silent fixation ;; frequent mindless indulgence 

Dashing through the snow..

"Now, don't be afraid."
Mom, I'm not afraid. I'll be fine.
"Well it's just that I know it's going to hurt. But it's just physical therapy, and you-"
Mom, really. It's okay, I'm okay.
"But it's your writing hand, and I know you love writing. Matt, I...I saw you looking at your book last night."
..Mom... Spying on me is... Its really..
"I wasn't spying, really. I was checking up on you, you were just so awfully quiet."


She worries about me, but I'm thankful to her.
I remember the look on her face when I brought her two dozen roses and a necklace with my birthstone in it, for Mothers Day. She started to cry and hugged me, and I said I wouldn't trade her for the world.

Yeah, I'm a momma's boy. With her, you kind of have to be; it's just that unavoidable.
She makes you want to bend the universe, if only to see her smiling; you never want to let her down, you never want to make her worry. And I know I do, so I wanted to give a shout out to her, even if it's just in the form of a blog entry.
I love you, mom.

Making up, or making out? You confuse me. I confuse me.

The door rings, and I slip downstairs, quietly excusing myself as my cousin runs his shoulder into my rub. Horrible cretin, I mumble. He just laughs and tries tripping me on my way to the door.
Ring, ring. Alright already.

I open the door to see, guess who?

"I..."
I sigh. Stop talking, I want to say. Just shut up.
"I'm sorry. No, I mean, I'm not sorry about anything I said. But I'm sorry you can't trust me."
Shut up, I say. He looks shocked. Take your shoes off and meet me in my room.
He only nods.

(Up in my room.)

He's standing nervously at the door, like he's afraid to walk in- even though he's been in here plenty of times. What are you standing there for?
He looks up and blushes. Him, blushing. Makes me blush, and I look away slightly angry- at myself, you see. For inviting him in.
"Okay." he finally says, taking a deep breath before actually stepping into the room. As if it was going to hurt him.
Close the door...
He does. Fumbling with the buttons on his blue jean jacket.
"Look, I'm sorry."
I was on my feet before I knew it, and god help me, I was kissing him. I'm such an idiot, I think. Only slightly muffled sounds are heard. 'Mmf,' to be precise. I don't know if it's me or him that made that sound, but it doesn't really matter.
My throat feels raw, and I let him go.

"Matt." His voice sounded so...so...small, I guess. Like a scared kids.
Don't talk. Please, just don't talk right now.
He nods again, and I curl up on my bed wanting to go back and erase what I just did.

My conclusion on this matter of him and I, is I am simply screwed. The more he says he likes me, the more I want to be able to hate him. And the more he acts pathetic, or lonely, or sad- even angry- I want him.
But not one bit of me likes him like he says he likes me.

He leaves after handing me a small box wrapped in brown paper. It's sitting on my desk, and I don't know if I want to open it or not.

Does any of this make me a bad person? I wonder.

A momentary hint at fame and laughter.

There's too much glory in breaking yourself down for the open amusement of a crowd. My legs shake as I take to the stage, carefully oblivious to the carnal thoughts I know he's having. Delicately withdrawing from myself to properly assess the situation.

He doesn't like me. He says he does. But the way he looks at me isn't an "I heart you" look, the way his eyes fall on me say "Get in my bed, now."

I actually told him this, just now on the phone. He laughed, but he didn't deny it.
"You take too much into emotion. You read too far in to notice the small stuff."
After all this silence, that's all he says? I twitch. Frustration builds, released in a quick exhale.
"I'm sorry. You're only half right though."
Which half?
"I always look at you like someone I want by my side. But by the time I catch myself staring, I look away and you turn to look at me. I know it's not fair. We need coordination."
You don't make sense, I point accusingly. But even I can hear the smile in my voice.
"I...really do like you, Matt. I mean, why can't you believe me?"
Uh no. See, now things have taken a turn for the worse. I want to ask him, Why did you have to ask me that? But I don't. I mumble something I believe was along the lines of sorry. Or some such.
He sighs.
"I mean it though. I've known I liked you since...since forever!"
Liar.
"No I'm not lying. You can ask anyone."
Anyone where?
"Shit."
I have to go soon, dad's getting the cake-
"Matt don't hang up! Please! Just...just hear me out."
I have to go now... Mom's calling.
"She can wait. I just want a chance."
But...
"Just one day. To prove you can trust me."
Bye, Joshua...
"Matt, dont do this. Dont shut me out."
Bye...
*Click*

Maybe I'm less than kind. But it's the only way I know how to protect myself against an invasion.

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.

Jessika gave me old photos of myself (one of which I have pink hair) as a gag gift.
My real present was a box of lubricated condoms.
I love you, Jessika, but you take the icing.

Joshua was the first one to tell me happy birthday; he spammed it in my locker, on my door, and in my room... How did he get in here anyway? Iworry.
He left me a rose, um, my dad found it and got a little upset. It's not that my dad doesn't like me being gay, it's just that he doesn't like me dating other guys. Something about I could get hurt.
Okay, daddy.

My parents gave me cash and told me to blow it freely, so I'm going to. Starting with $5 to Gaia, because I felt like it.

Online I had over 14 HB's from people I've never met face-to-face...but it was awesome.
One guy sent me a picture of him...jacking off... Which was kind of...special. It said, "Just for you." at the bottom.

...... This is me, not saying anything about it.

My sister, cough, Ghostie took pictures for me. And she promised to meet me sometime this December so we can go XXX-Mas shopping together at the mall or something.

I'm 17 and I look 15. I feel 16. And I weigh as much as a 14 year old might.
I'm all mixed up. :] But that's okay.

I hear it's time to be honest.

There's been a recent call for honesty; which could be for all but Lacy and Tori's relationship, But that's none of my business, is it? It used to be. It was odd, so I'm grateful that my share of their time has been ended.

"A self loathing creature dressed up in angel wings."
That's what he told me he thought when he first saw me.
And when he first spoke to me, he told me thought,
"Someone not meant for a world as cold as this. Was he born to cold? He was clipped from ice and made of skin."

I don't understand him. Him being Joshua. He thinks that just because we've exchanged a few words here and there, that just because he watches me- that he knows me. And he couldn't be any more wrong about it. Sure he could tell me my middle name, my favorite color, and probably some of my darkest secrets.
But he can't tell me the color I see the sky as. He can't tell me what shade of green and grey the ocean is when I'm standing above it. He can't tell me who I want most in the world.
And he can't tell me the dreams I have.

He says I want to be a nurse. I laugh.
"A doctor, then."
What makes you think I want to be a healer?
"You are a healer."
How so?
"You mended broken hearts."
I laugh again.
"With that very same laugh. With that very same smile."
I stare at him, long and hard enough to make him squirm.
"Don't look at me like that."
Like what, I ask.
"Like I'm ripping you open to expose you to the world."
That hurt. I look away, and he hugs me from behind.
"You can't play superman all the time."
Are heroes supposed to cry? I tell him I'm afraid.
"Of what?"

I'm afraid...of rejection.

And he nods, but he doesn't understand. Silly little boy; how can you hope to win me over if you can't tell me why I look away from the stars with a burning shame in my eyes?