This is the last time...

Oh man, oh man, oh MAN!

I made that comment about being predictable and you said I wasn't and I knew, I just knew, that you were referring to the e-mail.
MAN!
Why did you have to waltz back into my life and shake me up so badly.

I was quite drunk, but I wasn't drunk enough to realise maybe what you were doing. I can't help but think that you started talking to me that night, after months and months of silence, because I was in a vulnerable position. Maybe I shouldn't have updated my Facebook status, but why shouldn't I?! It wasn't for you, because I never expected you to react to anything I wrote on there anyway.

I commented on your picture too. Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best of moves.

You spoke to me and I didn't feel scared, but I don't know if that was the alcohol numbing my senses or that I am actually over you. I could have bought it up. I could have confronted you; asked you why you were talking to me now. Maybe she had gone back home or something and you felt free. I don't know.

I don't want you to, impossibly, read this and think "Oh, shit. I shouldn't have done that. Now she thinks I love her." Because I don't. Honestly, I don't. I just got a little bit confused and couldn't help but think that you were trying to catch me off guard.

Anyway, this is now going to be addressed to my actual audience.

Can you believe the nerve of him? Doing that after so damn long?!
It was totally uncalled for. He even complimented my profile picture. I couldn't believe it. But at the same time I didn't care enough, I just didn't care.

College is out for Christmas. Yeeha! Although I've been ill for the past week because of a nasty flu/cold kind of thing. I'm very nearly over it.
I have to revise now, everyday. Because if I don't get AAB then Birmingham aren't going to want to have me. I don't know though. I kind of want to go to Plymouth or Hull. Because they're by the sea and I love it so much. I want to be able to learn how to surf - which if I get on the Cornwall campus at Exeter uni that is exactly what I'll be doing. Watch how my creative writing gets less and less creative.

It's exciting though. I was reading over some old school reports and the one from year 7 says that I have a flair for creative writing. I was just sitting there thinking 'Wow. It's like I was destined to be a writer.'

The novel is getting ever clearer in my mind. Bits of the plot come to me at really random times. But it's actually becoming a good read. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to write it so I could just read it. That sounds horribly big headed.

Ahh, still single. Still solitarily single. I like this guy. His name is Dave. There's no chance he will ever read this so it's okay. He's just funny, and easy to be myself around and fun to be with and talk to. We were at my friends house and it's the first time I've ever been in an environment like that with him. I wanted to be close to him, he has some kinda magnetism about him. Maybe the world will start turning my way soon? Who knows.

Ciao.

Oh please, I'm in love...

I felt like writing, but didn't know what to write so I looked over some of my old poetry for inspiration. It was strange.
I read a poem. A silly little poem I wrote during an English lesson and I literally felt my heart swell up with love for it. I'm not saying it was the best poem ever written, because that would be a huge lie. I got so passionate about it because I love writing things like that. When I look at my poetry of 3/4 years ago and then look to now I see such a difference. I can see just how much I've progressed as a writer without any real educational guidance, just through sitting and reading poetry written by other people. I feel proud of myself for doing that, for perservering and carrying on. I feel like I am a writer now. I feel like I can call myself a poet.
I won't carry on being all saft - it's not really like me. I'll just leave you with the poem.

The man from next door
has a wooden leg and a parrot.
Everyday he sits on his doorstep
tapping wood against stone; foreboding.
The rhythm; a mismatched waltz mimicks
my heart, sets it on fire, makes me want
to run,
run so very far away.