I still believe in smiles. The fake ones. They always look real to me. Do we ever learn from our mistakes? I don't. I fail to make that change in me. I can't change me. I believe in smiling genuinely. I can't tell the fake ones from real. Or maybe I can but I don't.
Sometimes I wonder if age is inversely propotional to self confidence. My funky oranges and yellows that I wore in the days of yore rot in the attic now. That says a lot. That air of self assurance and shabbiness that only 17 permits you.
Awkardness is an offspring of mocking judgements! (Aren't judgements always mocking?) I suck at retorts. The wise ones. The witty ones. Or of any type. I grope for words. I fear of bad blood. How come they never?
I sometimes hear them whisper too. I hate it. They would rather say it on my face. That would make me sadder.
I honestly don't find them funny. Mostly I don't get the context. Honestly I don't even care, hence don't even try. I am there, but I am not...like I was...seemingly attentive in my Physics classes that I HATED. LOATHED!
I miss soul mates, the kinds who make tea sessions, coffee tables long lasting memories. Maybe they don't exist. Maybe the problem is in me. I get bored easily. Like I am right now. Bye