“It’s never gonna be normal, you and me
What you’re signing for is a storm at sea”
My life, since we last saw each other, has not gotten better.
It has certainly gotten busier, messier and “bizarrer”.
I spent sleepless nights over midterms, over my still-unsolved ex-apartment problem, and unfortunate encounters with Monsieur.
“So if you think you’re though, give me all your love
And I’ll give you every little piece of me”
And I mean it when I sing that line along with Sia.
You see dear Monsieur, I know it will take something, something that is not normally a part of you, to like me. But I really want you to try. You won’t know how much it will mean to me.
Because, the truth is, I need something spectacular to happen to me to believe in this world again.
I need my miseries balanced by something grand. Grand to the point of being magical.
And you, loving me, is as magical as anything gets.
Especially after my uber-awkward encounter with you on Monday.
My friend Four trying her best to get us talking, me looking away throughout the whole thing, and you smoking your cigarette with your friend from your land.
I mean, I hope you don’t remember it, but I do.
I still feel a faint blush on my cheeks from the remaining embarrassement.
It was though. I’m not used to being the quiet and awkward one.
On that note:
“Catch a falling star you’ll go far in the pageant of the bizarre”
If I were to move onto the less-romantic pieces of my life, I could tell you that I am crazy busy (which is a condition I redeemed today by watching five episodes of tv shows I have missed these last two weeks – while doing laundry).
I have more midterms than any college student I know, and they are all time-consuming, pain-in-the-ass, blood-sucking little experiences.
I stayed at the school until midnight a few midnights in a row, and altough it was sort of a social boost, it just made it harder to get back there in the mornings.
And I find all this particularly tiring, when I am still very much troubled by the money I lost on my ex-apartment situation. My anger is channeled very alarmingly on my ex-roommate who won’t answer my texts on her (non-existing) progress with our ex-landlord.
I’ll be between midterms, waiting for a freaking text that only has to say “yes” or “no”, but I guess she is too cool for that? But no. She really isn’t.
“And if you take my hand,
Beware that this boat can run aground, making the ocean floor weep”
So there it is.
I have all these busies, and troubles and awkward little encounters — and nothing to redeem me.
Nothing at all to make me happy, for longer than an hour.
So whatever, or whoever that will bring me that happiness:
“Take a chance on me, you’re my remedy.
You may fall indeed, you’ll find peace with me.”
So think about it. Catch a falling star. Take a chance. And give me that chance. Why won’t you?