Yeah, so now Nick knows 'bout this lil page. I don't mind, I guess, as long as nothing is mentioned in real life. Still... far too many people at school have their own online blogs/ journals/ etc. And far too many of them use it as vehicles of communication with eachother. I do not want that to happen.

I... it's interesting how... no matter what I say or do, my artwork always gives away exactly what's wrong with me. If you could see my sketchbook now (which I've been steadily adding to) you would understand. The Ten of Swords: Ignorant within Purgatory.

Currently haunted with a memory... that I really shouldn't be allowing myself to replay over and over within my mind. Is it possible for someone's body to be so lukewarm yet seering hot? How our contours fit together, although I suffered the bit due to my height, or lack there of. Dancing I like once did under streetlights, but it wasn't nearly as cold as it was that night. We couldn't tell though. The feel of your shirt's fabric against my cheek was soothing, and I allowed myself a moment of indulgence to savor each passing second of bliss. The fact that you are unattainable made my urge to never let go all the stronger. But no. You. You are, were, and for all that I know will remain forbidden fruit. So I must let go of this moment.

Good fucking lord.

I want passion and poetry within my life, yet I have had all my poetry and unrequited passion too lukewarm to digest.

Not even my family realizes that I need my silences.