If there is one thing you can count on, it's English weather. Usually, it's just that pale white canvas of clouds. Yeah, it's boring, dull but it sets a great mood to write. I'm a poet by the way, which may account for all the bleak honesty I write. Honesty. I tell you, if more people were honest I would have nothing to write about. Think about it, if you are old you'll be used to it. If you're a kid, then you ain't going to notice. But it's when you are a teenager onwards. I've spent many nights lying awake thinking about this. I've been lied to by so many people... it gets to the point where it's actually depressing.
Anyway, if you want to know, I'm at my college. I am not going to go into specifics about every detail; I can't be bothered. I had very few friends, I wont lie. I got on with a lot of people, don't get me wrong. But I couldn't ‘talk' to them. You know, about personal things. F--k, little things. They always get to me. Hell I can't even walk past a car without checking my reflection. I'm not vain; I'm worried I have something on my face or whatever. I can't stand that feeling that everyone is looking at me and silently (sometimes not) judging me. It wont matter today though. Those things wont matter.
It was then I walked into college; I had lingered by the gates with the remnants of a cigarette. I didn't want to go to my lesson; I had English. I loved English. I swear all I want to do is write. We were not having a lesson anyway; just having our coursework marked. That was a laugh; most of the information we had to use was off the internet. Hardly honesty. I decided to walk around instead; preferably in my solitude. My tutors were always asking me if everything was alright. One night where I fell apart... and a stupid mistake with my left forearm and everyone feels sorry for me. I'd be happier if they told me I was stupid. There are people more worse off than me. Like my idols for example. I am stronger than them by miles.
After feeling the burning stares of everyone I passed (or not) I saw ‘her'. Holly. My ex girlfriend.
It was a bad relationship. I was vulnerable and she never seemed happy to see me. I'll leave it at that. It ain't anyone's business.
For the millionth time that day, I felt that same weight in my chest. I hate it, it makes me feel pathetic. Anxiety... always makes me feel like s--t. She walked by without a second glance; Holly all over.
Maybe if I was really beautiful or if I was some androgynous pretentious scenester she'd talk to me again. God knows I want to start again with her. Even though I keep getting told it's all over. Hell, the f-----g dreams have started again. I see her, but I can't talk to her. They are as bad as that other dream I have. The one where my right hand cramps and my fingers snap off. I wake up smelling blood, but my hand is fine.
I have a large collection of poetry written which is safe in my bedroom. I want to publish them someday, but first I have to graduate college. Which seems unlikely, as I am failing most of subjects. I mean, religious studies... I don't believe in God. God dies when you realise you have been lied to your whole life.
After seeing Holly, I couldn't hack finishing up the afternoon so I decided to take the long walk home. Mostly it's a large road where cars seem to decide it's ok to drive at 50,000 MPH even when there are people crossing. They might as well say ‘move it or I'm f-----g running you down'.
I always wondered if they would slow down if say, some college kid decided to walk into the middle of the road. As I walked out of college to the busy lane, I held that thought with interest.