The Locket Picture

This morning, I walked in to see your face. Smiling. And when the semi-akward greeting came, I reached for your hand. You let me touch it. And as I gentley squeezed it, you responded. We let go and I softly said hello.
When you left, or rather, were on your way out, you turned back and yelled your classic, "Hey!"
My composure inside was broken. You told me that you had to see the inside of the locket hanging from my neck.
I refused as you persisted. The room turned it's focus on us, but the only focus I had was on the warmth of our hands touching. Neither pair wanted to surrender the silver heart.
For a moment, for a God blessed moment, I thought you refused to let go because it was one more moment to touch my hands. I told you that you were making a scene. You laughed.
The people around us were now very curious.
'What relation does he have with this flamboyant flamingo girl, all in pink, with a silver locket?'
Well, she likes him enough to keep their picture in the locket. And he smiled as he was solely showed the contents.
<3

She is more beautiful than my imagination has allowed me to explore.

Wow, more real blogging. Braced yet?
I'm pretty much starving, and I have felt like this ever since I got home from Spain. I am ALWAYS hungry!!! I love that I actually have made some time to blog. I stay up way too late thinking about...
1. What to even put in this silly blog.
2. Why people have taken to me so well at UCAS.
3. What this kid has to be thinking not to love me back.
Well, number three isn't always true, and I don't know if it's even true that he doesn't love me. That's the problem when people leave you hanging. They leave you hanging, not knowing, unaware, confused even...

In Other News...

If I get ONE more missionary farewell invitation, I swear I will scream out loud. I was discussing this with a good friend the other day who is going out this year for his LDS mission.
I told him how I was happy and supportive of him, but that this whole mission thing really isn't a great thing for the LDS women. The men receive these inspiring travels proseliting, (oh, gosh, the spelling,) and the women are left at home with studying and the crappy men who don't have consciences, (let alone VALUES). What are you all doing to these women? Leaving them with no valuable men/fish in the sea.
And the KICKER?!
The men come back, demanding righteous women!
YEAH?!
What have you done for THEM on that front?
Oh yeah. Left. Left them in bad situations.
I just disagree...

She is more beautiful than my imagination has allowed me to explore.

Moulin Rouge & a one hallway school?

I think I could use 11 hours of sleep.
Wow! Are you guys ready for actual blogging/journaling instead of creepy love free verse? I know I haven't been, at least not really up until now.
Utah County Academy of Sciences feels like this family I've just been adopted into. And although I know I'll find a place...I'm nervous and scared to find it.
I have no problem leaving Springville behind, as sad as that may be to the few true friends I have therein.
Being a new Junior is a tough gig. And I try not to whine.
I mean, Sophmores are cool. I surely testify to that truth. But a lot of the time, I feel that's where I'm left. Integrating with the other Juniors has proved...not impossible persay, but rather tricky. I don't want to give off wrong impressions, and get the wrong attention. I am not stating that I am afraid of attracting the 'wrong' crowd, but rather a group that I would grow out of. Unfortunately, this does tend to happen to me.
Try "I'll Fly Away" from the Moulin Rouge musical soundtrack.

Love.

In Spanish lands: or you know, my Spanish high school:
We're having English class one day. I was sitting there, writing to myself in peace, when I tune into what my teacher has just said.
"Yes, 'love'. That terrible feeling."
And I crack up.
Because, in that moment, I completely agree. Love is such a terrible thing to some, and the wonderful part of life for others.

Another Rainy Monday

Have you ever Built-a-Bear before? I think you should.

Have you ever been in a summer rainstorm, soaking wet, and just laughing as you ran?
I went by your home to pick up a few things and you weren't home. It wasn't creepy or anything, your sister is always a sweetheart.
I just felt, purely, "YOU", dear, in each raindrop...and by the time I reached home, "YOU" were coming from my eyes too. I had laughed and cried and ran through all of "YOU" coming down and down...And when I reached my front door, I went and wrote you a little song...

The Wavelength

Heros and Protestants. I mean, Evangelists.

In my recent metal conversion, I was given this band, Protest The Hero.
I don't think she knows how much I actually want to be a hero. You know, her hero.

I love the colors in her hair.
When I look to my own colors, I want to rip my own hair out.
But her skin glows.
I want to be big and strong for her,
that sort of hero she looks for in each boyish face.
I wish to lift tall buildings, airplanes,
and I wish to fly.
Maybe she would let me take her with me.
I do feel like I could fly when she smiles.

I may speak Spanish, but I know I should wish it's Italian instead.

The Spotlight

She had wavy red hair, and I wanted to rub my fingers on the ends of it. I wondered what it would feel like. I would need to be close to her to touch the gorgeous locks. To imagine her close sent me into an acute, but sweetenly sick coma. The little curve of the ends of her hair made the nerves in my arms electrify. My hair was so straight, and I was so skinny. I wanted those curves. Not for me, but just to rub those of hers. Precious.