“Big change, huh? Bet you could take some awesome shots here, Max.”

Max nodded, only hearing the last part of Warren’s sentence. Truth was, she was distracted by how beautiful this place was. If Max stood at the end of the street, she could get a killer depth-of-field perceptive image by aiming towards the long and skinny winding roads being enveloped by the building’s shadows. San Diego seemed to flourish with art and photography culture, and great opportune shots to shoot photographs.

“Earth to Max.” That seemed to knock her out of her thoughts. *****, focus. “Are you going to go swimming with me and Brooke?”

From the look on Brooke’s face, she was hoping to God that Max said no. Brooke is the relationship equivalent of a boa constrictor, and she wasn’t sure how this hasn’t dawned on Warren yet. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Let me unpack first.”

After Kate dropped out of going to San Diego Comic Con last second, Max was nearly going to join her when Warren practically begged her to come. Coming back to the present - equipped with her suitcase and messenger bag - Max lingered behind the couple by several feet. This was her way of trying to avoid the reminder that she was third-wheeling with a boy who used to have a very awkward crush on her and his salty girlfriend.

“I’m going to go down to the pool.” Warren said, sliding his key card into room #228, turning his head to face Max before opening the door. “Maximillian, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

The moment the three of them walked in, Brooke and Warren beelined for the restroom with their bathing suits in hand. Once they came out, Warren had a blue and black plaid board short swimsuit on whereas Brooke came out with a highlighter-colored graffiti two piece.  “Alright, Mad Max. We’re out of this joint. Catch us at the pool if you need something or want to swim. If not, we’ll be back in an hour.”

Max waved them off, digging through her bag for that bathing suit. The crimson colored ruched one-piece vintage bathing suit sat abandoned at the bottom of her matching vermillion suitcase. Down below at the pool area, she could hear screaming and laughing and splashing of the pool water. Max got up from her suitcase, and opened the curtain enough to look out at the hotel pool. Several other people were down there, pushing the time limit very close to closing in an hour from now. Come on, Max, you’re really going to let your whole adventure be ruined by the usual high-strung Brooke?

**** it.

Max nabbed the swimsuit from the hidden corners of her suitcase, stripping herself down to pull the swimsuit onto her body. Once the swimsuit was on, she turned her waist feeling the soft fabric conform to her small but still vaguely prominent curves. Max can remember Mom always saying that she looked good in red, so she recommended a red one-piece since Max doesn't have the confidence to show her stomach to anyone.

Well, except her best friend Chloe. They used to take bubble baths together as toddlers so it used to be the most natural thing in the world to get dressed in the same room together. It must have been a better time, where there were no insecurities. Now Max has trouble calling her up without her finger freezing up as she attempts to type the very last digit of Chloe’s phone number into her phone.

As Max turned around in the mirror, she noticed how her lack of a rear end was a lot more distinguishable in red. Wowser, Max thought, this looks really good on me.

“Wowser.” Max said aloud to her reflection, and threw on a bathrobe.

It must have been ten minutes into Warren and Brooke swimming when Max opened up the pool gate, entering the vast perimeter of the pool area. There were significantly less people around the pool, where most of the people still inside the pool area were kids our age. “Max, you’re here!”  

This made two teenagers stop in their tracks as they were opening up the pool gate at the other end of the pool to leave. One of them whipped around so fast that it was a blur of blue hair.  “Wait…”

“Is that…Max Caulfield? It looks a lot like her.” Rachel asked to Chloe, who hung her jaw open in disbelief. No ******* way.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she watched Max drop the robe on a nearby chair. Like an awkward penguin, Chloe watched her best friend waddle up to the pool edge & cannonball into the waters below oblivious to the two girls standing at the gate watching her. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors and the owner of this hotel's parents forty miles away, Warren!”

“Do you want to go say hi to her?” Rachel asked Chloe.

As Chloe decided on actually going to surprise her, Max's friend said something that made Chloe change her mind in a split second.

“How would you know? Besides, you’ll eventually forgive me for that once you meet the entire cast of Star Trek tomorrow, Max.” Warren yelled at Max, and Chloe did a small grin as she turned away from her best friend, closing the gate on both of the girls.

“No. Guess the oblivious nerd is going to Comic Con too.“ Chloe took one last look at Max before going back inside the hotel with Rachel Amber at her tail. "Do you think she'll recognize me in cosplay?"

"Probably not. Unless I drop the bomb on you guys."

“Shhh. I don’t need you ruining my surprise party, *******.”

Max, Brooke, and Warren weren’t in the pool for long, since Warren bumped his head into the side of the pool while doing laps with Brooke. They had to get out, and put an ice pack on Warren’s sore bump on his head. “Now how am I going to cosplay the 11th Doctor? I need to gel my hair back, but I have this gargantuan bump on my head.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie.” Brooke said, and Max nearly gagged.

Max went back to the hotel room first, since being around Brooke made her want to strangle her.  This whole third-wheeling thing was annoying, and Max was regretting coming alone without Kate as her faithful chauffeur. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to let that ruin her trip. She was here to have fun. And to take a bunch of photographs, of course.

The next morning around 4:00 am, Max was rudely awoken by Brooke who shoved her in her shoulder. “Get up, Max. We’re leaving in thirty minutes from now.”

Was that necessary? Max thought, crawling out of bed. From the bathroom, she could hear Warren fretting over the mammoth-sized bump on his head as both of them got dressed in their cosplay outfits. “Okay. That hurt a lot. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Shut up, guys.”

Feeling slightly irritable from the loud ruckus Brooke and Warren were making in the other room Max rolled out of bed. She rustled through her suitcase for a pair of skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with the print of a doe on the front. Once she had her clothes, she stood up to walk into the restroom to change when she noticed the ending result of both of her companions.

Brooke’s multicolored dark hair was pulled down in waves framing the scarlet dress with a black belt fastened around her waist. As for Warren, his usually shaggy brown hair was gelled back for his cosplay. She had to admit, he looked handsome in his mahogany jacket, red bow-tie and matching suspenders, and the cotton collared button-up he wore underneath. For a cosplay of The Eleventh Doctor and Clara Oswald, it was quite impressive how close they looked like the actual characters of the TV show Doctor Who.

“Take a picture of us, Max!” Warren said in a chirpy voice.

“On it.”

Max pulled out her camera, and pointed it at the couple who held up peace signs together. Once the picture rolled out, the couple split apart to put on the finishing touches of their cosplay.  As for Max, all she had to do was throw on her clothes. There wasn’t a lot of work in dressing up like normal people. Besides, she’s never really been a fan of cosplay.

If you want to count dressing up as pirates with her best friend Chloe on Halloween five years ago cosplay, then yeah, Max has cosplayed several times before.

“Max, hurry your *** up. It looks like the amphitheater is getting crowded from here.” Warren yelled from outside the bathroom door towards Max, who sloppily tied her shoes.

As they exited out of the large double doors of the four star hotel, Warren and Brooke took the crosswalk, pointing out people cosplaying as characters from TV shows or video games. They were smiling and laughing, leaving Max to third-wheel again. Instead of lingering on it, Max put in her headphones and turned on Crosses by José González tuning them out.

“Where is the line?” Max asked Warren as they approached the crowded complex filled with restaurants on one side and the amphitheater on the other side. Tents were set up here, even.

“This is what I call natural selection. If you come prepared with prior knowledge on how this works, you can conquer this haphazard looking line.” Warren spread his arms out, motioning towards the crowd that was rapidly growing in size.

“Let’s go, Warren.”

“Wait!”

Like an octopus, Brooke latched onto Warren dragging him into the depths of the growing sea of people. After three painful hours of waiting, Max felt the crowd start to lighten up around her as excited but deafening chatter filled the air of the surrounding herd of people. Everyone was clamoring loudly, quickly rushing into the open doors with their San Diego Comic Con day pass thrown around their neck.

As soon as Max received hers, she eagerly threw her day pass around her neck. After buying a small breakfast sandwich from a booth, Max decided to start people watching. Some of the cosplays made her laugh like the Darth Vader cosplayer leading a conga line of faithful storm troopers, taking long confident strides.

Max took several photographs of several different cosplayers, ranging from Doctor Who, Scott Pilgrim vs The World, The X-Files, Breaking Bad, Undertale, Magic: The Gathering, and Family Guy. When it started getting crowded, she got up from her chair and entered the large archway into the convention center filled with colorful tents and cosplay galore.

Wielding her camera bag close to her waist, Max carefully maneuvered her way through the sea of people as she took a look at the booths. Suddenly, the throng of people became too much for Max. An elbow into Max's side pushed her into the left side of her waist, throwing her into a booth.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Max’s eyes glanced up towards a blue-haired girl cosplaying as Pris from Blade Runner, who had grabbed her waist. Something about her was actually kind of familiar, however, Max couldn’t tell. “You hit that table pretty hard.”

Max felt the warmth from her waist leave slowly. “This crowd is suffocating. I need a place to breathe around here. It’s too claustrophobic for my liking.”

“Are you alone or something? Because I could always use company in my tent. It gets hella boring inside this tent sometimes.”

“Do you say that to all of your customers?” Max asked, chuckling nervously at the blue-haired cosplayer’s comment.

“No.” She mumbled something under her breath that Max didn’t quite catch. “I mean – unless you’re uncomfortable with it. I’ve seen people faint multiple times from claustrophobia here.”

Since her head was bent down over a sketch she was doing in a journal, the only way Max could tell that the girl was blushing was by how red her ears had gotten. The realization that the girl became a nervous wreck all of a sudden after that comment had made Max’s day already.

“Maybe you’re right. I should just sit down. There’s no places to sit around here, though.”

The blue-haired girl patted the armrest of the empty fold-out chair behind the table. “This is Rachel’s chair, but Rachel is helping out with the convention rave for later. She’s on the committee or some ****.”

“Coworker?”

“And an annoyance at times.” Max went around the table, taking a seat in the chair the girl patted. It was itching at her brain that there is something about this girl that is so nostalgic.

Suddenly, a long brunette-haired girl billowed through the back curtains of the booth, where Max saw a tattoo chair in the back along with an extended table with clutter everywhere. “Chloe, do you have my phone? I really need it right now.”

Wait a second. “Chloe?”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Rachel. You ruined the element of surprise.”

"No ******* way!"

After Chloe handed the phone to Rachel, Max followed with her first impulse, throwing her arms around Chloe. Immediately, Chloe laughed as Max nuzzled her head into Chloe's shoulder blade. Max could feel the initial excitement pounding in her chest as Chloe tightened her grip on her as well. “Get a room, Chloe.”

“I will shove this combat boot so far up your *** –”

“Okay, I’m leaving. I need to call Frank and see when he was going to get here.” Rachel stated matter-of-factly, then added as she was leaving, “Hope you have a fun reunion.”

Once Chloe let go of Max, she held onto her arms staring into her face. “Wowser. This is crazy. You’re dressed as Pris from Blade Runner. That is definitely my ****.”

“I hope so. Someone asked me if I’m cosplaying Ramona Flowers from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Now I will accept that misunderstanding because Ramona Flowers is my woman crush.” Chloe glanced over at Max, changing the mood merely by narrowing her eyes at the brunette. “Alright, are you going to explain why you didn’t call or text me for five years?”

It was so sudden that Max suddenly felt inferior to Chloe. "I'm sorry. My parent's decision to suddenly move to Seattle wasn't my choice."

"That's not a good enough reason." Chloe attempted to change the tone of the mood lighter, since this wasn't exactly the place to discuss that. "So what's up with you? Living it up here in San Diego or something?"

"I - uh - moved back to Arcadia Bay. Two months ago."

"Without a phone call, telling me that you moved back." Chloe pressed her lips together, annoyed. "Nice one, Caulfield. That's just ******* peachy."

Max started to get a little irritated herself. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we just drop it?"

"I’m sorry, Max. I don’t want to be the ******* to ruin your day. In fact, this was the complete opposite impression I was going for. If you want to punch me for being such an annoying rat, go right on ahead.” Chloe pointed at the bicep of her left arm.

I shook my head – chuckling as Chloe kicked back her chair – propping her feet onto the table cluttered with various types of artwork. There was a dozen pieces of art here, but I noticed Chloe was really into abstract watercolor paintings. Mostly Chloe did sketches of characters from TV shows and video games and painted it in watercolor. One of the paintings in particular caught my eye.

Of course – like all of Chloe’s paintings – it was strikingly beautiful: In front of an obsidian background was a butterfly with eye-popping azure wings. One of the wings seemed to be slightly blurred to give more definition to the closest wing. “Wow, you’re a real artist.”

“I’m also a tattoo artist. If you want to get a tattoo, just hit your girl up. It’s on the house for you.” Chloe said, holding out her arm to show me. “Rachel helped me with both designs.”

Chloe had a beautiful sleeve on her arm and a tattoo on the top of her hand of a red chrysanthemum. Max traced the red ribbon detail on her arm tattoo with one finger, making Chloe shiver. “Dude, you can look, but you can’t touch the tats.”

“Sorry, it’s beautiful.”

“Hopefully it will still look beautiful when I look like the human equivalent of a raisin when I’m 80.” Chloe joked, holding out her arm in front of her face. “How about it, Max? Wanna get tatted up by your best friend Chloe? It might be a great experience for you, hippie. No gang related tattoos, though.”

“Yeah, because I’m totally a part of a gang.”

The smile that lit up Chloe’s face sent Max into a comatose state of delirium. Her eyes focused in on Chloe like a lens, taking shots in her head so she didn’t forget this moment with her best friend. For once, Max was having fun. “You’re still a ******* geek. That’s good news.”

“Always.”

Chloe shook her head before getting up. “Alright, so do you want a tattoo or not? This is your final offer, Max. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“I don’t know. You know I’m scared of needles.”

“Still?” Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders. “Come o

The huge container of glue had emptied onto the ground nearby my desk. Now, I didn't get to see how it happened until it hit the floor but it looked like Chloe's arm must have knocked into it somehow. White goo bled out from the open container like syrup, traveling at the speed of a snail in the middle of a marathon.

"Oh no." Chloe yelped, plopping herself down to the floor with paper towels.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers once she gazed up into the resting ***** face of Mrs. Hoiga, who raised her eyebrows as she walked onto the crime scene. The bun on her head always seemed so tight, showing off too much forehead. As for Chloe, she was frozen in place as she looked up at Mrs. Hoiga with a huge glob of Elmer's glue stuffed in a paper towel.

"What happened here, Chloe? Why is there glue all over the floor?"

Chloe and I made eye contact for a split second, which made Chloe ramble out, "I-It was Max. She spilled it."

The entire class gave their full undivided attention to the current situation, making me tense up immediately once I heard Chloe blame me. Everyone knows Chloe is a trouble maker, but she's never called anyone out for things she's done. Ever.

I pretended the entire class was just non-playable characters in a video game soundlessly waiting to see what developed. My body shrank down to the size of a pinto bean as Mrs. Hoiga hovered over me threateningly, crossing her toned arms.

"Is this true, Maxine? Did you spill Chloe's container of glue?"

My body seemed to shrink even smaller, if that was even humanely possible. I began to say no, but then I noticed Chloe silently crying beside the growing puddle of glue. A burst of sympathy rushed through me as I said, "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up right away."

I ignored the looks of pity my classmates were giving me as they exited out the classroom for Lunch, using the mop the janitor handed me to completely sanitize the floor from any glue residue. While the teacher hovered outside the door talking to another teacher, I pretended the mop was a pirate sword and started swiping the air with the wooden end of the mop. Then I pretended a pirate appeared in front of me, holding my parents hostage.

"Die, evil scoundrel! I'll take me pirate ***** back, if you don't mind. And my ship." I mumbled quietly to myself, stabbing the captain in the chest with the wooden sword, and watched as he sank into the ocean depths. "At least my parents won't be mad at me now since I saved them from the evil Captain Hook."

"Are you done, Max?" Mrs. Hoiga appeared behind me almost abruptly, making me flinch.

"Yeah. Um, can I eat Lunch now?"

"Tell me something then." She placed her hand on Chloe's desk, and stared over at me with a small smile. It was one of the few times I've ever felt my shoulders relax around her. "I have this feeling that you didn't spill the glue from earlier. Were you trying to take the blame for Chloe or something, Max?"

"No. I-I mean, i-it was just a terrible accident."

"Oh. I was hoping you could be a good influence in Chloe's life, since she is a big trouble maker."

Mrs. Hoiga broke eye contact with me immediately after finishing her statement, and started scribbling out a clean sentence out onto the chalkboard. My task was to write her sentence down twenty times down the page as my punishment while I dug into my prepared lunchbox: "I must not use other student's items without their permission."

Once I held up the paper towards Mrs. Hoiga, she snatched it out of my hand resuming her normal ****** attitude. "I won't tell your parents what happened, but let's not have this happen again, alright?"

"Okay."

That seemed to be the last conversation I was going to have at school. Or so I thought. On my way out through the double doors, I slammed into another student who dropped their half-zipped up binder spilling the majority of the contents inside out. Folders, graded papers, homework, pens, and a pencil pouch coated with stickers.

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” That’s when I realized it was Chloe who I bumped into, and I started gathering her stuff for her in a seemingly awkward lapse of silence that followed her statement afterwards. “I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus like that. That was wrong.”

When Chloe looked up at me, her frown seemed to deepen. “It’s okay. Thank you for apologizing.”

I noticed her notebook laying open with a crayon-based sketch of a butterfly on one of the pages when she quickly closed it. Her face reddened as she stuffed it into her polka-dotted backpack. “We’re neighbors, yet we’re already getting off on the wrong foot.”

“I consider us friends.” I said, walking out to the front of the school with Chloe lagging behind me by several feet. “Come on, I wanna show you this spot I found before your parents come to pick you up.”

“Well…I guess I have time.”

I roped my arm through Chloe’s, and our footsteps naturally synchronized as we walked over to the outdoor garden area within the school ground with the large red bench centered in the middle. Flowers and bushels blossomed here, giving this place a more intimate vibe. “Woah, this is so cool.”

“Some of the staff eat lunch here, but I sneak over here to wait for my parents to pick me up in this spot. I can never sneak into this area whenever it comes time for lunch.” I perched down on the seat while Chloe settled for the top of the bench as her chair. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

“Taking a seat. Have a seat by me. If we’re gonna do this, we might as well enjoy it while we still can.”

“Nobody has ever found out about this place…besides me.”

Chloe stared at me with this strange expression. I couldn’t pick a good word to describe the complicated emotion that ran through her face, but it was like she was trying to hide the fact that she was startled. Then she rummaged through her bag before plucking out the notebook I found earlier.

“Nobody has ever found out about the doodles that I draw. At least, until you came along.”  

There were drawings inside of what looked to be butterflies, birds, and moths. And for a six year old, she wasn't half-bad. “Why is it all doodles of winged animals?”

“I want to be able to fly. That’s what I want my super power to be.” Then Chloe smiled for the first time towards me, and it was almost like I was being drawn in captivity with this girl. There's something about her that gives me the feeling that she's going to change my life drastically.

The moment ended with my Dad's car honk nearby the garden. "I have to go."

"Hold on."

Chloe ripped out one of the crayon doodles in her notebook, folded it up, and placed it in the palm of my hand. "I want you to have this as a commemoration of our new friendship. I hope you'll take it."

"Of course, Chloe."

Feeling like I was running through clouds, I dashed towards the source of the car horn to see my Dad grinning over at me as I jumped into the passenger seat of his truck. "Hey, kiddo. How was school?"

I craned my head to see Chloe waving wildly at me as she walked over towards a beige-colored van with a handsome blonde-haired guy saying something to Chloe in the vehicle. "It looks like something happened at school today. Care to tell your old man about it?"

"I made a new friend. You know Chloe Price, the girl who lives next door?"

"Your Mom talks to Joyce and William Price more than I do. Unfortunately, I don't know a lot about Chloe besides the fact that she's a little bit rebellious. Promise me you won't turn out the same way."

"I won't. Promise."

We settled into a comfortable silence, a country song softly humming through the stereo in the car. It was a moment later when I unfolded the contents of the ripped notebook page slowly. The picture Chloe handed me was nothing other than a crayon-based sketch of a blue and purple colored butterfly.

When she was born she was my world.
My daughter Chloe always glowed,
With her around time always slowed,
After 5 years of marriage my wife passed away,
Chloe was born and I had little left,
No pity…no sorrow can fill my feeling of the hollows.
Every night I howl at the moon,
Baby Chloe clanged to my chest to keep my comfort,
The strong alpha weakened by the past.

Chloe grew as time went on,
When she was five I bumped into things more often,
Unaware and oblivious of their non-living nature I’d say excuse me,
Humble and edgy I’d tilt my head to watch my daughter smile and amuse me.

At ten she had reminded me so much of her mother and so came the lost of half my sight.
I could no longer see light with one eye,
I didn’t tell chloe and she never asked,
I’d always tell her stories of her brave mother and her strong dad,
The thing is angels with broken wings can no longer take off.

On May 5th…I woke up.
I could only spot darkness and my eyes wouldn’t adjust,
I thought my eyes had to have been closed and getting them open was a must,
Today was Chloe’s 15th birthday … I can’t go blind today.

When I felt the sunlight I began to tear,
The whole time I sat up… I had felt someone in the room very near,
I teared right before they began to sob,
I heard Chloe’s hurt voice say “did you forget? Daddy?”,
Silent I had hoped my tears stopped,
Sickened….I had hoped.
Chloe hugged me and for the following 5 decades I had hoped to see her face before my time came to an end.
“My baby…Chloe…I tell you this now but since then…I knew I wouldn’t ever live to SEE another day.”

May 5th, 2050…..Chloe’s father passes away.

THE SUPER SONNET
(14 syllables by 14 lines)



I want to beat up Jimmy Olsen and take all his cash
Leave him left for dead it's all inside my head; a gas
Explosion would take care of the rest and then I would have
Her all to myself the prettiest girl in the world

I'd kick his legs with steel-toed shoes like the referees kid
Did to all the star players way back when we were all kids
Man she looks like she could give eine bier some head, Superman
She looks hotter than a ******* Pet/Playmate, Superman

Come on, let me fly away with Chloe you'll save a lot
more men.  Believe me when I say she's got that rack of lamb
Roast of beef man  She's one sweet piece of meat Yeah that Chloe
She is the Smallville star by far that takes away my heart

Fly away with me Chloe  Fly away with me Chloe
Fly away with me Chloe  Fly away with me Chloe

Dreamology: Chloe continues to have dreams after a girl named Max, saving her life over and over. AU where Max and Chloe never met, and Max still has her powers. Chloe’s POV.
_______________

Prologue August 8th, 2013:

“Dare to visualize a world in which your most treasured dreams have become true. – Ralph Marston”

Lightning crackled stentoriously in the bleak gray sky. That wasn’t the first thing I registered. It was the rain nipping at my exposed skin as I pushed myself off the ground. The winds were vigorous and unrelenting as I pushed my blue hair back into my beanie. The strands kept on flinging itself into my vision, making me stumble slightly. Working my legs to climb up the hill, I finally made it to the top where a girl sat at the bench looking down into her lap. Directly in front of her was the largest ******* tornado I’ve ever seen. It was a ******* behemoth.

I gripped onto her shoulder roughly. “What the **** are you doing? There’s a storm right there!”

I pointed at the monster of a whirlwind, her head slowly turning towards me. The side view of the girl made it apparent that she was actually very cute. Her high cheekbones were peppered with freckles, her curved lips like something made out of calligraphy, her nose as small as a button, her long and feminine eyelashes were one of the few things that stuck out to her. “Chloe, I don’t want to lose you.”

A loud snap aroused me from my nap when I noticed a ruler was less than two centimeters from my face. Pushing myself off the desk, I looked into the face of Ms. Grant who didn’t look pleased. “Napping in class, huh? Pay attention, Price, some of this material will be on your upcoming quiz.”

Wobbling back up to the board like a penguin, I pressed my knuckles against the bottom of my chin pretending to look vaguely interested in Ms. Grant’s boring science lesson. Truth was, my mind was reeling the events of that dream. Who was that girl? Why do I keep on having dreams about her?

Rachel – as expected – was trying her best not to giggle so much as to cause interruption. For some reason, her laughter was going undetected by Ms. Grant. Pulling out my phone from under my desk, I sent Rachel a quick angry text.

Chloe: i c u laughing *******. r we gonna fite 1v1? 12:22 pm
Rachel: figured you would either skip this class or sleep the entire day. looks like it’s the latter. 12:24 pm
Chloe: yea i’m going to body slam you after class. just u wait. 12:25pm
Rachel: bet you won’t. you will probably hit your head on something. 12:27pm

I grabbed one of the graded worksheets that Ms. Grant gave back to us, balled it up slowly, and threw it at Rachel’s head when Ms. Grant was turned around. Her blonde hair whipped around to face me, her eyes screaming, “THIS MEANS WAR.” Quickly, she threw it back before awkwardly turning around to face Ms. Grant who hovered in front of Rachel’s desk. “Rachel, let’s talk after class.”
ooo

“You’re such a bad influence on me.” Rachel joked, her hair up in a towel bun. All she was wearing was the Otters swim suit, a heavy jacket, and the towel. Her tanned legs seemed to shine with leftover droplets of chlorine water. “My eyes are up here, Chloe.”

“No wonder why guys hit on you at those swim meets.”

“Chloe Price, are you flirting with me?” Rachel laughed, taking out a box of cigarettes out of her jacket. She gave one to me, which I graciously accepted. “It’s kind of irritating. Kind of like when you’re at your job, and some **** bag decides to come in and be an *******. I don’t need that ****.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Look, Rachel. It sounds crazy, but I keep on having that ******* tornado dream.

For the past few days, my friend has been sick.
He hasn't been able to eat or drink without anything staying down.
It's gotten worse.
He's been stuck in the bed.
He was asked if he wanted to go to the hospital,
and he said no.
I feel like if I would have known,
He would be alive.
It could have only taken one conversation to change his mind,
Now he's dead,
and I want to go with him.
My friend Chloe sent me that in a text message.
She's going through depression.
She blames herself for her best friends death,
Because she couldn't get in contact with him.
She hasn't been at school for 4 days.
She's not answering anyones phone calls,
So I text her:
Chloe,
Now i'm in your shoes.
Your'e my best friend.
Don't slay your soul because a part of your life has disappeared,
I still need you,
Like you needed him.
Even though he is no longer here,
I can be your comfort zone.
This feeling should not choke hold your final decision,
Visions of your grave should not flash before your eyes,
Your'e only 17 and your epitaph should not be created yet.
Don't cut your life-line because his phone line is disconnected,
I'll be at the other end.
Instead of popping pills, lets pop conversations everyday,
I'll be your anti-depressant.
Life is too short for you to cut your life short because your best friend is dead.
I walked in your shoes,
Now it's time for you to do the same for me.
Tighten the laces,
and see how it feels when your best friend tells you she wants to die.
Chloe,
I was able to have this conversation with you.
I pray that it changes your mind because,
Losing a best friend,
Over losing a best friend,
Isn't worth it.

October 11, 2013 -*
Chloe's POV
____________

“Wonderland looks like a ******* acid trip.” I mentioned, while Hayden silently dragged me along pressing his fingers so roughly into the skin of my arm that I could feel my pulse surge through my arm. “Come on, don't tell me you don't think the same.”

“Where is Alice?”

I pointed towards the cage, containing one of the seven princesses. “There.”

Hayden took off his hood, and stepped up to the podium to stare at Queen *****. Oops, I meant the Queen of Hearts. Her square face and extremely large lips coated in a ruby waxy color along with the bad contouring made her look like a drunk housewife who hates her kids. “Who are you? How dare you interfere with my court!”

“What if I find you the real culprit? Will you let Alice go?”

“That's hogwash. Find me proof, then we'll talk.” The Queen of Hearts yelled in her unnecessarily loud and booming voice, startling even Hayden's hardass personality.

The solitaire card guards stood at bay, wielding their weapons at their sides. One of the guards locked the gate, and threw the key up towards the queen who spun the key ring around her finger. Hayden stepped back, gripping my arm forcefully again. “Dude, can't you loosen up?”

Hayden huffed. “Shut the **** up. If you don't follow my orders –”

“You'll do what? **** me? I thought you needed my soul to enter the Final Keyhole.”

Hayden tensed up the muscles in his hands around my arm, literally dragging me along with him. The moment we entered the forest, he loosened his grip on me slightly as he walked forward mumbling something about wanting to have me on a leash.

“Yeah, because I'm literally a *****. Get it?”

Hayden threw me up against the wall, pressing his balled up fist beside my face. His nose was nearly touching mine as he gave me a humorless look. I could basically see the evil in his eyes. “You're not ******* funny. After we open up the Final Keyhole, I'll finally be able to ******* get rid of you. All you are to me is ******* trash. Do you understand that?”

I spit a loogie in his face. “Get off of me, *******.”

Before I could react, he took out his keyblade and slashed up my left arm drawing a lot of blood. With gritted teeth, I said, “You – You will never ******* open up the Final Keyhole. Not without me.”

My body started losing consciousness almost immediately, and I felt my body drop down onto the forest floor. If looks could ****, I would have been dead the moment Organization XIII captured me three weeks ago. Finally, the darkness swallowed me and I welcomed it's homely embrace.

“There's a legend behind those paopu fruit: If two people share one, their destinies become intertwined. They'll remain a part of each other's lives no matter what. I've always wanted to try it."  Max mentioned, putting her bare feet into the water.

“You know legends are basically myths passed down over generations?”

She looked over towards me with this soft gaze in her face, and I felt the air ****** out of me as the sun hit her azure blue eyes the right way. “I know it sounds stupid, but I want to do it sometime.”

“Grab me the axe out the shed, Max. We're gonna chop down one of these trees.”

“Are you kidding me?” Max had this worried look on her face, and I rolled my eyes.

“Yes. Come on, slowpoke. We're losing daylight here.”

A few minutes passed as I soaked my feet in the salt water, and I laid down in the sand whenever I was met with Max who held the axe above me. I flinched, and sat up quickly. “You scared me.”

“Give me the axe.” She handed it to me, and we raced each other to the top of the lighthouse. Of course, Max was faster since I was lugging around this dense axe. When we made it to the tree, I started swinging the axe into the tree. I got tired super quickly, since we basically raced each other. “This activity takes so much energy out of me. You and I shouldn't have raced up here.”

“It was fun. Let me try.” Max grabbed the axe from me, and swung with slightly more force than I did. After several of Max's swings, we watched the tree start leaning towards the water.

“You're doing it, Max!”

“Max the Axe Queen!” I shook my head grinning as the tree finally groaned, spintered, and collapsed off the top of the hill of the lighthouse crashing into the waters below. “Oh no...”

“I'll get it.” I nodded. “I'm a good swimmer.”

As I swam over towards the crash site, I noticed that the tree has gotten caught on the gap between one of the rocks so the leaves of the tree and some of the fruits were still showing. I was surprised that the stems of the paopu fruits stayed on. “I found the *****!”

“Chloe!”*

Immediately, I recall that Max never called for me. I swam back to shore, right? Her shrill voice rang in the air louder. Then it became deafeningly loud. That's when I felt fabric wrapped around my arm. My finger twitched as I started to realize that Max was screaming my name. “– And you don't understand anything. You're just a weak kid with a keyblade.”

“I may be weak, but my heart is strong.”

“Then show me that you're strong, because all I see is a hopeless girl saturated with optimism. Like you can do anything with those doormats you call your sidekicks.” I struggled to open my eyes, eventually peeking out. This was the first time I was looking at Max Caulfield in five years, and she looked ******* furious as she held the keyblade.

“Don't you dare talk about my friends like that!”

“Try and ******* stop me, you twig.”

Her eyes immediately flickered towards me, and I did the shushing motion with my lips when I weakly pointed up towards Hayden. She looked back at Hayden, positioning herself. With all of the strength in my body, I kicked Hayden in the back of his knees making him collapse over me. “What the hell?”

Quickly, I crawled out when he grabbed at my leg. “Get back here, *****!”

Max sprinted towards Hayden, her keyblade drawn and positioned to attack Hayden when he blocked Max with his own. This gave me enough time to crawl out of his grip. Two keyblades, something I've never seen before, came forth from Hayden's hands as I ran towards Max's side, throwing out my hand to manifest my sword. My heart was beating against my chest as I pressed my back up against Max's. “Good to see you again, Max.”

“Same here. Distract him, I'm going to heal you.”

Then it was my turn to fight Hayden, who looked furious. Max healed my wound in the background as I ran from Hayden. With Hayden equipped with two swords and knowing he is dexterous with both his left and right hand, defense was very difficult on my part. Eventually, he kept on throwing slashes over at me and that's all I could do. “Come on, Max. I'm basically blocking here.”

While Hayden was occupied by me, he noticed Max was building up a fire attack which he quickly darted towards the left as the flames hit a tree in the forest. The tree slowly started building up a fire as Max and I started clashing swords with Hayden. At one point, he swiped Max towards the ground and pinned me up against one of the burning trees. “You better back the ******* right now.”

“You're ******* scared, aren't you?” I yelled at Hayden's face, who pressed the keyblade against my neck. Everything started feeling uncomfortably hot, especially the sweat that ran down my face. My eyes glanced over towards Max, who quickly ran off towards the fruit upstairs.

“Where did that ***** Max go?”

Hayden spotted Max eating the fruit high in the tree, and his face went pale. Max slowly started growing in size, and that delay was enough time for me to run from Hayden. Once Max was at full size, she grabbed Hayden like a ******* teddy graham. “Leave my friends alone.”

She crushed him in her fingers, and his body shattered into billions of pieces. After checking that he was executed properly, she wiped her fingers on her shirt. “Woah, Max. That was ******* awesome.”

“Let me get down on your level first.” Max joked, grabbing the fruit out of the tree. Once Max shrank back to normal size, the blonde haired girl with wings had came over to heal my arm injuries with her keyblade. As Max approached me, I felt my heart jolt once I saw how big the smile was on her face.

****, she's ******* attractive now.

“Cards! Find whoever made this mess, and exterminate them. Off with their heads!” The familiar booming voice of Queen ***** interrupted my thoughts, and for once, I was thankful to hear such a nasally and unattractive voice.

"Oh ****!" Max whisper-screamed, grabbing my hand.

We ran towards the tea party set up yet abandoned by Alice and her friends, and hid under the table as we heard the Queen's voice, followed by the clapping footsteps of the Solitaire Cards.

“So are you going to introduce me to your friends?” I whispered to Max who was at my side, nudged her in her arm.

“Maybe later, when we're not stuck under a ******* table.” She gently grabbed my arm, and I noticed her touch greatly contrasted with Hayden's rough one. I excused that thought as soon as it ran through my head, silencing our breathing as the cards marched through the abandoned tea party. It must have been fifteen minutes of cards patrolling the area making sure it was clear before we crawled out.

I wiped the grass off my pants when Max threw her arms around me in the process. “Max, you're a ninja. That was some quick thinking. You're still smart.”

“I missed you.” Max buried her nose into my collar bones, curling her arms around me and pressing me close to her. I could feel her heart beating rapidly from the leftover adrenaline from the fight. Almost immediately, I returned the favor throwing my arms around her neck. Something about her smelled sweet, and I allowed myself a moment of peace and serenity with my best friend.

“I missed you too, Max.” Max tightened her grip on my shirt as I tried pulling back. “What?”

“Chloe, I've been looking for you for years now. I thought you were dead.” Max was crying, but from the way she was smiling, I could tell that it was tears of joy. Something in me blossomed as I pulled her into my chest again. “It's just...I'm so glad to see you.”

“Yeah. Same here.” Eventually, she let go, and I turned towards Max's friends. “Sorry for that. Looks like my best friend can't keep her hands off me. I'm Chloe Price.”

Warren and Kate both shook Chloe's eager hand. “Come on, Chloe. We have to leave before the cards find us and try to **** me.”

“Lead the way, Max.”

oh god, oh god! that dump felt: just about as good as a zeppelin droping bombs over london... i managed to feel a vindaloo up my **** at the end of it! magic.

ever heard of huskies?
                                                                             no?
        my godmother is a huskie...
she's a doctor, she sometimes didn't shave
her legs: or that was my initial bewilderment
when i was playing video games
i.e. *porsche challenge on PS1...
and that's donkey's years ago...
        but she was a huskie...
                       she was a woman with a deep
voice...
                  but this is in another culture
and i'm sitting here, watching western culture
and thinking: well **** me! no problem
with the genital removals...
   but who the **** is going to reconstruct your
jaw-line?
                you can't fake a femenine jaw
from a man's jaw... nor the hands...
     that's why i sometimes think my **** is
tiny... but then i can hold a basketball in one hand,
that means: pick it up with one hand...
   that's why i always said... the sexiest part
of a woman's body? her hand(s).
           i can't believe i'm going to name these
people, but given my godmother's husky voice
i think i should... on a matter of principle:
and yeah, i sometimes speak like i've been castrated,
even though i smoke tobacco my voice should
be deep... all the time... i sometimes resonate:
like an angel... when i'm being pretty pretty, nice;
   how the **** are you going to reconstruct
the jaw so that i don't think you are?
                      self-conscious about your larynx?
that's not even sad, that's prompt for: me being
inquisitive... given my godmother (the doctor)
who spoke like she spoke...
                                 em... chloe arden?
    what the **** is this huskie playing at?
               blaire white... oh 'ere we go, another huskie...
i'm not laughing... you look into those eyes
and you know something is a "tad" bit iffy...
            i get it... you think you sound like a "man"
sometimes... and i get it: i sometimes sound like
i've been licked in the ***** by a karate kick...
    and that has happened to me one...
            i was doing this course in some specific
interest area... and i was signalled out
  because i wasn't shouting when i was moving forward
doing kick! chop! kick! chop! ha! ya(h)!
                    sensai was away, and this white geek
took over the class... he said: you have to shout
while moving! i was like: no...
           what the hell does he do? kicks me in the *****...
clap clap... well done you ******* ******.
          you don't do that sort of thing in boxing
for ****'s sake... that's a no go zone...
             if he even gained a black belt in the art...
he'd be excomunnicated there and then...
                             you a ******* woman or something?
*****.
                 yeah, i realised that, i have this delay
button... something happened to me 15 years ago
and i'm only writing about it now... it's a bit like Proust
on stereoids... i'm not gay enough to remember
eating: that "special" macaroon.
   like i said:
         these girls are huskies...
                         i know because my godmother
is a husky...
                               it's self-consciousness in the extreme...
get kicked in the ***** and you'll start wearing
post- / anti- transgender spectacles...
        no matter what you tell me... that jaw line and
those plump cheeks with the missing cheek bones
that's characteristic of women... mmm...
             you have a better magic trick? 'cos'
this one isn't working on me (ref. the two stated examples);
o.k., and my godmother.

Chloe's POV:

2 Days Before -

“If I find you camping, I swear to god, Chloe ******* Price –“ Rachel challenges, “– I’m drawing blood. Don’t grin at me. I’ll leave you for the vultures to snack on. Maybe for cannibals too.”

“**** me with a plastic light up gun? How threatening.”

You know when you’re listening to the instructor reciting the rules for the game of laser tag for the nine thousandth time, and there’s the teenager ******* around in the background with guns? That’s me and Rachel, who holds a gun up to my face and makes a reference to the Star Wars Family Guy episode where the storm trooper pretends to shoot down passerby ships by saying, “Pew, pew, gotcha!”

Both team vests, red and blue, are occupied so it’s a full game. Even though we were one of the last people to come in, we managed to get opposite colored vests. Rachel is on the red team, while I’m on the opposing blue team. Only natural since the vest matches my hair color.

When the instructor opens the door, the crowd piles out into the room booming Irresistible by Fall Out Boy. Rachel and I are one of the last ones out, holding our guns up towards the sky as we walk in feeling like we’re walking away from a huge explosion acting like we’re James Bond. As the vocals of the song begin, the red and blue vests come to life beginning the game.

“Pew, pew, gotcha!” Rachel coyly replies, rushing off as my vest dies.

Insert groan here. I roll my eyes, darting quickly after Rachel as my vest comes back to life. Rachel ducks down behind a purple glowing pillar, holding her gun out from behind it to shoot me as I come up the stairs. “Your shooting is so messy, you idiot.”

Someone takes out Rachel’s vest, and my vest is taken out immediately after hers. What a way to start this game. “******* it.”

“Have you even gotten anyone yet?” She yells as she darts off.

A group of kids in red vests come upstairs. I shoot at the vests from the second story, and they glance up angrily at me as their vests die. They invade my hiding space shortly after, and I’m forced to flee over to the other side of the arena into one of the walled-off areas with a hole to shoot out of, specifically for campers and for recharging vests. Immediately, I crash into somebody who drops their gun and grabs my arms instinctively because of how hard I slam into them, pushing me back gently. “Are you okay?”

The short-haired brunette girl I run into is drop-dead gorgeous, freckles peppering her cheeks. As usual, I don’t think before I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Woah.”

“You’re making this too easy for me.” The girl comments, shooting out my glowing blue vest quickly after grabbing her gun and steps around me to find another hiding place. *******, I think, what hierarchy of angels did you come from? Why didn’t I notice you before I walked into this laser tag room?

Right. Because I’m on a date with Rachel. Or at least, I’m trying to convince myself that’s what this is. Five days ago, Rachel kissed me while she was drunk mostly because someone suggested the Pocky game at Dana’s nineteenth birthday party. I can see Rachel’s face coming closer to mine as she chomps down on the chocolate Pocky sticks oblivious to the closeness that I was to her face, and I feel her lips crashing with mine for a split second. It feels like I give her the entire world in that kiss, but she pulls back like it was nothing.

How am I the only one who remembers that?

I have to retreat from my camping spots a few times, but I get enough vests taken out that Rachel is guaranteed to say something like, “Oh, you got a pretty good amount of people in this round.”

Ghost by Halsey starts booming through the arena, and practically everyone must be thinking why a song like this is playing because it's slow at first but it reverberates through the bass.

“You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” Brunette-haired princess holds me at gunpoint. "Any last words?"

Again, I don’t think before I speak. "You're hella cute."

The brunette girl's vest dies as I shoot at her immediately after, and she shoots mine out shortly after hers turns on. Her doe-like eyes are staring at me angrily in a playful manner, yet also glistening like stars. There's something about her that makes me feel like she sees a universe inside of me.

The music briskly cuts off, and everyone stops in their tracks and fumbles out. Rachel and that girl get lost in the red and blue blur of lights as the arena starts emptying.

It isn't until I come outside that I find Rachel holding a slip of paper. "What was your name, Chloe? I was Rocket, and I got eighth place."

"Starlight, I'm pretty sure?"

"You got seventeenth. Knew it." Rachel joked. "You were camping."

Focus on the here and now, Chloe. You have to ask Rachel about your relationship with her. Stop procrastinating. Rachel's face drops in confusion as I drop the bomb on her. "Can we talk?"

Max's Journal:

2 Days Before-

Wowser. Felt like just yesterday, I got an email for my acceptance into Blackwell Academy on a scholarship. And now I’m an adult, graduated, with a potential photographer job under my belt.

With events such as graduation, it should feel vaguely melancholic but Blackwell Academy is an eye-catcher in my resume. My dexterity with analog and digital cameras catches the eye of a professional photographer named Jack Rousseau working for Hot Topic, and he asked me for an interview. ME.

When I got the email, I practically leaped into Kate’s room gushing over this rare opportunity to work with a professional. I think Victoria overheard me loudly discussing this to Kate, because she was giving me the stink eye all throughout my ceremony from the other day. Whatever. Victoria will eventually earn her spotlight…in hell. I snorted writing that actually, and blushed furiously remembering I’m on a pretty packed bus. Probably got people looking at me like, “Is she okay?”

The first thing my Mom does when she sees me is give me a bone-crushing hug, and compliment my outfit even though it’s a tank top with a large dream catcher printed on the front with my loose green jacket overlapping the shirt with the sleeves pulled up to my elbows. She asks about Mr. Jefferson, and I think I over emphasize how I’m his star pupil. I’m pretty sure Mom gets it after trying to explain that to her several times.

The house smells like spaghetti, and I’m already drooling like a baby when I walk through the front door.
Then Mom randomly hands me a 50$ bill, and tells me to go hang out with one of my Seattle friends since I must miss the crap out of them.

I accidentally say, “What the hell?” in front of Mom. Funny thing is, she doesn’t wash my mouth out with soap. I must be too old for things like that. Maybe this is what a perk is of growing up, I think.

“Come on, go have fun!” Mom practically pushes me out the door, not before letting me have some of her World-Famous spaghetti. Mmmmm. As I jump into my Mom’s vehicle, I realize I don’t know where the **** to go or who to contact so I head to the first place I can think of: Laser tag.

As I sit out in the parking lot, I text Kristen or Fernando to see if they want to hang out here. Usually, Kristen will text back immediately but there’s no response. Fernando seems to be busy, so I head inside myself and buy myself a wrist band for laser tag alone. Who says you need to be with other people to have fun? I’m an expert at laser tag. They call me the best shooter in the northwest.

The instructor looks overwhelmed at the thirty or so people flooding the room, and attempts to talk at the loudest pitch possible to get everyone in the room to listen to the instructions. Of course, there’s giggles happening somewhere over all of these tall and short bodies so I get the jist of it: No running, pushing, fighting, and yelling. We all know there’s running and yelling going to happen.

As I run in, I immediately head for the stairs as my rest vest turns on. Someone shoots me from behind, and I notice it’s a group of kids. Then I decide to camp out in a corner, at least, until I get caught.

I bring out my gun and shoot out three blue vests on the other side of the laser tag arena. The air gets knocked out of me, plus my gun flies out of my hand as someone falls into me. My hands instinctively grab their arms, pushing them off me when I glance up at her face, suddenly startled.

“Woah.” She says, and I feel like lightning passes through both of us as I let go of her arms.

Immediately, I shoot out her vest, rushing off to find somewhere else to hide. My body is racing with adrenaline, and it’s a little hard to concentrate on the game because I’m trying to look for blue hair. In this packed arena of thirty people, it’s easy to get lost in the blur of red and blue lights. It’s easy to see the lights blend into purple.

It’s ironic when Ghost by Halsey starts playing because the first few lines is literally making me think of blue hair: “I’m searching for something that I can’t reach. I don't like them innocent. I don't want no face fresh. Want them wearing leather begging, let me be your taste test. I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies…”

****.

I find her tucked in a corner, mimicking me. And she’s gorgeous. I’m not sure why I am looking for her, but I am. “You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” I jokingly hold her at gunpoint. “Any last words?"

What comes out of her mouth leaves me off guard. “You're hella cute."

My vest goes out as she shoots me, and I shoot her back giving her a playful glare. And then something happens between us again, and it’s that jolt of lightning passing through both of us. The music cuts out, and I tear my eyes from the stranger and run out of the laser tag room by myself.

Once I get outside, I check my texts from Fernando and Kristen. Since they’re not replying, I decide to head on home, but my heart is still beating rapidly in my chest. And I’m not sure if it’s because of the game or blue hair.

alone .
strong, wise, driven, loyal.
He has lived and loved,
and chosen to be alone until something better comes along.
something better than physical love.

He found what he was looking for.
Her soul was vibrant and beautiful;
a goddess muse.
She kissed him and knew it not;
her naked words and firm young flesh of substance splashed bravely across the page excited him...
his wealth of wisdom and experience mocked him for falling in love with a soul ...

the old man had a need to feed,
she was a hungry young goddess needing to be fed.
Where is her champion? Who cares for this young sprite?
He reminded himself again that it was only her soul,
but still, he touched himself... saying her name to make it a little more real, "Chloe," he whispered.
Then he listened ... just in case.

My name is chloe
but you can call me liz

I changed my name becasue chloe
isnt the girl you thought she is
you see chloe
was a diffrent me
kept everything bottlede up so no one will see

that is why i want to change my name from chloe
no one understands liz
but that is because seh's not fake
no one cares about liz
because she pushes the people she loves away
liz isnt suicidal
because liz doesnt care

liz is who i am now
but chloe will always be there

this will make sense in the end, or at least along the way... a modern version of the Ruben's judgement of Paris, although if you watch the debate, the mediator already insinuates the "confusion": to my left or to my right, ha ha, left to right, right to left, 1st 3rd 2nd... that's putting it mildly, if i were Paris i'd have given the apple of knowing to Hera, queen of the goddesses... naomi wolf... beauty is in the eye of the beholder... and your phallus in the hand of... mhmm... softer than the flesh of an oyster at the end of the day... they did say once in times just after Pericles: make my inner as beautiful as my outer, and my outer as beautiful as my inner... then take art as not representing images: or the "shallow" arguments... any man would have given the apple to the intellectual Aphrodite (karen straughan)... we all know that antigone darling is Athena: who speaks so little you start to equate wisdom to be a distant synonym of needing courage to engage with a plebiscite crowd... oh don't give that prize to her: she'll probably tongue-tie herself and will never be able to speak into a microphone, the intellectual Aphrodite knows all too well the conundrum... it's the cougar attired in crimson that fuels the whole debate... she doesn't need to have inner beauty, you phallus is already shouting 'sir! yes sir!' at the drill sergeant anyways... you take Aphrodite as a paradoxical beauty, namely that of long conversations and not long interludes of ******* and baking cookies... you'll leave Aphrodite confused... i once heard an English motto: don't take for a wife a woman that's too attractive... that wasn't intended to be within the bias of intellect, i mean a beautiful woman within the bias of being able to manage a harem of 72 male virgins... well **** yeah, artists leave clues, whether knowing or unknowing... they're working from triangles, poets end up writing from Δ, they obscure textures and antonyms of what appears to be monochromatic, we say: red, crimson, burgundy in x-ray confines... the point being: there's no intellectual debate to be had with someone representative metaphorically or not of Hera... you can't have a Parisian fashion week catwalk where you find dehydrated beauty on the outside and an anorexic ego on the inside... what you find in Hera is a volume (voluptuousness) on the inside, within which there's a leech libido that transgresses all demands for intellect... unless it's pistons-well-oiled orientated... please, read some Marquis... if you get an ******* having read a few of his works: you're qualified - or as i like to call it: neo-classical *******... ever masturbated over Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time? well, if you haven't i guess **** ******* and gang-banging is your outlet: mine are pictures of Aria Giovanni and Chloe Vevraire (googlewhack no. 3!): Chloe Vevrier... but if you're never done the Odysseus pokes fun at Polyphemus... yep: the ghost hand: nobody!


you know, you can cram a lot into a 30 hour "day",
which results in the complete erosion
for the capacity to dream afterwards,
to actually work from the unconscious and create
a subconscious medium vector that connects
to points of consciousness: 30+ hours awake,
however many hours asleep, and then awake again
for another 30+ "day" to digest...
the classical definition of the subconscious, in theory,
is that you get plenty of sleep,
and it's a bit like that schematic A x B (algebraic)
A knows x     and B knows x...
   something mutual acknowledgment
via the same schematic but
A knows x, B knows x,
A knows that B knows x,
A knows that B knows that A knows x,
   which is all very Aristotelian to be frank,
it's this hyperlogic of having to acquire
great technological feats and reduce such
complexities to cat-videos on the internet as
the Egyptian partake in the genius that actually
made it possible... the slogan goes
Moses, you fool! said Nefertiti...
    so B knows x and knows that A knows x
and knows that A knows that B knows x
and B knows it's not necessarily anywhere
alphabetically less, even though the French said
a, b, c... which was very imperial of them,
that's the imperial version of what the mathematical
imperialism proved with the English inches, miles
and furlongs... but in this French case of imperialism
it wasn't a e i o u, b c d f g h j...
            that's what 30 hours awake does to you,
you wouldn't think of alcohol as a party drink,
a social barrier deconstruct... after 30 hours
you're hoping to meet Vladimir Klitschko on your
way to bed... aye pleasing Cossack, give us a
smacker goodnight... one glove it filled with
whiskey, the other with naproxen and amitriptyline...
boom! k.o. snooze, baby:
you gotta love buddhist honesty...
at least you get to see the bright side of life...
  and if people start thinking that Kant was the harbinger
of ill fate... you obviously haven't met a necromancer...
it was only von Kleist for ****'s sake!
       and he had the American option of a suicide
pact with a terminally ill woman and a bullet from
a pistol in a ditch... you can't get more romantic than that...
and there i was, mid-afternoon, having done a few of
the household chores: the washing, the ironing and
cooking a two-course meal while my mother did
the taxes (seems only mothers understand their sons
these days... women my age?
   ever see David Attenborough describe Emperor
penguins? money was invented for women,
because it brokered the end of the brotherhood of man,
we became famished by feminine needs
and have reduced inherent sports in us (hunting)
to sledgehammer bashing entertainment...
i'm the "drunk" that would rather watch ten hours
worth of ping-pong that tennis...
    i don't know why they resurrect the Olympics
every four years, have a **** coverage of it anyway
and then go back to that Glaswegian diet
of deep-fried pizza and haggis... and i hope to never know,
maybe Sepp Blatter knows...
but that's 30 hours of being awake, and only not
able to relax, by writing...
                 you wouldn't see this sort of "abuse" of
alcohol anywhere in the world...
the Soviet sleep experiment is actually not that silly...
too much sleep can also make you feel the minutes
upon your wake as if you've been stung by a bee...
three of my all time favourite songs?
the stone roses'* i wanna be adored,
    chromatics' cherry,
and finally: i can be forgiven for having missed this,
i got into them seriously with the album aufheben
and didn't really move anywhere else,
the dandy warhol effect got me...
but this song out of obscurity, 20th century technology
translated into mp3 and then onto c.d. and then
back into mp3... a song from an album that doesn't
even appear on their discography...
the brian jonestown massacre's pol ***'s pleasure penthouse,
the song in question? fingertips.
so there's that three...
      but **** on me, i half expected android (2015)
to be like ex_machina (whatever year that was)...
same topic... what the difference between android
cyborg and robot?
                                  aren't robots the proper a.i.?
as in: in production, the thing that's not hand-crafted
is artificially crafted, because it is crafted to a large yield
of a product? isn't that so? i can't distinguish (as of yet)
the difference between android and cyborg, i guess
as a Latin man (a - z user) i have to condescend the Grecian
pompousness of demeaning Hebrews (original anti-semitism
originated in Greece, not Rome, the Romans gave
the Jews not elaborate architectural schemes to abide by
in honour of Octavian, but the supposed pride in Greek
thought, undermined what later science would provide
a Latin man with, given the translation of יחֵוָחֵ,
indeed variables... i once wrote a piece about
the two Adams... namely how אָ (alef)
and עַ (ayin) are prominent letters among consonants,
but no vowel kindred of Eve is equal...
or how Eve is covered in both mainstream Islam
and orthodox Judaism... and Christianity is
a Rastafarian dream for more jerky reggae reggae...
they never sing down with Rome, judgement upon
Rome... they always sing about Babylon...
well, polytheistic or poly-schismatic,
it's all Hindu from hereon in - apart from that
here's a very tiny heresy... is that yod he vav he
or is it yod he vav het?
         there is a difference, afterall:
he (ה)        and het (חֵ) obviously differ... oh!
xet!                   god this garden is a mess,
               i guess the fruit of knowing good from evil
was intended to say: till the land, deforest,
learn agriculture... that's good, the **** you do to each
other... well: that's hardly a tonne of grain...
but they so alike though, even when you apply a noun
to these two symbols!
  could have said he xet but instead it's known as he het:
no wonder the Hittites came along for a curious look...
mind you, had not a prominent Roman, a centurion,
asked for help... we'd be prudish in runic from the northern
invaders... so thankfully no one within the Roman confines
of encoding sounds didn't have the bright spark idea
of looking at the very tiny little island of Israel and that
four lettered word and how it became known
to say o = omicron, ε = epsilon and γ = gamma,
   and cutting those things apart leaving only letter
having done plastic surgery on the noun that denotes the
letter that's denoted by the symbol, rearranged it
and got the idea of εγo: ****** marvellous!
- this is not brian pallenberg's story about the pleasure
penthouse album...
but you know what really got me in those 30 hours:
day, night, day, night: a NHLF debate between
naomi wolf, karen straughan & antigone darling,
the part where karen makes the point that
once upon a time men who beat their wives
in Scotland were publicly whipped (dhaal,
straugan), and if they were beaten-up instead by
their wives, a plebiscite of good-wishers would turn up
at the house and apply the Freudian theory of
a castration to the man, bang pots and pans,
and then in public display him having to ride on a
donkey backwards, having to hold the donkey's tail
for stability...
     see that woman in red in that debate? a true political
man-eating beast of ***** readied in atom bomb
explosions... the one next to her isn't wearing any tights...
unconsciously you're thinking: i like her french freestyle
of not having shaved her legs... the smart one is wearing
jeans and she looks oh so desperate to get out...
    the discussion doesn't even enter the realm of ideas...
hen-picking is discussed... all poetry ascribed to language
is gone... is it politically correct to ascribe the sexuality
of female chickens with the word hen to women?
behind me in Blackpool stag-dos (dos? no does...
there isn't even a ******* spelling for that phrase...
hen-nights and the inflatable Juan)...
well obviously your mind is working out why you'd
**** the middle 'un right away... she doesn't say divorcee
which is so "unsexy" but say she's a mum twice,
a mum, a single mum... polly wants a *******...
her address is new york city? ******! i'm heading there,
right now! can a white guy use urban colloquial
in the suburbs on a piece of pixel paper, which he claims
is mere the cartesian extension of his thought
and disinterest in rhetorical skills? i hope so...
it's not like herr adolf wrote a disclaimer saying:
read this or a thousand volts up your ****!
that really was a constipated debate, plus the red was all
provocateur and peppered with "you know",
   and "i know absolutely nothing": there were no ideas
in the debate! whenever there was a chance to debate
ideas, the debate turned into a debated about words,
and what words to use: to simply brush aside any clinching
to a idea-debate... perhaps because feminism is
an ideology without any coherency of ideas, as stated
from the debate: a coherency of wording: and that better
be hen = an asexual chicken, rooster = an asexual chicken...
it's still a chicken kiev at the end of the day.
now? i might squeeze in another poem...
     but it would still be great to get any kind of analysis
comparing the movie android and ex_machina...
the only problem would be: both creators are men...
so that's gender-stereotyping already...
but hell! she gets to build a buggie that she directs with
a laser pen... so that's nice...
but i'd love a discussion on these two films,
given that the music in both films is very oomph!
thriller genre always had better music than horror...
horror music is too romantic... thriller music?
***** back-stabbing you whenever you think you're
going to get a comfortable 10 minute slot...
but it's there... aside from both robotic creators being male...
woman: ex_machina - out of the machinery of man
          ergo? deus, or woman as...
i actually have a problem with the word android...
the woman is a factor of playing the two men against
each other... the android actually find a mechanical
part of himself in the way the "human" talks to the woman,
while the "android" is prejudiced against the rigidity
of his ****** movement: unlike the "human" having
an intellectual rigidity... the woman plays the two against
each other... well, 30 hours no sleep...
  i'm doing the helter-skelter trying to throw ideas
by way of remembering the actual plot of the film...
this obviously adds nothing to the discussion:
meaning i probably gave away a "spoiler" -
but more the point, i need a refill and some fresh air
to breath, having farted into a leather chair for the past
hour.

With my eyes,
I told him what my mouth couldn't pronounce

By Chloe Elizabeth

Staggering breath
Skin and bones
You done eat anymore

I was six, white little thing in a sea I of black siblings

So young and and ready to run, Cookie boy hate you at first
But he grew old
Staggering breath
Skin and bones
Didn't eat
Kept falling to his feet
Cookie boy came and gone he was your friend

So many year have passed you grew old tumers grew, one on your head back and under, you grew weak

Buttercup came  and you came to life, she was so young and ready to run  

You grew strong she was your sister, mange hit you and you fell down, it took so long we thought you were gone.

You got back up and started back up again.

I love you, Chloe I thank you for reminding me to fight

Because that's all you did in your short eleven year life.

Fight for life, like Chloe did.

Chloe
by Michael R. Burch

There were skies onyx at night ... moons by day ...
lakes pale as her eyes ... breathless winds
******* tall elms ... she would say
that we'd loved, but some book said we’d sinned.

Soon impatiens too fiery to stay
sagged; the crocus bells drooped, golden-limned;
things of brightness, rinsed out, ran to gray ...
all the light of that world softly dimmed.

Where our feet were inclined, we would stray;
there were paths where dead weeds stood untrimmed,
distant mountains that loomed in our way,
thunder booming down valleys dark-hymned.

What I found, I found lost in her face
while yielding all my virtue to her grace.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly as “A Dying Fall.” Keywords/Tags: Night, onyx, skies, love, ***, sin, thunder, lightning, virtue, grace, moons, lakes, winds, mountains, Chloe

Sometimes, I cry
and I don't even know
what I'm sad about
anymore

I'm just crying
about being sad

By Chloe Elizabeth

These moments in my life
Have taught me about love, friendship
And giving everything you have to someone
For them to lose it all along the way

By Chloe Elizabeth

A TRIBUTE TO HELLO POETRY

This will be a long write.
There are so many I wish
to honor and thank.

Please, if you can, pull up
Bruce Cockburn's song
Maybe the Poet on YouTube.
Listen to the words as you read this.
It will greatly add to your enjoyment.

I play no favorites...
you ALL are class acts!

Here's a tribute. Yep. It's long!
But listen to Bruce Cockburn's song.
I want to emulate what's sung
Yes, not miss a poet, one!

ryn has got a range of art
Ded Poet's got a poet's heart
elsa angelica's soul resounds
Bhumika's a dove
with a golden crown!

Wolfspirit's pen can spill his love
Wonderman's ink from up above
sjr...1000 words so wise
Scarlet Pimpernel's talent's
not disguised!

Joe Malgeri's a spiritual gent
Paige Pots' work is heaven sent
Tivonna has love for natural things
Helena's work has roots and wings!

Pradip, in my eyes number one
as is Thomas A Robinson
jeffrey robin's style is loose and bold
Rupal has a heart of gold!

John Stevens has an earthy wit
Pax means peace, his candle's lit
Tryst's ballads are a perfect fit
and I love Lidi Minuet!

donna's sweet as honeydew
Jason Cole fits like a shoe
Prttybrd sings songs with style
Day Wing flies! He has a smile!

Deborah's walking on her beach
her talent has a range and reach
Rapunzel let's her hair way down
Weeping Willow
has a pleasant sound!

Joe Cole loves all fantasy
SSilkenTounge has a mind that's free
Solaces is a very old friend
I hope to see Botan again!

Urmilla writes beyond her years
Chalsey Wilder writes bring tears
Tonya Maria and I share pain
Wise is K Balachandran!

CA Guifoyle lives in my town
Adam Childs' the best around
SE Reimer can put us in the mood
Musfiq us Shaleheen
Is so VERY good!

Richard Riddle honors with poetry
Love my collab, Arcassin B!
Sally A Bayan's good and kind
Hayden Swan's a real find!

Love comments from Joe Adomavicia
zik, I'm always glad to see ya!
TGWLY has a heart that hurts
Erenn Y does heartfelt works...

Elizabeth Squires has classic writes
Frank Ruland's fights
for what is right
And if a scare you want to see
just look up POETIC T!

Oh! There are SO many more!
There are poets by the score!
I don't want to be a bore
But read them ALL! You will be
FLOORED !!!

MORE POETS!!!

Lori Jones McCaffery
Kalypso
Niamh Price
Mya Angel
Mike Hauser
Vicki
Ignatius Hosiana
Frankie J
Chris Green
mark cleavenger
brandon nagley
Winn
Puds (Pete)
Deborah Brooks Langford
Timothy
Marian
Hilda
Harriet Tecumsah Watt
it's gonna make sense
mybarefootdrive
Dark n Beautiful
WL Winter
Margaux
Pamela Rae
Venusoul7
Eddie Starr
Olivia Kent
Brenden Thomas
Zoe
Raj Arumugam
Elijah
Sukeerti
Manny
M.A.N
Jonny Angel
Dylan Mitchell
James M Vines
bulletcookie
i am miss brightside
Chris Fracc
Cat
Ocean Blue
Phil Lindsay
Mike Hauser
PearlSy
Christi Michaels Moon Flower
Raj Nandy
SPT
PoETEPETE Now RePETE After PETE
Makayla Kelly
Paul Gafney
Nan Trapp Messer
Chloe
Steven Langhorst
Daniel Palmer
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul
C A Guilfoyle
TRAVELLER
Soul
GitacharYa VedaLa
Rosalind heather Alexander
S R Matts
Paul Gattney
Danny Mak
patty m
liv frances
Gary L
Ngamau Boniface
IOWA
Earl Jane
ber
Justin G
James
ste'phanie noir
born
Aztec Warrior


Last but not least... olestoryteller
and Francie Lynch! Ketoma Rose!

You broke me once
and then shattered all the pieces
to break me even more

By Chloe Elizabeth

This is
Almost all.

Cereal.
12 bites chocolate koala crispies
Chris along with some horizon
fat-free organic milk
but again 12 bytes.
Short stack flapjacks
Safeway maple syrup drenching it.

Patrick's IRA send it
One hot fudge sundae
from McDonald's
one half bite of hot fudge.
Six bytes of salsa recipe.
Four microwaved Chinese potstickers
Some HighC
orange lovers
I also ate Mark's soup

25 Cheetos
Xcessive?
I also ate some
of my accent.

One can Wolfgang Puck
used as a base
added some roasted
breast chopped
roughly 2 wings
scanner on onion
red rock refrigerator
did an onion
rings tile cut.

Think I know I'm
sorry sweetie
they are kind.

[Intro: John Legend]
Let's play the blame game, I love you, more
Let's play the blame game for sure
Let's call out names, names, I hate you, more
Let's call out names, names, for sure
I'll call you ***** for short
As a last resort, and my first result
You call me ******* for long
At the end of it you know we both were wrong

[Hook: John Legend]
But I love to play the blame game, I love you more
Let's play the blame game for sure
Let's call her names, names, I hate you, more
Let's call her names, names, for sure

[Verse 1: Kanye West]
On a bathroom wall I wrote
"I'd rather argue with you than be with someone else"
I took a **** and dismiss it like "**** it"
And I went and found somebody else
**** arguing and harvesting the feelings
Yo, I'd rather be by my ******* self
Till about two a.m. and I call back
And I hang up and I start to blame myself
Somebody help...

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Kanye West]
You weren't perfect but you made life worth it
Stick around, some real feelings might surface
Been a long time since I spoke to you in a bathroom
Gripping you up, ******* and choking you
What the hell was I supposed to do?
I know you ain't getting this type of **** from that local dude
And if you are I hope you are having a good time
Cause I definitely be having mine
And you ain't finna see a mogul get emotional
Every time I hear bout other ****** is strokin' you
Lying, say I hit you, he sitting there consoling you
Running my name through the mud, who's provoking you?
You should be grateful a ***** like me ever noticed you
Now you noticeable and can't nobody get control of you
One a.m. and can't nobody get a hold of you
I'm calling your brother's phone like what was I supposed to do?
Even though I knew, he never told the truth
He was just gon' say whatever that you told him to
At a certain point I had to stop asking questions
Y'all got dirt on each other like mud wrestlers
I heard he bought some coke with my money
That ain't right girl
You getting blackmailed for that white girl
You always said Yeezy I ain't your right girl
You'll probably find one of them "I like art"-type girls
All of the lights, she-was-caught-in-the-hype girl
And I was satisfied being in love with the lie
Now who to blame, you to blame, me to blame
For the pain and it poured every time when it rained
Lets play the blame game

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Kanye West]
"Things used to be, now they not
Anything but us is who we are
Disguising ourselves as secret lovers
We've become public enemies
We walk away like strangers in the street
Gone for eternity
We erased one another
So far from where we came
With so much of everything, how do we leave with nothing?
Lack of visual empathy equates the meaning of L-O-V-E
Hatred and attitude tear us entirely" - Chloe Mitchell

[Hook x2: Kanye West]
I can't love you this much
No, I can't love you this much

[Verse 4: Kanye West]
And I know that you are somewhere doing your thing
And when the phone called it just ring and ring
You ain't pick up but your phone accidentally called me back
And I heard the whole thing
I heard the whole thing, the whole thing, the whole thing

["The Best Birthday": Chris Rock]
Ohh my God
Baby you done took this **** to another mother ******* level!
Now a neighborhood ***** like me
Ain't supposed to be gettin no ***** like this
*******, *******!
Who taught you how to get **** for a *****?
(Yeezy taught me)
You never used to talk *****, but now you ******* disgusting
My, my God, where'd you learn that?
(Yeezy taught me)
Look at you mother ******* **** *** naked...
With them mother ******* Jimmy Choos on
Who taught you how to put some Jimmy Choos on?
(Yeezy taught me)
Yo you took your ***** game up a whole 'nother level
This is some Cirque du Soleil ***** now! ****!
You done went all ***** on a *****, okay? And I, and I love it...
And I thank you, I thank you, my **** thanks you!
How did you learn, how... how did your ***** game come up?
(Yeezy taught me)
I was ******* parts of your ***** I'd never ****** before
I was in there like oh **** I never been here before
I've never even seen this part of ***** town before
It's like you got this **** re-upholstered or some ****
What the **** happened?
Who, who the **** got your ***** all re-upholstered?
(Yeezy re-upholstered my *****)
You know what, I got to thank Yeezy
And when I see that *****, I'm-a thank him. I'm-a buy his album
I'm-a download that ******* I'm-a shoot a bootlegger!
That's how good I feel about this *****
Oww, I still can't believe you got me this watch
This ******* is the exact ******* I wanted!
Even with the bezel! This is the ******* I wanted
I saw this ****, I saw it, Twista had this **** on in The Source
I remember, Twista had this ******* on in The Source
That's right, that's right! Yo yo babe, yo yo this is the best birthday ever!
Where you learn to treat a ***** like this?
(Yeezy taught me)
Yeezy taught you well, Yeezy taught you well

Frenchie. there's a lot that i'll probably never tell you. either in fear that it will drive you away, in spite of the numerous times that you've told me you won't leave or run because the chance of something scaring you off is slim. or simply because it slips my mind. trauma, am i right? you say a lot, and i mean this in the best way.  you can talk, and you can tell me as many things as you want, and i'll never properly believe them because i've learned that words are ****. then again all we have are words, smiles, and through-the-phone, air-blown, crush-induced kisses that bring back memories, and yet rewrites them as something entirely new and, of course, much much better. something ours. i hope it's never given to another person, this sweet kiss of life, the final kiss of death, an angel brings me to heaven, enter whatever aesthetically pleasing line you want but it will never be as good as, "and so the lion fell for the lamb." haha. it's 11:16 pm, August 9th. and i'm laying in bed. for reasons i'll try to explain in a second, i'm tearing up, as i have been for a while. i think i first started tearing up the first time we called, which isn't so much a bad thing as it is a surprising thing. because it was a sad happy cry. it's similar to breaking a piece of jewelry that you really enjoyed, but then buying something much better. you loved that plastic, feeble, oversized, first love bracelet, but now you have a moonstone or (enter favorite gem) filled, perfectly fitted, wifey-made promise ring. you'll keep the bracelet somewhere, forget about it, find it again, and again, and again. discovering it under blankets, and pillows, and promises that we've tossed around ourselves. it will peek from inside my black coffee, in the dirt i praise, in the trees, in the music we'll listen to together. in the color brown, Frenchie, that's where you'll see, i'll see, we will see, that piece of plastic. dark brown, the colors of his eyes. my favorite color for the longest time. i don't want it to mean him, so it doesn't. but that's where it comes from. i'll find it, we'll find it, up until you get tired of seeing it, of seeing me see it, and take my hand, begging to throw it out. but, my to be discovered favorite gem filled, wifey-made perfectly fitted promise ring, it might take a while, with me quietly begging for your help, to get rid of him. not because i want to wear it, but because i horde emotions the way i horde stuffed animals. it's a labrinth to find the bracelet, we have no map and somehow we have to get from this forever smile to the closed-off corners of my mind, where even i, as it's supposed owner, struggle to collect, and comprehend, and conquer my horrid thoughts. but Frenchie, we laughed. and it was the first time in so long that i've been able to laugh with someone like that, and not worry, and not expect, and not be afraid. except, since we're here it's already obvious, that ended up making me afraid anyways. Random, but there's this song in my head right now. "make me behave like an animal." Sir Chloe's Animal, everything by Sir Chloe is absolutely incredible. but, let's continue. you may not believe me when i say this, but i'm scared out of my mind so entirely that every second between our conversations is an hour added to my inevitable future breakdown. how weak, and pathetic, and disgusting, i know. i have told you so many times that i can't like people, that it's so hard for me to connect to someone new, and yet it's day three and i'm imagining that i'll be happy if only you'd hold me, as if that's what you want to do, as if that will heal me, as if that should happen. as if i'm taking things slow the way i want to, and yet don't want to. if i could properly explain in words, i'd tell you with lengthy descriptions, both vastly and vaguely, calmly and excitedly, slowly and quickly covering deep hidden and obvious and in-between meaning, proving how desperately i want to be with you, be yours and you be mine, and how, ****, how i hope you don't **** me up. because all i can think when we talk is "****." you breathe, and, between each of your heartbeats, i figure out that i like you more, and more, and ****! the way your face looks so angelic when you sleep makes me just think "god, she's going to really hurt me. she's gonna **** me up, and chances are i'll thank her for it." to be hurt by you? that would be a blessing, and yet i'm shaking. what a interesting concept. i'm sure this is proof that i'm ****** up already. i keep bringing up the time. three days, Frenchie. Three. and that's it. that is literally it. that's all we've been. so explain, please, why the first few words you said had me ranting to my friends. please, tell me, how within a day, everytime your name popped up on my screen i would giggle like a child. please, explain to me, why everytime i talk about you, my cheeks hurt so much from smiling. i'm crazy, absolutely crazy, and i know my friends have to be thinking so too, because it's been. three. *******. days. but why? as in, why is that so bad? three days, what's so wrong with that? why does liking someone have to have a time? let me explain something that i've been thinking about. two years, on and off, thirteen breakups. that was Justin and I. roughly six months after the final one, i met you. "cause everytime you hurt me, the less that i cry." i'm way too good at goodbye's. i never particularly got that song the way i do now. had we stayed apart the first to the maybe fifth time we broke up, i would have took longer to heal. but it was time thirteen, so it was all expected, hurtful of course, but expected and so, it was almost boring. almost. it would have been if it didn't rip my heart out. i rebounded. hard. many times. many people. zero regrets. but this connection to you, sometimes i catch myself fearing i'm picking up where Justin and I left off. which, yes, is really toxic. but then i remind myself, this is how a good portion of relationships start. if i like you, i'll act like it. if i want to be with you, regardless if we just met, i should act like that. right? right, that's what normal people do. but we already explained i'm not normal. i'm ****** up, and i overthink. i'm ******* up. so ******* up that i can't hold eyecontact with you because i was "trained" not to, because i'm not used to, because it makes me nervous, because i hate the way my eyes look and i believe that you shouldn't have to look at something so disgusting. god here we go, i'm talking about him again. blaming him with my "trained not to" rather than blaming myself for letting it  happen. i let myself feel like that, i let myself bow down. that's on me, that was my weakness. admittedly so, yes. i'm scared of looking in your eyes. maybe out of submission. or maybe i'm afraid of seeing what i once saw in his. but truth be told, i think i'm scared of looking into anyone's. maybe i'm once again overthinking things and it's just regular anxiety. "regular anxiety," what an interesting statement that even I can't properly explain. and by the way, i never want to compare you to him, not even the good things. (just realized this entire thing is bipolar and has been written and rewritten to a point where the overdramatic stuff became simple conversation). but why not the good things? because i don't want you to be like him in any way, and i don't want to be with someone like him again. i realize that i will eventually, and might have already without properly realizing it, compared you to him. but, as i like to say, if i don't look at it, it isn't there. so we're not going to pay this any mind. there's so many things that i can say behind all of  this but my mind is going too fast, and it also just realized that most of this is literally so ******* stupid that i should shut up about, i was truly overreacting. maybe if i remember, i'll retype this until it sounds less crazy and obsessive. good thing i edit before i show, so yes i was planning on showing someone. but probably not a lot. only a few trusted people. but now that i read and reread i might just keep this to myself. not that it will matter if i explain, seeing as i might never show this to you, but it's nice to give this to a ghost of you, although it leaves my imagination running wild trying to figure out how you would respond. everytime i type something i want to rewrite it, and i have been rewriting it by the way, because there's no way in hell this captures a fraction of a fraction of the surface of how i'm hurting, even though i've been typing for almost two hours trying to find better words and longer sentences. this all sounds so meek and weak and pathetic in comparrison to the metaphoric erruptions and hurricanes and other natural disasters. haha. this doesn't feel natural. it's like i'm begging for attention, or manipulating you more. fun fact, he called me overdramatic, and manipulative, and tons of other things i won't get into, so i often use the words on myself. because it was and is accurate. i keep making myself out to be a victim and he said i always did that too, that i always victimized myself. he said it a lot. let me explain: i panic so much, i get sad over the smallest things. for example, he was mourning over the death of his mother and started yelling at me and wouldn't tell me that he loved me back, which i shouldn't have gotten mad over but i did. he told me "jesus, i can't even ******* miss my mom without having to make sure you're not having one of your episodes." of course i apologized, and tried to fix my issues myself when he got tired of me or in general and hung up. literally, believe me. i'm so ******* sensitive and it's annoying and i'm annoying, i'll never understand how i got the amazing friends that i do. Apollo knows that i don't deserve them. and please ******* please, i just want to stop crying because it hurts so bad. but after writing it down i feel so much  better. i stopped crying, this is part of my editting by the way, and i feel much better writing to you, ghost Frenchie. but really. it. hurts. so. bad. so bad to a point where my heart seemingly stops, i'm left breathless and NOT in the best of ways. and then said heart explodes. over. and over. and over. in milliseconds, again and again and again, all while the usual me laughs and tries to make my eyes look lively, you might get this but there's so many hours of the day where i hope no one can see the pain i'm in. because i literally have zero ******* clue how to explain the way that i feel. eeehhhh, how edgy. i'm sooooo misunderstood haha. when it hurts, my jaw clenches, i'm no longer in control of my breathing, my head hurts, my brain becomes helium and all i can think is "fuuuuuuck." but ****, as well, because. "i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips." i just want to touch you, and lay on top of you, legs around your waist, snuggled into your neck, breathing in your scent and finding shelter in it, listening to you sing whatever song you put in the background, the smell of **** and cigarettes and us. and beg you please, between each kiss, each time my hand finds yours. please, promise ring, please, please. please. learn how to love me. love me, please. heal me. please fix me. please make me okay. because i'm not. and i haven't been. and i don't know if i ever will and, ****, i swear i'm calm now. but knowing that, knowing that i will never be okay? that hurts worse. because it's proof that i'm aware i'm nowhere near good enough for you. i added on to Justin's issues. I don't want to add on to yours. "But J, remember, I told you that making sure you're okay is giving me something to take off of my life." but you need to focus on you, i can't just take all of your attention. i know that seems like i'm wanting you to tell me "i want you to have it," but that is literally the way i feel, please don't tell me that. i want you to drink water, and eat, and call me. god i feel awful for not calling you today, holy absolute wow. Frenchie, you're hurting on your own without my added everything. You deal with so much, you've dealt with so much, from your birth to the girls and boys of your past, and **** it. ****. we're talking and i should make the most of it, but i really just want to make you okay. i lied to you, y'know. you asked me about my best quality. i told you that i gave good advice, but truth is i probably don't. i think that my best quality is that i make jokes out of everything, i try to make people laugh all the time. that's not always a good thing. last time i texted, i said something about holding you and giving you a watermelon to make you happy. that might have ****** you off. truth is, i doubt there's something only seen as good in me. there's always a second face to everything that i am, i'm a two faced, four faced- no no. twenty faced *****, and not even like a bad ***** i mean like. little ***** baby type faces. and i know for a **** fact that your life has been worse than mine, Frenchie, my issues are literally nothing compared to yours. so, once again, i can't let you add my issues to your own, and yet here i am pouring myself out and begging ghost you to fix me. i mean what you don't read can't hurt you, but something tells me that i want to give it to you. everytime i think about showing you this, i cringe. because jesus three days, man, and i'm writing this absolute *******? and yet i can't just stop. i can't just leave. i'm too selfish for either of those. i have **** to say, and call it growth but i'm gonna ******' say it! y'know? someone's gonna read it eventually. half of me hopes that they send it to you without my permission, but the fact that i'm writing this out proves that it's more than half of me that hopes. and yet the thought of you reading this makes me wanna swallow rat poison. i can't just let you free, y'know? give you the chance to run without wanting to grab you by your legs, pull you back, breakdown and just ******' scream that you're mine, MINE MINE MINE, until you feel sorry for my hoarse voice from crying, scared because now you know, now you ******' know, Frenchie. the opening to run, the ability, it's here, it always has been. but you won't take it, you won't, will you? will you? no, i don't think so. because you've been through worse, because you want to convince me i'm not as bad as i make myself out to be, because you're not afraid, because "it takes a lot more than this" to scare you. don't you see? i'm manipulating you into liking me, Frenchie, i am. i know what to say, how to say it, i read people, i get under their skin, and then i play victim when they flee my spiders web. and i love it and hate myself, haha! ******* ****, please, ****, oh, please, like me. oh, Artemis. please. i want to try, and i will, but, seriously, don't. do not trust me. don't love me. don't like me. run. please. please. you shouldn't, i'm not good, i'm really not. and no one gets that. i'm the Jerry of the world, people are attracted because they feel sorry for me. that's my magnet's secret. pity. **** it. listen, i'm proud and upset at the fact that i'm doing this to you. i've admitted it, dearest Ghost Frenchie, and yet continue. because in the ways that i want to show you my crazy, use it as a "please help me" and keep you here, i do actually want to try for you. read that as many times as you want, I want this. I want to try, but this is my warning that maybe no one will read. this is an entire universe of new things and old things i haven't or thought i couldn't feel. i've thought about it, and i've almost done it, but i can't block you, save you, and leave it at that. because i actually want to try and be good enough. i had cried to my friends saying that you would hurt me, but i wonder if i'd end up being like your exes and just be more proof that you don't need that this world is ****** up. oh wow, there i go again with my manipulation. just. ****. i want to be with you, even though i don't deserve it, even though i have no right to, even though i know that you, lovely butterfly, have a life ahead of you. though small, i'm still a spider. this has been on my mind for so many hours that i've spent typing this, but i should have said so much more to you when you told me that you were having a bad night. you admitted that you were too stressed to even eat and that you didn't want to take it out on me, calling wouldn't be a good idea because you didn't want to snap at me. can i please just say that, good Aphrodite, the fact that you're humane enough to say that, to warn me, means so much. you don't want to take it out on me, you didn't know for sure if it would happen but you wouldn't even let it happen because? ****, because you're, ****,  you're a good person. you care about me already, and that's so ******* heartbreaking and heartlifting at the same time because, AH! ****, she LIKES me? likes, me? likes. me. Frenchie. likes. J? and at the same time. why? Frenchie seriously likes J? Haven't they warned her? i almost didn't text you, i almost just left you on open, just so you could come to me when you wanted to. i don't know why, but i responded. sort of like a puppy, y'know, that's just been yelled at. or, rather since you have cats, a kitten literally just purring and rubbing themselves along you even though they clawed your wall and you screamed. i was hesitant, but i knew that you'd try to be nice, i think? truly, i don't know my reasoning behind that, but you responded anyways. and maybe i'm wrong, but you sounded so soft and it made me smile. because you were trying, and it's dumb that i have to say that but, relationship wise, it's been so long since anyone has TRIED. when you leave me on opened or when you don't respond, my heart drops. which isn't to make you feel bad, because i know you're either frustrated, or busy, or it's a habit, but it scares me. because, again, three days??? and yet you leaving for a little just freaks me out. also, allow me to admit this. while we called, i have reasons for why i'd wake up everytime you moved. i was scared that i'd wake up and you'd be gone. not to be creepy, this is supposed to be romantic, but at least twice i remember waking up, and you were asleep, and i looked at you. god, you're literally so beautiful, Frenchie. you're literally so unbelievably gorgeous that the sun pales in comparison to your radiance. can i say more depressing, Justin related things? i shouldn't, because him being mentioned is literally making me look worse, but i never really feel up to talking about it with anyone besides, well, you. talking about exes with you, it's just, comforting. you telling me you were having a bad night gave me these wretched flashbacks and- oh, ****! this isn't meaning never tell me, like, please, please, always tell me, just, uh, let me explain cause, uh, ****, oh, Hades, it hurts. it's dreadful, really. he, uh,  he would get upset about something, or really anything that he could think of, and uhm. just, haha, stop talking. for uh, for literal hours.. and hours. and hours. out of nowhere. i wouldn't know why, so i'd blame myself and then i'd spam him, thinking that would make him want to answer and begin my whole, "please, don't leave, please, Justin, please, i'm sorry, i love you, don't leave, you're supposed to be my daddy, please, you're supposed to be mine," skit. i mean, see? proof. he couldn't deal with his own issues because i needed attention and reassurance. all. the. ******. time. i won't give excuses, he really just needed space. but space felt like a break, which sometimes he made for. but, right, for me, Justin was famous for his "just leave me alone's" and then the "i don't want this anymore" or "i'm really tired of you" haha. or it was the whole, "you're just not what i need in my life." or i mean "there's someone else" or, of course, haha, the, uh, last one, my personal favorite "we're just not compatible." like, oh, really? i mean, yesterday you hit me and told me that i was a ****, like? we're not? we? we aren't? compatible? wow, like, really? so, no future together? like, uh, oh! c'mon Mistah J!  ouch that hurt to say, but please laugh because haha, TRAUMA, am I right? but, wait? does that count as trauma? hm, i mean some of it was traumatic, right? wait hang on, yes. wait. being beat- ? well, not beat! i mean, like, i could still, y'know, move-? jesus **** what is wrong with me. i don't want to call it traumatic cause victimizing. haha, ****- but uh anyway. i'd be left trying to off myself in some petty way. because i felt like if he couldn't love me, if he, Justin Ryder, the long-legged **** who knew me better than anyone, couldn't love me, honestly, who would? "But, J like. you have friends!" yeah, i do, and i did then, too. but these lovely, amazing friends didn't come to mind the way they sometimes do now. sometimes. i mean, why do i feel like it has to be romantic for "i love you" to count. i say "i love you" to my friends all the time, honestly, because they need to hear it and i've lost so many people without telling them, y'know? but anyhow, right, no one came to mind. just him, and his lack of love for me. i mean, he was God. he was MY God. he was my world, everything, my reason to breathe, the reason i existed. i loved him. more than i've ever loved someone in my entire life. and, i mean, that's why i let him come back so many times, with open arms and apologies from me that should have slithered from his own serpent lips, the reptile. they rained from mine, eagerly, harshly, on repeat, no questions asked. he hit me, i apologized. he made a mistake, i said "i'll never do it again." i blamed myself for a lot of things that he did to me, gave excuses for him, too. y'know, the cliche "you don't know him like i do." god, i mean, i was right about that. no one knows Justin Ryder the way that i do. i hope no one ever does. Frenchie, dearest promise ring i keep referring to for poetic purposes, you asked me if i was over him. i am. i don't want him back. but if he ever texted or called, i'd break down, lose myself, hysterical hurricane J. not because i miss him, just because of the **** that i went through with him, Frenchie. it's small, y'know, compared to what others have went through. but it really, i mean, REALLY, made a huge impression. i don't want him. i keep saying that, everytime i do it becomes less believable but please understand that it isn't him, it's what he did. but **** there i go putting the blame on him again. Frenchie, are you over her? see, the fact that someone came to your mind means that sometimes you question it. unless you really just thought to yourself, "who, am i over who J?" maybe i'll never know. but you should know this. desperately, quite desperately, i want to tell you that your smile makes me feel safe. and i haven't been able to feel so safe from such a small thing in months, almost a year. because how could i trust his smile, y'know? even before the very end, in the middle, in the first time, how could i ever trust his soul-stealing smile? especially when i saw him making it at whatever girl he chose next or, funny thing, even during our time together. i want to explain to you, Frenchie, that i know you need space, and that, even though i realize that, i'm so terrified of ******* up the way i did with him. when i'm upset, i need to be smothered. not everyone is like that, i have to cope with it. haha, wow what a *****, i have to cope with your ways of coping, god i annoy myself. but. regardless of the amount of friends i have who assure me that, "J it wasn't your fault, Justin was the issue, J you weren't the toxic one" i can't believe it. i refuse to think that it was just him. another lyric so a song i enjoy "it takes two to toxic," i keep thinking of songs, but i think you understand that, too, my adhd love. i should have, could have, done better as a person for him. not saying that i regret not, but the fact that i could and i didn't? maybe i should have shut up, maybe i should have said more. everything was beyond the severity of walking on eggshells, which he said often that he had to do around me because, i mean, i've explained that. it's just more proof, you see, that i was too sensitive, proof that i should have been tougher, said less, comforted more. but didn't he know how he made me feel? that i was trying, truly trying my hardest? didn't he know that i loved him so entirely that i gave up my best friends so he'd look at me. didn't he know? didn't he? honestly, how could he have not. i worshipped the literal ground he walked on, didn't i? did i? or am i exaggerating again? should i have ran? yes, no. yes. maybe, or maybe he should have? i don't know. **** me, this? this really, this isn't about him. but it is. because he made my head all ******, the time with him anyways, cause once again it was me, too, and everything is like, oh, ****, a minefield or something. and i don't want you to think that i'm not over him. because i am. him, as himself, i'm over. but the way he made me feel, the experience, the way he changed me? i don't know. did i change for the better or the worst? i wish you could have known me before, maybe you would be able to tell me if the me that i am that now is better. but maybe if i knew you before, my time with him never would have happened. but i hate myself for it. "it" as in everything from the time i got with him to now, every word i've now spent almost three hours revising and rewritting, i hate myself for. that's what's ******, i don't even hate him for it or this, i literally just hate myself. i sound like such a ******* idiot for all of this,  but i'm not, Frenchie. i'm not. well, hang on, i mean i am. i'm a literal ******* *******. haha. but this is how i'm trying to explain to you, and if you ever read this maybe you'll get it. but, i want to make you happy. me. i want to make you smile more and laugh like you did, like WE did. and i know that i got attached so ****** quickly so my whole "it's hard to love people" thing seems fake. but it isn't. i can't. i literally can't tell you how hard it is. and this right here, this is hard, too. because i'm fighting with the "oh, J!! this is different" side of me and the "**** her, *******, everyone is the same" side. i'm pretty sure i told you this, but i broke up with my last girlfriend because she actually gave a **** about me. and it made me want to puke. when i did, when i left, she told me that she was in love with me. and i ran to the bathroom. and proceeded to cry, getting rid of my lunch and dinner, and almost just ended it right there because i thought, "****. if someone can love me, can say those three sacred words, to me? TO ME? i must be hiding so much from them." i just want to scream. yknow? to the world, to my friends, my family, you, that "i'm ****** UP IM ****** UP IM ****** UP PLEASE LEAVE" but "oh, gods, don't leave." please, ******* ****, if you're not ready, if you don't want me, please, tell me. if i'm too much, especially after all of this, holy ******* ****, please, tell me. because i can't take it. i can't. tell me now, these three days in where i'm confessing i want to be with you, that you can't. because i wouldn't be able to handle it much longer than from here. oh, **** yeah, it's going to hurt so much. i kept saying that i didn't want to like you. but everything draws me in, dearest Edward, and it ******* *****. it. *****. because i'm beyond aware of possibilities of the failure. and, yet, i couldn't be happier. in the middle of my frequent breakdowns, i'm so entirely full of joy. my mother tells me that i'm glowing from how entirely, like, happy i am. you're miles away, Frenchie, and yet you make me happier than i've been in a long, long, LONG time, dancing and singing around my room like an absolute idiot because i'm thinking, y'know, MAYBE. MAYBE THIS IS THE ONE. "J MAYBE YOU CAN BE LOVED, AGAIN. MAYBE SHE'LL LOVE YOU, MAYBE YOU AREN'T AS BAD AS YOU MAKE YOURSELF OUT TO BE." and everything looks so ******* amazing with you in the picture. and, still, i always ask myself, is this too fast? am i still not ready, still taking things too fast, should i shut up, am i hiding too much, doesn't she get my bipolarness and bpd? you do right, you do? oh ******* ****- **** all that, those last few questions are entire other things, and it's now 2:07 in the morning and i'm ******' done. the end done, I won't write anything else. except this. Frenchie, I know you love being called that, but there's something so entirely personal about being called by your name. sometimes I catch myself slipping on typing. maybe it was a mistake to tell me your real name.
frenchie.
sydney
a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet