Letter #4: Your Ex-bf/gf/crush

30 LETTERS PROMPTS:
- Your Best Friend;
- Your Crush;
- Your Parents;
- Your Sibling (or closest relative);
- Your Dreams;
- A Stranger;
- Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush,
- Your Favorite Internet Friend;
- Someone You Wish You Could Meet;
- Someone You Don't Talk to as Much as You'd Like to;
- A Deceased Person You Wish You Could Talk To;
- The Person You Hate the Most/Caused You a Lot of Pain;
- Someone You Wish Could Forgive You;
- The Person You Miss the Most;
- Someone You've Drifted Away From;
- Someone That's Not in Your State/Country;
- Someone From Your Childhood;
- The Person That You Wish You Could Be;
- Someone That Pesters Your Mind - Good or Bad;
- The One That Broke Your Heart the Hardest;
- Someone You Judged by Their First Impression;
- Someone You Want to Give a Second Chance to;
- The Last Person You Kissed;
- The Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory;
- The Person You Know That is Going Through the Worst of Times;
- The Last Person You Made a Pinky Promise to;
- The Friendliest Person You Knew For a Day;
- Someone That Changed Your Life;
- The Person That You Want to Tell Everything to, But Too Afraid to;
- Your Reflection in the Mirror.

~*~

Dear C.,

You always say how sorry you are, and how bad you feel about what happened between us, whenever 'us' comes up. And I'm glad. Happy, even. And if that makes me malicious or vindictive, then I don't really care. Because you deserve to feel bad after what you did to me. You built me up, gave me confidence, made me feel like finally - finally - my time had come. That it was my turn to find someone special.

Only for you to trip me at that last hurdle, with summer finally in sight, and sent me limping off the track.

Admittedly, I have a part to play in it as well. My pedestal-installing, worshiping tendencies emerged, blowing all of the sweet, kind things that you did or said to me (and there were lots) up from normal behaviour to the kind of things that songs are sung about, pictures painted, movies made to capture.

[I really should try and reign in my imagination when it comes to boys. It's not the first time it has stirred trouble.]

But still... no amount of hero-worship or sheer infatuation (damn butterflies) could forgive your sheer... capriciousness towards me. I should have taken it - us - as nothing more than a summer fling, reminiscent of Sandy and Danny's ideal summer. And, like in Grease, when term started and I left for Uni, reality settled in; our summer romance was gone. That boy who I'd met - who made my knees weak and genuinely made me want to call up the Uni and tell them I was taking a gap year - wasn't there. I don't know what happened in the week I was in Italy at the end of summer, but that was it. I broke the spell. That enchantment that was so dependent on me and you being here, together, now. Even at Christmas, something was different... but I pushed that feeling aside to throw myself all-in for a second attempt.

Fool me once, shame on you

Fool me twice, shame on me

It's been seven months since I've seen you. Hard to believe it, but true. I still have your sad (and hungover) smile imprinted in my mind as I stumbled out the door, still dazed from our last kiss and wondering how I was now going to manage to drive. I think I even tripped down the steps. How embarrassing.

It's been six months that you've been with her instead. I remind myself of this when the length of time doesn't seem real. Six months is so concrete.

At the end of the day, I don't regret getting involved with you, or even how it played out, even if it could have ended a lot better. I learnt a lot about myself and what I need in a guy. I need to be able to depend on him, the way I never could on you.

So we'll be friends, since you're apparently oh-so desperate to be. But don't push your luck.

--D. xo

Boy Meets Girl

Why can it not be this easy for me? Why now? And why him?

[I realise this seems to totally be counteractive to the last post. And I am not happy]

Letter #3 : Your Crush

30 LETTERS PROMPTS:
- Your Best Friend;
- Your Crush;
- Your Parents;
- Your Sibling (or closest relative);
- Your Dreams;
- A Stranger;
- Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush,
- Your Favorite Internet Friend;
- Someone You Wish You Could Meet;
- Someone You Don't Talk to as Much as You'd Like to;
- A Deceased Person You Wish You Could Talk To;
- The Person You Hate the Most/Caused You a Lot of Pain;
- Someone You Wish Could Forgive You;
- The Person You Miss the Most;
- Someone You've Drifted Away From;
- Someone That's Not in Your State/Country;
- Someone From Your Childhood;
- The Person That You Wish You Could Be;
- Someone That Pesters Your Mind - Good or Bad;
- The One That Broke Your Heart the Hardest;
- Someone You Judged by Their First Impression;
- Someone You Want to Give a Second Chance to;
- The Last Person You Kissed;
- The Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory;
- The Person You Know That is Going Through the Worst of Times;
- The Last Person You Made a Pinky Promise to;
- The Friendliest Person You Knew For a Day;
- Someone That Changed Your Life;
- The Person That You Want to Tell Everything to, But Too Afraid to;
- Your Reflection in the Mirror.

~*~

Dear Tall, Skinny, Blond boys everywhere,

I know this letter is supposed to be directed to a singular person, but I couldn't help but bend the rules a little. Because (and I know my housemates will scoff at me when they read this) for once in my life, I am crush-less. It's a very strange feeling. I've become known for my intense crushes, which last for far longer than 'crushes' should probably last. All, inevitably, boys who either would never like me back or, in the latest case, simply don't like me enough. 

But I'm a sucker for romance. For idealism. For building up a person in my head, no matter how often I see their realities, and projecting my affection onto the image I have so carefully cultivated, rather than the flawed human being I should be.

(Does that make me shallow?)

It's a hard habit to break, one that I can't seem to. For every missed call or disappointing response, I'm there with an excuse. Oh, he's busy. Oh, he's just distracted. Oh, you shouldn't have bothered him. I'm willing to become the bad guy in my own eyes, just to cover up their mistakes. And I'm finally, finally sick of it.

I don't want to be the only one who tries. I don't want to carry on caring for someone who has lost interest - or worse, had none in the first place. I don't want to be the one you call only when you need something. 

(Sew your own damn buttons on.)

So for now, I'm crushless. Happy to admire strangers passing on the way to Uni and flirt a little in clubs, sure. But I don't have the energy to invest so much feeling in an idol right now.

So, Tall, Skinny, Blond boys of Nottingham, here's your challenge: make me believe you care. Until then, I'll be waiting patiently. I have Gossip Girl and Grey's Anatomy to keep me entertained.

Love, Demi xo

Letter #2 : The Last Person You Kissed

A/N: I realise that this letter is A) breaking the order and B) also a  week late, but I thought I'd write this one before anything changed. Pretty sure it'll be funnier this way ;)

~*~

30 LETTERS PROMPTS:
- Your Best Friend;
- Your Crush;
- Your Parents;
- Your Sibling (or closest relative);
- Your Dreams;
- A Stranger;
- Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush,
- Your Favorite Internet Friend;
- Someone You Wish You Could Meet;
- Someone You Don't Talk to as Much as You'd Like to;
- A Deceased Person You Wish You Could Talk To;
- The Person You Hate the Most/Caused You a Lot of Pain;
- Someone You Wish Could Forgive You;
- The Person You Miss the Most;
- Someone You've Drifted Away From;
- Someone That's Not in Your State/Country;
- Someone From Your Childhood;
- The Person That You Wish You Could Be;
- Someone That Pesters Your Mind - Good or Bad;
- The One That Broke Your Heart the Hardest;
- Someone You Judged by Their First Impression;
- Someone You Want to Give a Second Chance to;
- The Last Person You Kissed;
- The Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory;
- The Person You Know That is Going Through the Worst of Times;
- The Last Person You Made a Pinky Promise to;
- The Friendliest Person You Knew For a Day;
- Someone That Changed Your Life;
- The Person That You Want to Tell Everything to, But Too Afraid to;
- Your Reflection in the Mirror.

~*~

My dear Pineapple,

What can I say? That you threw me off-guard? That I'd never in my wildest dreams anticipated that you'd ever go for me? That you were my first?

All that and more.

You're not my usual pick when I'm out, I'll be honest. I normally favour tall, blonde and skinny, and while you definitely have skinny sorted, your short stature and longer brown hair slipped unnoticed on my radar. But not for long.

Things had been quietly building for a while. Amourous nicknames. An attack from a certain genital-shaped egg-frier. Housemates wondering where all the noise is coming from, only to walk in and find us in bed (GASP) together. I should have seen it coming. But at the same time, I never thought you'd bridge that last gap. I guess that Dutch courage actually worked.

I didn't have a say in the matter, I'd like to point out. The music was thumping, Ocean was packed, and we were dancing small holes into the (disgusting) carpet. Out of nowhere, your hand snakes into vision and cups my chin (rather painfully so, might I add), until I'm facing you. Only that doesn't really register because you're kissing me.

And then it's over.

You revealed later that I was your first as well. I guess that's some small mercy. Good to know I wasn't the only one to lose my girl-kiss virginity.

Love, your Strawberry Cheesecake

Letter #1: To Your Best Friend

30 LETTERS PROMPTS:
- Your Best Friend;
- Your Crush;
- Your Parents;
- Your Sibling (or closest relative);
- Your Dreams;
- A Stranger;
- Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush,
- Your Favorite Internet Friend;
- Someone You Wish You Could Meet;
- Someone You Don't Talk to as Much as You'd Like to;
- A Deceased Person You Wish You Could Talk To;
- The Person You Hate the Most/Caused You a Lot of Pain;
- Someone You Wish Could Forgive You;
- The Person You Miss the Most;
- Someone You've Drifted Away From;
- Someone That's Not in Your State/Country;
- Someone From Your Childhood;
- The Person That You Wish You Could Be;
- Someone That Pesters Your Mind - Good or Bad;
- The One That Broke Your Heart the Hardest;
- Someone You Judged by Their First Impression;
- Someone You Want to Give a Second Chance to;
- The Last Person You Kissed;
- The Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory;
- The Person You Know That is Going Through the Worst of Times;
- The Last Person You Made a Pinky Promise to;
- The Friendliest Person You Knew For a Day;
- Someone That Changed Your Life;
- The Person That You Want to Tell Everything to, But Too Afraid to;
- Your Reflection in the Mirror.

~~*~~

Dear Elf,

When I think of you, the first thing that springs to mind is not your face (as lovely as it is). It's an N64. Your royal blue, Pikachu-emblazoned N64 to be precise.

(I guess it's a sign that we never really grew up, huh?)

The ironic thing is that we have grown up - an awful lot. Life may have been a hell of a lot easier when we were eight, but I would never choose to throw away these last eleven years to go back to that. Like two trees, planted too close together, we've grown; intertwining branches until inextricable. Until it feels like I'm missing a piece of me when we're separated too long; a gaping hole of laughter and singing and you trying to reason your way out of a situation with "Welllll, yeahhh, but..."

It always makes me giggle a little bit when you pronounce 'well' like 'wool' by the way. Internally of course.

We have strategic formulas, our own personal brand of maths. Me + You + (2 x cuppa tea) = -2hrs + 50% sarcasm + wisdom. Or (2 x competative girls) + some form of Nintendo console = -6hrs + volume > parents would like. And so on.

(That little bit of maths almost killed my poor brain by the way. I'll let you stick to the sciences, even if it is only the social ones).

You were always the more mature one in some ways. While I was still being mistaken for my younger sister and diligently doing my homework, you were at T's mad house parties, calling me up with laments of your latest exploits. You were always trying new things, always the first to do anything, so I always looked to you for guidance. The older one, the mature one. How ironic that I should be the one that you, even now, seek advice from, despite my naivity. When we were younger I always believed we were practically identical. Soul sisters. Now older and (hopefully) wiser, I can see I was actually quite wrong - but not necessarily in a bad way.

You like all the alcohols I hate. You're studying Psychology, juggling stats and biology, while I bury my head in more books with English. You jump into situations head first, while I dither and dip my toe in, one inch at a time.

But we still work. The sums still add up.

You inspire me to be more daring, to be independent. And hopefully it's my voice whispering in your ear when faced with sticky situations. If not, it doesn't matter. There's always the phone.

You're the yin to my yang. I don't know how else to put it. Don't ever change.

Love, Blindman.

In which Demi stretches her hand.

It's amazing how theraputic adressing a blank screen can be. It's like the sane version of talking to yourself. I don't know who reads this (well, that's a lie. I live with some of them) or how much it impacts them, but writing can be like dumping all your bags at the front door after a long hard day.

What's also amazing is how this anonymity, this... complete freedom, that so many millions around the world enjoy, can be the place to unburden yourself. How ironic is that? Posting all of your secret thoughts, your dreams, your musings online, for the whole world to see... the perfect escape.

So I'm going to try and do just that.

Once a week I will be posting a letter here on my blog. A letter addressed to someone I may or may not know. Maybe something I'd like to get off my chest, without having to face the aftereffects. Maybe something I could never verbalise but always meant. Who knows. It's a writing exercise I'm adopting from the private Livejournal community plagiarismhaven I'm a member of. And hopefully it'll make me fall back in love with writing again. I'm rusty. And I miss my Parker pen. xo

In which Demi misses routine.

Last night I didn't manage to settle down and sleep until almost 5am. Light was seeping out from the crack under my curtains, and a quick peek out of them confirmed I'd unintentionally stayed up until dawn again. Wasting time on the internet. Reading. Playing with the cats.And it looks like I'm heading the same way agan tonight.

Ishouldbesleeping. Ishouldbesleeping. Ishouldbesleeping.

Jobless and stranded a good 5 minute drive from my closest (geographically) friend, and about 20 minute drive from town and nightlife, I am finding myself slipping into an almost half existance. Morning consists of the endless hours before sleep - since when I wake up it tends to be closer to lunchtime than breakfast. I'm exercising, driving, doing the weekly shop; anything I can seize to keep me occupied. I miss the ease of living with 150 other teens. I miss having a bus stop practically outside the front door, with a cheap bus into town every 6 minutes or so.

I miss spontanaity, the basis of my university routine.

How ironic. xo.

 [What do you do when you're bored, it's the middle of the night and you have a spare mattress...?]

In which Demi muses about 'teams'.

And I'm not talking about the sports variety.

Team Edward .vs. Team Jacob. Team Jolie .vs. Team Aniston. Team Me .vs. Team Her.

[ This made me giggle. Source. ]

It's hard not to compare yourself to others, whether it be physically, academically - even in terms of meaningless material items. I thought I'd finally cracked it though; there's no point comparing yourself to others, there are only variations of self. If I say I'm not happy with my weight or figure, then I mean it in comparison to how I was at another time, not Keira Knightly for God's sake. Not once in my life, even as a scrawny pre-teen, can I say I boasted her figure. I have hips for starters, and I'm about 6 inches shorter. That's life.

Even at university, I'd finally come around to understand that there's only your own achivements to compare yourself to. It's not high school; there aren't top sets and bottom sets, there isn't a Gifted and Talented group or Prefects to proudly be part of. We're all some of the brightest minds in the country, and for once I am not the best at what I do. English is a particularly subjective subject - I might be lucky, for all I know. Maybe if my Lit exam had been marked by someone else they would have seen straight through my expansive vocabulary and complex sentences and realised I hated the bloody book and taken a dislike to the essay.

It's funny how things can shift. One day, one hour, one minute, one action... that's all it takes. Suddenly things tip over from being perfectly fine to slowly disintigrating. I try not to regret anything I do. I realise that I am only one small player within the much bigger game, and at the end of the day there's only so much I can do. Do your best, what seems right at the time. I guess I can't begrudge others for doing the same.

At the same time... I still wish things had happened differently. I guess my Team just couldn't compete. 3 strikes and I was out.

Until the next game at least. xo.

Um, herro?

I'm back? Maybe. Who knows. I spend enough bloomin' time on my laptop that I'm sure some sparodic posts to this half-empty, echoing blogosphere will appear. A pretence of a life that I actually lead. Because let's face it, words are hardly something to rely on. It's nothing compared to being in my head and witnessing my actual life.

For an English undergrad, I probably shouldn't have as much trouble verbalising my thoughts as I sometimes do. That bubble of thought, of emotion; caught in your throat, dying to escape, that ends up choking you. Pop, disappear - it'll be back again later for another attempt.

I've been told that my writing style actually mimics my real speech. O was the first to mention it: 'When you text, I can hear your voice echoing in my head. I can even guess your exact tone and stresses. It's really funny.' And it's no bad thing, surely, to be so recognisable even through letters on a screen. Surely the whole point of the written word is to express what's in your head, what you would like to verbalise, in written form.

My teachers and now professors have always praised my writing style. It's not something I've ever purposely cultivated or shaped. It's simply how my brain works. When I'm thinking about Literature, I think abstractly; my sentences become bordering-on-absurdly-long, polysyllabic words crowd the page and I routinely add adjectives everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. When I'm writing my journal or texts however, I'm rather blunt. One of the best methods of human-to-human communication, I believe, is to try and speak your mind in as simple a way as possible. Digging for meaning in your crush's IM's and texts, or trying to decipher the tone of an upset friend's "I'm fine" to determine just how NOT fine they are is TOUGH.

Look at me, talking about language like I'm an expert. I don't even know what this post is about. All I know is that human communication and language will never cease to intrigue me.

Time to unpack I guess. Hello Easter Holidays. xo