phone waiting for you to call and being disappointed when you don't. I don't want to want you so much, but I know I can get over you. I just don't know how. When I think about how I'm going to miss you teasing me and poking me and kissing me, it just hurts. I try not to because it's only like digging the knife in farther, deeper into the already, constantly growing hole in my heart.

Every time I stare at the empty desk across the room, all I can think about is how you used to stare right back at me way across the room. It was like there was no one else in the room except you and me. I was that important to you. I try not to cry, but it's hard. I hold back tears more than you would ever know because I never tell you when it's hurting. You never know when I'm in pain. I put on my smiley-happy façade and get through the day without any real emotion. I think about you late at night as I'm falling asleep, and I wake up thinking about you.

I don't even know why. Call me obsessed. Call me overattatched. I don't know what I am. The only thing I know for certain is that I'm not in love with you. I can't be. I would know if I was in love with you. Just because I'm constantly dreaming about you and can't stop thinking about for the life of me doesn't mean I'm in love with you. I think it's another one of those state of mind things. I think I'm in love with the idea of you. I want to be in love, and you happen to be my boyfriend; so, I make myself an illusion of love that happens to be portrayed unto you. See, so I really couldn't possibly be in love with you and your dorkyness.

I can't say that I don't like you, though. Everything about you makes me smile, but I have to move on. Not just yet, I can't. I can move on after you move. I'm not moving on before you leave to try to be the strong one and the one who breaks up with you. I don't think it will either be you or me who breaks up with the other person. I'm sure we'll discuss what's best for us to do, and we'll have a mutual breakup. That way, there are no hard feelings that would make it awkward for us to talk because that's the last thing I want. That would be even worse than you having a new girlfriend: you never talking to me again. I need you. Or at least just for a little while so I can at least get over you without having the pain stab me every time I think about you. I don't know what this means, but sometimes I dream about you dying. It really scares me. It makes me really grateful that you're moving to Chicago instead of dying. I know that sounds really weird, but you moving to Chicago makes me think you will be gone forever. But then I realize that I can still talk to you even if you're five hours away, but I can't talk to you if you're dead.

That would the worst thing of all that could happen to me: if you died. Please don't. I know you have no control over this, but you don't know how much I worry about you dying. It really scares me and hurts me when I think of never talking to you again; so, please don't die or completely ignore me and never talk to me again. I think it would be worse knowing that you could talk to me and chose not to than having you dead because you obviously can't talk to me if you're dead.



~Forever Screaming~

She woke up to the sound of her own screaming. Gasping for breath, she peered into the darkness surrounding her. Closing her eyes, she told herself it was just a dream. Just go back to sleep, Emma. That's all it is. With her eyes closed, she sees the terrible flash of light and hears the screeching of the tires. She sees herself as if she is watching someone else. She sees herself crawling out of the car and yelling, "Dylan! Dylan, are you okay? Dylan! Oh my god!" She sees herself trying to drag her boyfriend's body out of the totaled car. Tears stream down her face as she tries to feel the pulse of his lifeless body. "No!" she screams. He couldn't be dead. She could feel real tears running down her face now as she lay in her bed.

Again, she wakes up screaming and jumps out of bed, fumbling for the light switch. Flicking it on, she bathes the room in light and blinds herself. Her breathing still rises and falls unsteadily. She can scarcely see straight because of the sudden burst of light but more because of the unrelenting tears streaming down her face. She fumbles for the light switch again and flicks it off, for the bright light is too harsh for her delicate eyes. She collapses in the corner opposite her bed and window. Holding her arms around herself, she just lets herself cry. Her whole body shakes in tremor. She stares at the palms of her hands through a blurry inundation of tears.

She couldn't help it. That night, though six months ago, still lay fresh in her memory just as if it was yesterday. She thought back before that night to ever night they shared, every kiss, every time he held her in his arms.

No one ever asked her if she was okay or not. Sure, people asked her after his funeral. Oh God, she couldn't even think about that. It just hurt too much. She had to bury her first and only boyfriend when she was only fifteen years old. Was that what you would call fair? People didn't really care about her. She was just the dead boy's girlfriend. That's all she would ever be, nothing more than a title that had absolutely nothing to do with her and everything to do with what she lost.

Sure, everyone figured she was torn up after her boyfriend's death, but no one really knew. No one knew the truth. That every night, she would crawl into her corner and cry herself to sleep after she woke up screaming. It just wasn't her boyfriend's death that killed her inside. It was watching him die in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it. She was the last living face he saw on Earth before he died. Of course, it was her fault. If she hadn't begged him to take her to the party, then he wouldn't have been driving and he wouldn't have died. He would still be here. If she had only listened to him when he said he had something special for her, then she wouldn't have killed him.

She never knew what he wanted to tell her. He did say one last thing to her before he died, though. "I love you," he said. He had never said that before to her, and she couldn't help but relish the moment as she watched him die in front of her. Maybe that was the something special he had been planning. Would he have said "I love you," if he hadn't been dying? She would never know.


~~~~~NOTE~~~~~
written in Grammar class after the final
all of the above is fiction *except the writing it in Grammar class, that's real* because her boyfriend would never really tell her that he loved her because he never even tells her how he feels about her. He never says what she really wants him to say, to stop saying sexy and call her beautiful. She wants to be needed, but no, she would never live happily ever after.
***don't worry, the morbidness never ends***