Days have come and gone. Solution, there still is none. For what is done is done. Words and actions that can't be undone.
The very thought of that day still paralyzes me. My mind might be deceiving me. Perhaps a dream, ...just a dream. It was no mirage nor phantasm. Oh, all I remember is accurate. Here arrives the train of thought, loaded with my longing and wondering for him. His eyes seem so sincere. Does he actually have this caring feeling? The weakness conquered me; I could have fainted. There were a few distant souls around, even though it appeared that only Ted and I. Could they have noticed or told what happened? Honestly, does it matter if people know? Of course. In reality, the actual problem is what is supposed to occur? The complicated outcome of courage is doubt. There is no doubt that we are now lost. We are too young to act right, to feel and understand emotions, to t to think logically and be reasonable, we are too young to be human. Love what it is, who knows, children definitely don't. Even so, adults don't either. Or why would they go out with the whole world just to settle in without the excuse of love? Adults view children as childish. But then, how is a child supposed to behave? In this world, the child must be responsive, but the adult has the right to be a total wreck. Arguing against adulthood won't solve my pathetic problem. That problem is that age restrains us from being together. Even though I witnessed the outrageous crime of younger children dating. Do they have no shame or decency? Do their parents care for them? I have no answers. It appears that destiny is not in our favor; we are young and respect our social role. It's so disappointing that our modern society is welcoming toward the open inclusion of the queer, homosexuality, and self-innovated identity, and yet the same society is passive-aggressive toward children's innocent romance. My parents would be enraged and feel dishonored to know that I am in love. Out of protection, ownership, and parental affection, I had been told that I would be allowed to date only once I was 30 years old, which seems fair, after all, my mother started dating my father when she was 18 and gave birth to me at the ancient age of 23.... 23 was that day of autumn in which I became vulnerable. Anyway, parents only say that when you are young, once they see me in my mid-20s, they will be pressuring me to have children. Parents have children for the price of grandchildren. That is my philosophy. Life gives life for the price of life itself. I will unsubmerge this submarine of truthful nonsense. The point I have always been up to is that life is simple yet complicated, and our dear society is hypocritical. Due to that, my Theodore and I are condemned to be star-crossed lovers.
Since when did my life become a literal literary allusion?
When I was way younger, for I am still a child to the eyes of society. Funny because I am considered too mature to get a free cookie. 13 surely is the most unfortunate age.
A long time ago, in my long library hunts, I uncovered a sweet tale yet filled with disturbing concepts. Peculiar to me it was. My favorite tale it became. A young woman fell in love with a tree. She stood under that tree each day, just to look at it. She climbed and stayed some nights asleep on its branches. During the autumn, he would dance among the vivid leaves that the tree shed. It was absurd, but her world was a tree that became a soon-to-be victim of urbanization and human stupidity. She tried to stop them from cutting it down. She even chained herself to the tree. The police came and took her away. When she was released, her mind scattered and soul shattered, knowing the faith of salvation had been chopped up. Gloom filled her, and grief, her prior oddness and recent scandal made her be seem like a lunatic. Way before the tree was cut down, she suffered knowing that she could not love a tree unless she became a tree. She said she would die and be buried to grow into a tree. But with the tree she wanted to grow next to, mulitaled, she would be alone, again. I had not thought of that story for a while until now. Perhaps I get to live my own little love tragedy.
I encompass and relate to the feeling of not being able to love and having to wait for a mystical event, an event that might never occur. The wait and desire for hope drains you dry and soaks you with concern. Is there anything that I am to do to save myself from such a dreadful fate?
Interesting how the world rotates. Somewhere, there is a 6-year-old wife whose parents gave away. A poor suffering innocent who pays for the sins of men. And here I am complaining that I am not certain of what I will do. I know I am extremely young to even think about dating, especially because I hate the idea. And again, I am too young to date, but someone younger than me has to suffer a forced marriage and child labor. What the hell is wrong with this society? Am I Wrong? Am I going insane? All I want is to give affection. What is so bad about hanging out with someone for the purpose of sharing life and having fun? I can't even go out with my friends. Oh, wait, I don't even have friends. Only one friend, who likes me and I like back. And besides that, he is just a friend still, which is the best of all. We did not spoil our friendship. At least my mind is back somewhere.
All that we can do is talk and just make each other laugh. We continue to sit next to each other during lunch. He is kind for giving me the food that he does not like, but knows I love. I discovered that he is a freaking psychopath. How possibly could Theodore dislike coffee and love tea? That is horrible, monstrous. Oh, wait, I just remember my father also hates coffee, but most likely would drink a cup of chamomile tea. Well, I guess in that case, my dad is also a psychopath. That is not a bad thing after all, my father is extraordinary. Yet again, seriously, coffee is not horrible. I love coffee and hate with every ounce of myself the idea of drinking tea. Other than that, Theo is a complete charm. He hates pickles, and so do I.
I must apologize because I don't have any structure in the narration of my boring and absurd life. A boy likes me, wow..., so amusing and thrilling story, ha, I am so special. Sarcastic is the word I meant. The level of sarcasm that I reach is affecting my relationship with my mother. She thinks I am rude and mean, and even dares to say that I hate her. That is complete fantasy. I love her and never dare dislike her, but I do dislike the fact that I am her and she does not notice that I act just like her. Again, the distraction. I don't have Attention Deficiency Disorder, I can assure you all. I don't believe in it because I know it is part of human nature to get distracted. In addition, most people have scattered thoughts. Again, I apologize; perhaps it makes no sense, but perhaps it will.
Theo seems to adore, haha! (see what I did there). He seems to enjoy it when I start talking about random things and start changing the topic as he says, "in the span of 5 seconds." He even declares that he thinks it is cute the way I talk. Cute?? Really, since when is the voice of a teenage dirtbag who talks nonsense considered cute? I start to believe he is actually in love, because he appears to be beyond blind. Everything seems to be marching smoothly. Guess the clouds of bewilderment finally made it rain, and the rain is calming rather than alarming.