Hello, I Dislike You Intensely. Have a Nice Day.
Entry #16.
I don't know what to do.
I'm staring down a road. The wind comes, then goes. The leaves, hardly bigger than little scraps of paper, fall. They land in the fine brown dust. This road is nothing but dust. I look at the trees in front of me. They don't look nice; they don't look huggable and they definitely don't look kissable. They look like they want to make you bleed, running away with bitter sap on your lips.
I want to trespass now. I want to sneak onto that rich residence because I can, because I can be daring and fun and rebellious like all the girls in those books. It's true, what they taught you in kindergarten - you really can be anything you want. You just have to lie to yourself enough.
But do you want that?
Yes. Because it doesn't hurt. And if it doesn't hurt, it's okay. Or maybe I want it to hurt, maybe hurting will make it okay. I can't remember. Which side was I on again? Am I supposed to be like Those People, or Those Other People? I'm an actress who's forgotten her lines - no, an actress who never really read the script to begin with.
Agh. I hate it when I write about nothing at all.
I wrote Alex back, even though I was scared. The words came so easily, it almost felt like a sin.
Alex -
First of all, thanks for replying to all the crap I wrote. I really didn't think anyone would do that. Well, I never wanted anyone to, honestly, but you did, and I'm glad it was you of all possible people.
I think that that is a sign, and I don't believe in signs. At least, I don't think so. I can't remember. It's been a while since I've seen a sign.
As for what you said about us pretending everything never happened, I really can't say. I'm normally good at lying to myself, so it's not like a 'can I?'...it's more like a 'do I want to?' Because I don't know if I do or not.
I cannot believe I just told you that.
I want to rip this paper up now, and start all over, and tell you that yes, let's please forget what happened and move on with our lives, because that would be the best thing for both of us. But my pen keeps going, keeps forming these foolish little symbols, and both it and I know that I won't do that. Both it and I know that I don't want to forget.
Sometimes, I wish I didn't know myself so devastatingly well.
But I do. And I know, I truly know now, that I don't want to forget what you said. To forget you. And I don't want you to forget about me. Don't forget. Forgetting is a goodbye without a goodbye. I want to say hello. Hello.
Hello.
Oh God, I've really done myself in now.
But I can handle it. I'll go home and lie in bed and lie to myself until I really can handle it.
Please respond.
- Dani
I folded up the paper, went back to the same trees all our words had been occupying, and put it in one of the knotholes. For a second, I worried that he wouldn't receive it, but the worry didn't live long. And I worry about everything.
I'm staring down a road. The wind comes, then goes. The leaves, hardly bigger than little scraps of paper, fall. They land in the fine brown dust. This road is nothing but dust. I look at the trees in front of me. They don't look nice; they don't look huggable and they definitely don't look kissable. They look like they want to make you bleed, running away with bitter sap on your lips.
I want to trespass now. I want to sneak onto that rich residence because I can, because I can be daring and fun and rebellious like all the girls in those books. It's true, what they taught you in kindergarten - you really can be anything you want. You just have to lie to yourself enough.
But do you want that?
Yes. Because it doesn't hurt. And if it doesn't hurt, it's okay. Or maybe I want it to hurt, maybe hurting will make it okay. I can't remember. Which side was I on again? Am I supposed to be like Those People, or Those Other People? I'm an actress who's forgotten her lines - no, an actress who never really read the script to begin with.
Agh. I hate it when I write about nothing at all.
I wrote Alex back, even though I was scared. The words came so easily, it almost felt like a sin.
Alex -
First of all, thanks for replying to all the crap I wrote. I really didn't think anyone would do that. Well, I never wanted anyone to, honestly, but you did, and I'm glad it was you of all possible people.
I think that that is a sign, and I don't believe in signs. At least, I don't think so. I can't remember. It's been a while since I've seen a sign.
As for what you said about us pretending everything never happened, I really can't say. I'm normally good at lying to myself, so it's not like a 'can I?'...it's more like a 'do I want to?' Because I don't know if I do or not.
I cannot believe I just told you that.
I want to rip this paper up now, and start all over, and tell you that yes, let's please forget what happened and move on with our lives, because that would be the best thing for both of us. But my pen keeps going, keeps forming these foolish little symbols, and both it and I know that I won't do that. Both it and I know that I don't want to forget.
Sometimes, I wish I didn't know myself so devastatingly well.
But I do. And I know, I truly know now, that I don't want to forget what you said. To forget you. And I don't want you to forget about me. Don't forget. Forgetting is a goodbye without a goodbye. I want to say hello. Hello.
Hello.
Oh God, I've really done myself in now.
But I can handle it. I'll go home and lie in bed and lie to myself until I really can handle it.
Please respond.
- Dani
I folded up the paper, went back to the same trees all our words had been occupying, and put it in one of the knotholes. For a second, I worried that he wouldn't receive it, but the worry didn't live long. And I worry about everything.