If I could write you a symphony, you will be everything that I’ll need to complete it. 

evocates:

Randall

(via evocates-deactivated20130617)

I need something to distract me, something different. My hands are cold, and my head is hurting. I’m sick of the insincere, everyday I feel the same old emotions, see the same faces, and hear the same. I want to hear something new this time. I’m living a perfect lie, I have no reason, no shame. and whatever or wherever choices guide me, I’ll admit I won’t be the same. 

 What the hell happened to honesty? Or making friends without the bullshit? My god, I’m literally drowning in audible silence, and I’m way too deep to swim myself ashore, and it just happens that, all the things I’ve been told to have been nothing but lies. I have nobody to blame but myself. The thing that sucks about liking a girl who’s way to adventurous  it’s really the moment when you realize just who she is. 

 

When I look into the mirror I see within the reflection the truth, the person whom I hide beneath a confident skin. There’s doubt and pain underneath that grin, you traded everything for love but in the end you’ll never win. An hourglass on the verge of tilting, slowly as time progresses the soul starts wilting. 

It’s a little absurd to think I’m irresponsible with love. The thing I detest the most is when I’m finally forgetting and moving on, and out of the blue the person whom I’m trying to leave behind appears in front of my home. The caller ID, the text messages in my classroom. All these memories and feelings arise from the past. Right when I’m on the verge of forgetting.. I’m reminded. 

 I think I would rather live a thousand years without love, than an eternity with you. I’m going to be honest, I can be so much more without you. Being by your side is not normal, I’m in search of peace but you’re a tempest approaching me.

 At the end of the day, you will always be the first love of my life and I don’t want to be your rival. (?)

I never really wanted people to see the screw up inside of me, whether is all the missed Football throws, all the failed plays, that I should have been able to succeed with or all of my failed classes. They may seem so simple, but to me they’re more than complexity, they are an interior part of me that always finds a way to the surface. Sometimes I feel like it’s eating me alive. I could be happy one day, then on the third day I’ll feel like complete shit.

 I’m almost certain those are the reasons why I’m driven to become an over-achiever. I’m delirious, I want to be perfect,  I’m insane to think I can be. Why am I such a perfectionist? It’s literally ruining me. I can’t wake up in the morning without bags underneath my eyes. I just don’t want to be embarrassed in front of my friends, like when my dad would scream at me during Football games ’ Learn to throw the fucking ball’, ’ What the fuck were you thinking’ . And to think that I spent the whole Summer perfecting my game ethic, helping lead the team far, and yet most people still think I wasn’t good enough.

 But you know what? I could care less. I just want to succeed and prove people wrong. Who am I proving wrong? I’m not sure, my past struggles(?)

And it’s the little things that matter the most, a warming smile from a stranger, a hello in the morning, a friendly gesture like opening the door. Your form of expressing your emotions, your laughter, and your natural self. 

 When the star’s twinkling sparks catch your attention, you’re not the only one who has a moment of doubt when you gaze afar. When the Winter’s blistering cold chap your lips, you’re not the only one who wishes to taste the warming flavor of love. When you stand in the street waiting for the lights to change, you’re not the only whom feels lost for a second. When you’re feeling sad from the lonely nights, you’re not the only one whom wishes for a soul mate, and I can see it in your eyes. You’ve cried plenty tears and fallen asleep tired not from exhaustion, but from life.

  You tell me, I don’t even know you. 

Even though your eyes reveal what’s within your soul. And my dear, you look so lost. 

Tarrense..

    Last Friday.. the hell am I saying? Yesterday I mean. My friend Donny invited me to go out, we went to a club and hanged out at the bar, it wasn’t exactly a bar, more of a kinky restaurant where teens hook up and all that shit. I was drinking a badly mixed ‘Sex on the Beach’ with Donny and his girl by my side flirting, when I noticed a young blonde in front of me smiling while she sipped her beverage. Natural instinct, I smiled back, and she made an inviting gesture, so I take off and approach her. Introduce myself, blah, blah, her name was Tarrense. 

  She tells me she’s 19 and from Russia visiting for a few weeks because her sister is in the hospital.She tells me an interesting story about her life in Russia and her aspirations of moving to the USA, and marrying a white boy. I ask her what’s she drinking and she offers me to take a sip. She was drinking Sangria. I ask her an ill-advice question, if she wants to go outside. We walked around the city and Park street for about 45 minutes, the night wasn’t so cold. I knew she was warm from all that Tequila in her system. 

 We’re just alongside Newbury street, walking past all the glam stores, and she insists we enter a Souvenir shop, and I end up buying her a Celtics jacket for her little brother back in Russia. (!). When it’s finally around 11 or 12 am, I find myself sitting on her couch in her apartment. It’s one of those small one bedroom, apartments. Usually for college students. 

  She puts her iPhone on a music pocket, and it softly plays a familiar song.  She takes off her coat, revealing her tight black dress, with a long necklace hanging down her chest. She had a little mole on her right cheek, and wavy blonde hair, but with black roots. Reminds me of a joke my teacher said about a girl in my Home economic class ’ She has beautiful blonde hair, but I don’t know why she dyes her roots black’. Tarrense goes into the kitchen to get something, and comes back with two glasses and Henessy.

 So she’s vodka fueled, I jokingly tell her. She makes a toast for a wonderful night and all that crap. it was 2 am , and we’re still there, watching some old cable movies. but she’s wasted and now drinking wine. I never knew how much alcohol could make a girl talk, I thought they usually past out from what I’ve experienced. 

 It was funny though her eyes were half shut, and she would fall asleep in mid sentence. When she felt like throwing up she quickly got up and tried to run to the bathroom and that’s when I knew she had enough. So I picked her up and carried her and laid her on the couch. I went to her room and from what I saw there were luggage bags everywhere, and I took her bedroom sheet and tucked her in. 

 I didn’t know I had a fucking stain on my new jacket, the first that popped into my mind was the price of the jacket. I was looking for paper and pen to leave her a note. I was in the kitchen when she scares me. She’s behind me, and she’s asking me not to leave. I try and tell her, but she’s begging, and that she’s scared being alone here and she doesn’t know anyone. Holy shit, I’m thinking to myself. I can’t just leave her here especially under these conditions and plus she’s sincerely telling the truth. 

 So, that night, I decided to stay with her. They have those couches where you can spring the bottom thing up and rest your legs, and we both sat next to each other. She asks me to tell her about the city and about myself, by the time I’m done, she’s asleep and it’s 4 in the morning.