And I keep thinking my name should stick, but somehow it doesn't seem to fit as well as it did.
Maybe that's because this is the end, or a kind of end.
It's also a beginning, though.
Because that's what all this is about, really. Endings and beginnings and the middles in-between those two things. Maybe it's a little about tops and bottoms and how nice his bottom is and how I wish he'd stop staring at my top.
And somewhere from when I decided to be T.S. Wilde and I forgot who I actually was, I became this person stuck between the two. I don't even care anymore. I'm graduating. I'm graduating from all the things that have seemed to always bother me and at the end of this, I might burn a few things. I might burn my journal, because I know at the end of this, I'm not going to be that person anymore. It's never going to be the same.
I accidentally became this.
Maybe that was my goal all along, was to get to this point where I don't know who I quite am anymore and where I think my older brother's friend is cute and where I'm not actually sure what my heart wants, but I can talk to my soul a lot easier. Maybe that was the whole point of this, because I know I said that this was about becoming my version of infinite, but somehow with the pretty words and the no-fucks-givens, I've ended up becoming something completely different.
I'm glad I'm moving out in August so I can figure myself out a lot better.
Though if we're being honest here, I'm not sure I'll ever achieve self-actualization. I don't think anyone does though, not even Princess Mia, despite what Meg Cabot wants me to believe.
I used to play the violin and I'm glad I don't anymore. Ask me a few questions and you'll discover I used to do a lot of things that most people wish they could do. Trust me. They're not all they're cracked up to be.
But here's one last confession before I get real and tell you who I really am: I hated my wind post. And I know I got eleven comments on it, and I know everyone thinks it's fantastic, but if I'm being real, that post came from me sitting on a mountain on a particularly windy day in March because I needed to get away and I'd rather just forget all about it. I still love the wind, though.
And I know I said that was the last, but I'm a liar, and here's another thing: I really want a cute boy who likes to write as much as I do to talk to me over the summer. Please? I know this is desperate, but really. I'll buy you Starbucks or take you to that new grilled cheese place that has fantastic tomato-basil soup or attempt to just make you laugh.
I guess I should just shut up and spell it out for you.
P.S. I now own 1,874 books. My mom says I have a problem. Maybe I do, since I bought 18 books in the past month. I don't mind, though.