fate's a cruel mistress, girl

August 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 November 2010 December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 March 2011 April 2011 May 2011 June 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 November 2011 January 2012

ericamay, 25may1995, single forever, devoted to peter pan

charlieissocoollike, doctor who, peter pan, you me at six, i see stars, andy oliver, devin oliver, ribbons, bows, drummers, bright colours, black and white contrast, people who smile a lot, laughing, beats, rhythms, being good at something, fireworks, writing, sketching, details, internet, photoshop, graphic design, coding, paint, crayons, paper, plain goldfish, the colours green and blue, prince phillip, princess aurora, tinkerbell, neverland, disneyland, disneyworld, crush the turtle, chemistry, storybook romance, arctic monkeys, britain, irish accents, every accent, scottish boys, skinny boys, pale boys, collarbones, freckles, gingers, photobooths, madina lake, billy idol, chocolate chip cookies, toffee, tiny marshmallows, hot cocoa, good memories, bloodrushes, laughing, singers, musicians, good headphones, punching the backs of car seats while listening to hardcore music in parking lots, hugs, kisses, winter, sweaters, hoodies, scarves, snowflakes, eyelashes, pretty eyes, dark hair, blonde hair, straight hair, wavy hair, offensive humours, people who don't take things seriously, heated debates, awkward moments, having private concerts home alone, red pandas, sharks, weasels, minxes, puppydogs, kittycats, post-it notes, caring reminders, strawberries, raspberries, william beckett, matt smith, karen gillan, david tennant, alex turner, joe brooks, noah and the whale, mumford and sons, los campesinos, french people, foreign languages, magic tricks, illusions, photographs, macros, doodling people i know, doodling people i wish i knew, pens that flow smoothly, shortbread cookies, tapping my feet, high fives, pokemon, laughing so hard i cry, being told people love me, winning, swedish fish, candies, neil patrick harris, nerimon, frezned, danisnotonfire, alexisonfire, billy talent, taking back sunday, john gomez, brian dales, alex pettyfer, logan lerman, tumblr, squareenix, old names, music class, good friends, late-night confessions, hanging out anywhere, eccentricity, spontaneous people, people with good memories, being unforgotten, lyricists, air heads, scissors, kicking, unicorns, rainbows, miss rainicorn, adventure time with finn and jake, flapjack, we came as romans, architects, joy division, two door cinema club, emma watson, george craig, emma watson and george craig together, the hoosiers, old photos, chalk drawing, graffiti, skateboarders, bmx riders, comic fanatics, superheros, guys, candy in tin cases, pastel stars, pointless wishing, sweet dreams, morning messages, text conversations, honey on toast, apple jelly, internet memes, advil, motion city soundtrack, vampire weekend, rolo tomassi, people named connor, people named sebastian, william, james, oliver, owen, eoin, alexander, joshua, andrew, aaron, christopher, jackson, hunter, and the like, the afterlife kids, downloading music, new downloads, video games, rpgs, shooter games, screaming, all forgotten, arcade fire, the asteroids galaxy tour, kick ass, aaron johnson, christopher mintz-plasse, devon werkshire, thick rimmed glasses, flickr, hipsters, cute kids, never growing up, beastie boys, we are the ocean, blink182, chameleon circuit, john green, hank green, paper towns, the perks of being a wallflower, lewis carroll, c.s. lewis, absolute brightness, the chronicles of narnia, lockets, trinkets, mimes, golden pocketwatches, nifty antiquities, halloween, sewing, the click five, parkway drive, cold war kids, obscurities, confessions, bookstores, candy stores, inside jokes, walls of wonder, being awesome, skins, kaya scodelario, luca pasqualino, jack o'connell, nicholas hoult, max hewer, hannah murray,

and a number of other things...

27.2.11 at 9:15 AM

What a life. What a dream.

It was easy to say I was successful, but it was easier to say I didn’t deserve such success. Because they always preach in school, saying, “nobody’s perfect” but then, upon first glance, one might presume that I am perfect. I didn’t put effort in school, I blew off multiple days of the week to live my life in case I died the next day, I didn’t apply to any universities and I was never sat down with my parents to discuss what I wanted to do with my life. I had no direction; I was a prime example of negativity. I was the example that parents would sometimes use to rattle their kids. ”Go do your SATs,” they’d tell their poor kid. ”You’re already in your senior year and you haven’t touched a thing! What? Do you want to end up a lowlife like that Silas boy? I saw him filling his lungs with smoke at the park. I tell you, he’s got absolutely nothing going for him – the useless scum! – and you’re joining him if you don’t buckle down and pursue your future!”

But now, look at me. Me: in the Starbucks sipping on the espresso, with my dark, navy-blue trench coat with the silk lining and expensive brand label just slung on the back of my chair. Me: with some famous connections, friends in high places and agenda filled out with plans for the next month. Me: who went through high school practically begging to just get hit by a car and end it all. In my opinion, though, I’m probably more fucked up than the rest. Mum and dad were in shambles at my rebelliousness. They wanted me good and just, while I was a badmouthed little malchick right from my schooldays. I caused them more trouble than I was worth, but they were kind and forgiving people and just prayed I would turn out greater than the sum of all my parts. Did I? Well, I can’t quite be too certain yet. But, basically, if someone seems absolutely flawless as your first impression, they’re either mental or on the verge of madness. That, or they’ve got other, erm, awkward issues. But with me, it’s the first reason.

I’m just your not-so-friendly, overly satirical, hedonistic misanthrope, jolly well-pleased to meet you!

Really though, in all seriousness, one of my biggest problems is my utter tactlessness. I don’t care about people. I don’t care about them enough to fight for them, to desperately beg them to stay in my life, to be the romantic fellow all the girls read in their James Patterson novels and consequently fantasize about. If you described me to any girl, they’d have absolutely no interest based on my personality. Albeit, people are strange when it comes to love. They tell others not to judge a book by its cover, and then call people like me “perfect”. Perfection is subjective. Perfection is like evil and goodness; it depends wholly on the perspective of the person. My lack of effort bringing forth rewards in spades would make me seem perfect, but I’m like a vessel of pure imperfection. I’m badly put together and crumbling apart from the inside, but there isn’t anything anyone can notice to help me.

I take another timid sip of the hot espresso. I was never much a fan of hot beverages – they made my insides too warm and gave me a bit of a headache – however I liked the different tastes the beverages gave and I wasn’t going to wait around for the drink to cool. Yeah, I needed to kill some time, but establishments like Starbucks had fees for loiterers and it would be embarrassing to be hauled out of such a busy coffee shop franchise because I took too long to finish a drink in a cup smaller than my fist. I mean, this was supposed to be a quick jolt of energy not –

Wait, who was that?

In an instant, my train of thought was lost (probably veered over a bridge, crashing to the bottom of a canyon killing those thoughts and never letting them surface again). The only thing I could focus on were the eyes my own had locked upon and the girl they belonged to. She was beautiful, in a delicate way. Hell, in all honesty I don’t know why I was so drawn to her, as I’d met my fair share of gorgeous women posing for McQueen and Burberry (shagged a number of ‘em, too). Something about how fragile she looked to me sent a shiver down my spine. And the way she looked at me – like she knew me – made me uncomfortable. I felt weird – bad weird. As if it was implied that I should remember her, to get up and greet her as I was so inclined to, but I didn’t even know her. I’d never seen her face before, save for the face it was such a simple and elegant face I could have seen it anywhere and not found it so ravishing until then. No, probably not. How could I possibly see such a girl without stopping in my tracks and staring like a deer in headlights?

Silas coughed awkwardly and focused on his espresso on the table under his elbows. He had been caught staring at her too long and there was no appropriate denouement from such a gander. Another sip of the hot liquid, infused with energizers and the intent to hype him up, and he felt more relaxed, in all irony. Who would’ve guessed he’d find a way to find relaxing comfort in a drink meant to do the opposite? Now, he still didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t alone, so the boy couldn’t just up and get her number. At the same time, he hoped she wasn’t going to just take her order and leave. He hoped the guy with her wasn’t an object of infatuation – or worse: love – but he bore a striking resemblance, so he could probably convince himself they were related (and that she wasn’t an incestual-fetishist).

In all his worries, he downed the entire remnants of his coffee and got up to put his coat back on. It was so very unlike him to be so overwhelmed by simple eye-contact with a random stranger and he didn’t like it. He placed the small porcelain set back onto the counter he got it from before taking a final, quite glance at the girl and heading outside. Silas didn’t walk too far before he pulled a lighter and packet of cigarettes from his back pocket. His fingers skilfully extracted a single, slender stick as he looked out at the cars passing before him. Flame met the addiction and he sucked in on the smoke. The reason he had chosen to leave the Starbucks as opposed to savouring the hope that she might stay inside was the fact he didn’t want to know if it would disappoint him if she left, and he didn’t want to look like the idiot who believed in love, fate and that there was anything significant in the brief exchange of views, his icy blues to her warm hazels. Pretty follies were silly, and now he knew why they caused people so much pain. He was excited, is all. Excited to be in Toronto. Excited to go to the reunion. Excited by the espresso. So excited, that he was practically make-believing in love at first sight. He blew a stream of smoke, regaining his composure from the soothing menthol and tar. ”I don’t do love.”