Well, we won. However, I hate homecoming. Mums are stupid and serve no purpose. Queens/Kings really do nothing to better our school whatsoever. Dating/relationships are made of fail. Oh, homecoming court taking up our halftime to parade on the field? DUMB.
It was interesting, that’s fer sure.
I missed the majority of it due to my flute lessons, so I was excused by the band director.
Came back in time to play our show tune, and Apache.
Watched the seniors light the letters from afar (Man, I’ll miss them.).
Then, the lights went out and I watched the fireworks deviously exploding in the sky.
Ignored members of the color guard, as I tend to do.
Went into the band hall and waited for my mum to come.
I wish I was as insightful as the music I listen to. Because then, I’d be able to fully express my feelings towards you. I’d tell you how wonderful you made me feel, and how when I’m with you, I forget my stress. I’d tell you how I can look into your eyes and forget all the severing pains in my life. I lose my train of thought in the blue-gray depths of your eyes and feel warmth, rather than the cool tones the color suggests.
Sometimes, however, the bright hype that your eyes radiate begins to fade, and I see the weight of lost loves crushing down upon you. I want to ease your pains with the correct maneuvers, but cannot do so tactfully. For pushing you away would tear my soul into irreparable shapes which become lost in the moment.
Then there are the times whenever I do not know how I feel about you. I want to be your friend, not a lover. But they notice it even more so than I do. They know how bad I long for something more. They noticed it before I could even conjure up the idea. They saw how my eyes lit up as I saw you across the room. They noticed whenever the mere mention of your name caused me to become erect. They saw how every time I glanced down upon the brightly lit planes of my LG Shine my eyes sparkled with an unreal light. They saw what you did to me.
Then there is her. I don’t know a thing about her, except that she left you, and has recently returned. Maybe the lack of you pulled her to her senses, or maybe she knows that you would take her back if she said the word. Whenever you have talked to her, I’m never enough. The importance I had in your life moments before have fallen between the cracks in the sidewalk. The conversations that we used to have that would flow so freely seem forced and insecure. I don’t like this side of you, the side of you consumed by her.
I’ve never been the jealous type.
Then again, things change.