mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Butterflies The thing is, it isn't really as neat or cool as people make it sound. It doesn't fill you with a thousand snow white doves or butterflies or fucking flower petals. How it feels, what it makes you do? It makes you sweat. Puts you in a place where you don't know which way up is or what your name is or what year you are living in, puts you in a place where those things don't matter anyway because when you look at him, you are timeless and doomed and naked as the day you were born. It makes you, when he is frowning, it maks you think, "Holy shit, I have to fix this; if this is the only thing I do right in my entire life I have to make him smile, have to make him happy right now." And you will do anything to achieve that, make yourself into a babbling ass, a joke-spewing fool, a person who will happily sacrifice their diginity and their quiet sense of I-Want-To-Hide-In-A-Dark-Corner-ness to do it, to see him smile or smirk, or, joy of joys, laugh.Because when this boy laughs, you feel that fabled bullshit that is absent the rest of the time, the doves and butterflies and fairies laughing and tinkling bells and bluebirds chirping relentlessly inside of you and you see flowerbuds peeling apart to reveal gorgeous new petals and puppies wagging their stupid cute goddamn puppy tails; you see life, unfolding before you and saying, "Hey, here I am, yours forever." And when you walk into a room together you dread the moments when he will unabashedly look at other girls' legs and breasts and lips, not worried to comment, because you? You are the friend, and you don't want to play games and you don't want to fuck things up and you really don't want to get hurt so you stay quiet because those words, the ones you know are waiting inside of him for the day you slip and say something stupid, those words, "I'm not interested," or, "Let's stay friends," or "Not like that," those words would neatly and cleanly crack you in two. So you stay quiet, play the part you know and hate and had hoped to nver have to play again, you say, "Yeah, she's cute," and if you are feeling particularly burdened you add, "...if you like whores." Quiet, kiddo. You can wait this out and you will but for now you are going to feel like you have a bellyful of broken glass and you are going to lie awake until the sun comes up sometimes, thinking about how maybe someday you will be lucky enough to be beautiful and when you think this thought, you feel it again: the butterflies. 12:28 a.m. - 2002-01-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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