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The Girl
Sarah. Nineteen. In College. Clarion Univ. PA. Boyfriend. In Love. Hottness. Clever. Witty. Trouble. Good Time.
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Disclaimer
These are my words. My life chillaxin' in webspace. Feel free to read, feel free to not. That's about it when it comes to a disclaimer. Over it! Haha.
She claims there's nothing wrong, but I hear that same old song.
...written on 2006-06-19, at 9:18 p.m.
Sing, sing, sing. Sing as loud as you can. Let it go. Don't cry. Push, push. Push and hit the notes. Louder. Drown it out. Forget, forget. Push out the notes, louder, hit it, come on. Forget!
No one can touch you when you sing with all that you are. Build those barriers. It doesn't matter. Don't forgive, just forget. Those words are unforgivable, but you forgive them.
Damn it, Sarah. Sing!
"Annoying, unreasonable. You're insane. You tell yourself you're not, but you are. You're bad for me! I can't take this anymore."
He's wrong. I know his wrong. I told him that. But it still hurts that he would say these things.
Voice cracks. Don't cry. Sing! Sing louder. Now!
Tear rolling. No! New song, something happier. Damn it!
Push him out, push the notes out. You can do it. Just push it all out, all away.
Why isn't this working? Was isn't this working! Normally this works so well!
Okay, I'm okay. I'm alright.
...
You fucking suck.