A piece of glass, with sloppy signatures written upon it in black marker. This, is what I have left of the weekend, along with fond memories. It makes me question where the shell went? Did he take it, is it somewhere upon the couch? The glass broke, I couldn't breathe. What were they thinking? No one was hurt. Scared. Yelling. Time to separate myself from the others. Move to the bathroom to sit upon the floor to keep the attack away. He comes in and talks to me, or tries. I think he's more scared for me than I am.

I want to be held. I'm ten times more needy than I was yesterday. I want a cool day, with my fingers entwined with a boy's. My hair gently tucked behind my ear by careful hands. A hug as we walk with no where to go. My face caressed softly in a sweet moment, butterflies sailing through the air. My lips lightly brushed with a kiss just before they turn into a radiant smile saying, I'm happier than I've been before. Instead, I sit here alone, tired, and sore. Hands lonely, hair messy, and lips longing to be touched again.

How silly, this game we all play from the time we acknowledge a member of the opposite sex as something more than just a childhood playmate we occasionally push on the swing set. It drives us all crazy and leaves us damaged every time we're dealt a poor deck. When we think we're one up and about to make the big win, a bad card slips in, and again, we're left defeated and broke. Why then, don't we ever tire of losing all we gained? Why do a lot of us continue on, taking the chance and risking it all?

A simple can of spaghetti O's and I'm thrust into a sea of nostalgia. I always hated the sauce, the O's were my favourite, she liked the sauce. We'd split the can, so I got little sauce and she got a lot. It worked out perfectly. My mom never bought spaghetti O's, when Heather and I first ate them, I didn't like them… but as time wore on they became a treat I had on summer days when I stayed at her house all weekend. Too bad I have no one to eat the sauce, instead I pour it out.

They ask you maliciously why you continue to be with her.. and you look to me for help, as the words "because I love her" glide off your tongue. Did you expect to find comfort or reassurance as you looked into my eyes? I'm not sure what you wanted, though I doubt you found it. Looking towards me with hope for the "love" you have for a girl so unworthy is like looking into a heart broken many times before. How can I smile, be happy for you when I'm not so sure either of us know what love is.

I was once proud of the things I wrote. It'd write things and want my dad to read, because I thought they were worthy of praise, and all I wanted was praise from him. It was a poem, instead of telling me it was good, he read it with questioning disgust. Maybe I wanted him to read it and see I was miserable, but in the misery I wrote beautiful, emotional words that had appealing qualities to them. Instead he thrust it into my arms and left me in the kitchen. He hasn't been handed a poem to read since.

How silly of me… so few days left, and I can't seem to hold myself together long enough for any good. It pains me, more than any pain, emotional or physical, that I've ever felt before. As though my heart is barely beating and my soul is attempting to rip away from my body in order to be near yours again. And my hands, so empty with out yours to fill them, don't seem to know left from right any more, they seem to wander carelessly and aimlessly. Just existing for the day. Another day I am with out you.

When I was younger I wanted to give off an air of intelligence. I dreamed of coffee and poetry readings, high class intellectuals and thick books full of prose. Why? Something about having people know I'm worth talking to, worth acknowledging me as more than the girl with frizzy hair, has always appealed to me. Connecting on a more meaningful level while discussing philosophy, European literature and American poets. But now, I'm seventeen. Thick glasses, hard classes. Analyzing poems by the greats, dreaming of the day it all ends and I don't have to pick up another damn English novel.

Now- dirty black Converse high tops with yellow peace sign stickers stuck to the toe and white laces nearly grey from dirt and wear. Then- dirty bright pink Converse high tops with "90210" on the side and laces nearly black from playing out side. Now- extremely thick, short, highlighted hair, which has seen 10 too many dye jobs and not enough conditioner. Then- baby fine, white, shoulder length hair left unbrushed. Now- hip huggers and a form fitting shirt. Then- pink shorts with green polka dots, and a matching shirt. Now- seventeen years old, content. Then- four years old, happy.

In a way I still have the mind frame of a child. At times I can't even bring myself to think of myself as a seventeen-year-old girl nearly out of high school and on her way into the world. Even looking in the mirror I see a scared little girl who just wants to play Barbies or watch Ninja Turtles with her friends next door. And sometimes my thoughts aren't how they're supposed to be, instead of thinking like a young adult, I revert to feelings of someone younger, more inexperienced, and less damaged. Like I'm still innocent.

It feels as though I should be shouting "Happy September 11th !," as though it's a day to be happy and celebrating things, because we all have the shirts, the hair spray, the face paints, and red, white, and blue. And we're all smiles as we walk into school, unaware of what the day really means. Then it hits, as Chris and Tyler come over the intercom, and people are rudely talking and laughing. Zach shouts, they quiet. And a silence falls, as everyone realizes we're not supposed to be celebrating. We're supposed to be thankful we were not there.

Laughing, as a group of drunk men attempted to sing along with the band, clapping and slurring the song's lyrics together badly, it felt as if maybe we were drunk ourselves. The men would stare every time we laughed loud enough to be heard over the band, then quickly go back to nodding their heads and mouthing words to songs they used to know. What was wrong with us? Was it a night of freedom? Empty beer bottles all around and sticky stools beneath us as poorly sung country songs played, yes. I think it was a night of freedom.

Thoughts of a cool night at a football game scare me. Just because of the teams playing, but I know when the game comes, I'll have to go. And if he's there I don't know what I'll do, but I know I'll do something very drastic. Whether it's to hug him or punch him or cry at his feet, I don't know. But something will happen. Will he look the same, and if he doesn't will he recognize me first? I've changed so much in so many ways since the last time he saw me… Will he still love me?

I don't know why I'm angry. Or why I'm upset and I want to cry. I just wish you were here so I could hit you as hard as possible, then turn away crying, because deep down I know one of the reasons I'm miserable is you, or the lack of you. Either way, you work into the equation. And sometimes I want to take my pencil, and erase the marks you've made upon my heart, then blow away the remains, like nothing has happened, like "you" were never in this metaphorical math problem. But I know, you equal me.

She wore a light blue hat with multicolored flowers decorating it to cover up her head, which was now bald due to chemotherapy. And her clothes were too big for her frail looking frame. Her face was wrinkled with age, but her eyes were young, sparkling with hope and even something resembling happiness, or maybe it was just a strong soul shining through a weak shell. And her smile, this perfectly white smile that I saw every time I looked her way… Even now remembering her, I can't help but smile, because now I know what beauty and strength are.

Sometimes I feel like running. Just running to anywhere or nowhere. And the thing is, I don't even run. And sometimes I wish I could fly, like all those girls in movies who wish to be birds, I just want away. What if I went to the beach and just swam until my arms were too tired to take me another yard and I just floated off. Any means of getting away from here seems nice. But mostly I want to drive. Windows down and music blaring, going seventy- five in a forty- five zone, with no where to go.

How simple it is for me to fall in and out of infatuation. One second I'm nearly in love with someone and the next they're another shadow hanging in the back of my mind. Like my heart is just playing games, seeing if someone will catch us and somehow cage us. And it's impossible. This fluttering about people, just testing the waters, so to speak. But then again, you never caged my heart, and what we feel near you isn't fleeting infatuation, but something more. Something deeper and harder to fall out of...Something we don't ever want released from… Love.

A poem… short, simple, yet so thought provoking it makes my head and what's more, my heart ache to read it. She portrays her human heart as a god, Eros. Beaten by love and battered by so many false promises. But at the end, it's so clear… We're always torn apart before our hearts can be sewn together for the last time, before we find the perfect person to be with, before Eros finally ties our heart with it's twin. Maybe not its twin, but its other half, the half that lies in another person, but you can feel beating.

Funny, how after months of trying to convince myself that my heart has finally healed after the pain you put it through, I see something with your name and again, it's ripped in two. And that rose and bear you gave me the day after we had a fight, the rose sits on my shelf and the bear lays with me through the night. I shouldn't feel this way at the sight of your name, my heart going from fine to hurt as though this is some stupid game. But in the end, I can't pretend, I don't miss you.

Baby, I know you're scared, but so am I. And all I want to do lately is slide my arms around you while lying on my bed, or your bed, any bed as long as its with you. And the last night you were here I can remember clear as day, because things like that stick with you. And that candle, you know the candle, it hasn't been lit since then, and it sits there waiting for your return. And sometimes watching kissing scenes in movies all I can think of is your lips on mine. God, I miss you.

Skin against skin, and it's so unbelievably hot in this room, I just want to push him away from me, but I can't. Something appealing about a body close to mine again, and the way he smells is intoxicating, god, help me, I'm losing myself, pressed against this tan boy with curly brown hair. And a hand placed gently on my side reminds me of how good it feels to be touched, but no, it's not the same. What is wrong with me, letting myself get caught up in this boy's attention. Don't look at me like that again, please…

It wasn't a lie, baby. Even if I wanted to leave you, your heart has a firm grasp on mine, I'm afraid they both won't allow it. Even if I begged and pleaded my heart wouldn't hear me, because it's so busy trying to listen for the sound of yours. Even in another's arms the only beat I could hear was yours, ours. Silly thing, my heart, I'm completely unaware of it unless I'm thinking of you. And I knew it was there, in the arms of a stranger. This stings, I know. But my heart beats only for you.

Where will we go, girl? Everything feels like an adventure from where I'm sitting. With you in the passenger seat and the windows down as our blonde hair waves wildly around. Where will we go? You pick the place I'll get us there, just tell me where we're going. We can sing as loud as we want to any country song or sad emo song we choose, because no one can stop us, because now we're free. Just pick the song, the place, and we'll go. And we'll have smiles as the car catches speed and we blur into infinity.

My head is spinning, thoughts of now and then dancing chaotically around memories and pictures of past summers and winters and all in between. Swirling, I can't seem to grasp just one anymore but they're weaving in and out of clear as day and as blurred as water vision. It's making me weak trying to keep pace when all I want is to lay down and watch them fly by as though on a movie screen… Just fall back and relax as my life passes by. But no, oh no, life's moving too fast for that. It demands a dance.

Sometimes I feel so young. I forget I'm seventeen, and think that I'm much younger. My future is knocking on the door, and I'm somewhere in the back playing with my Ninja Turtle action figures. And I'm more comfortable in that mind frame. I much prefer thinking like a younger person than like an adult. I spent my childhood as an adult, and now I want to be a kid. There's just something so exhilarating about being young and not caring about anything but the amount of fun you're having or going to have. We all should be kids again.

If I weren't so in love with someone else, I'd carve your name into my wrists just so I could say you're part of me, and that every drop of blood was meant for you alone. And I would secretly keep small things and put them somewhere to obsess over the memories and moments they symbolized. And every time you smiled, I would think it was for just me, as my heart skipped a beat and my own lips mimicked yours. If I weren't so in love with someone else I could see myself falling so in love with you.

Grasping the hand of a girl and pulling a boy by his wrist in a mad dash through puddles inches deep to get to rides, with seats soaked and operator's wary of more rain. Our pants, or at least mine, were soaked clear up to my knees and my shoes were slippery on the inside from the water seeping through, my shirt completely drenched and my hair plastered to my head. Even though we couldn't do much but run around in the rain and splash through puddles, it was a blast, and again, I wasn't ‘nearly eighteen' but barely thirteen.

Damn. Again… I feel so useless. So unneeded and replaceable. It honestly makes me question where you'd be with out me. Where you'd go with out me. Where everyone would go. And I guess it's just my melancholy mood that makes me think you'd all move on in just a few months, weeks, days, hours. And I'd be some smudge in a picture representing your memories that were too unimportant to keep framed. Just a grey mark on some papers you'll throw away in a couple years time. But I'm not, I know. It's just me fading into grey tonight.

It's sort of strange how easily years of knowing someone changes the way you feel about them. I've known so many people and changed my opinion of them many times. I don't know whether it's because they changed or I changed, or maybe we both did, I guess that's growing up. I suppose I'm just happy I'm able to accept the changes, as well as get over previous misconceptions. It's really strange, though, because most of the people I've known for forever I consider family. One annoying, spazzy, loud family that I've not been able to shake for four years.

Today was good. Today is the end of September, meaning it's the end of one more month standing in between my future and myself. One less month keeping me from everything I want and yes, everything I need. October has homecoming week. I hope Shawn wins king. I hope this month flies by, too. The quicker the time flies the quicker things get here and the quicker I can reach my forever. Because even though December brings a lot of good things there's only one I truly want, and that's the boy my arms fit around perfectly, without any effort.