An unsent letter to Sam and Chelsea:
Dear Sam and Chels,
I know some of the stuff you say may be true. I know some of it is true and I am an obessed perfectionist. I can't help it. Sometimes I am a bitch and have to be right and have it my way. But why is it this year you are being fucked up about my mistakes? It hurts. Really. You don't know how I feel when you don't think about what you say. And a lot of times, it hurts. Deeply. You haven't been in my shoes. You say you have, but you haven't. You don't know. You really don't know how extremely hard it is for me. It's hell. It's a fucking hole. It's shit. And you don't know. What you think come flowing out of your wide, open mouths, and to me. And it hurts. Like a razor down my wrist. The blood drips. It hurts. And you both are totally numb to it. You don't realise it. So I hope you are happy; you got what you wanted. you hurt me. You accomplished making me fall and you keep pushing me down. And yet when I say this to your face, you try to argue, say it's better, and try to show sympathy. It's not working. And I don't know what is holding me back. But I came to think you don't want to have me as a friend, if you hurt me so much. So please stop this. Don't do this to me.
From, the unknown friend, if a friend at all, Carolyn.
Nightingale, tell me it will be alright. Sing me a song. A lullaby to stop this...
the girl
i'm lorelai. brown hair. tall. 15 years old. bisexual and proud of it. wiccan. coffee & cereal addict. creative. lives for music and friends. irish. wants to fuck craig parker and keith. make fair trade. want more? see my eljay
loves
steal away. coldplay. stars. christie. music. friends. cutting. piano. magic. shoes. reading. lotr. harry potter. writing. piercings. tattoos. swearing. true love. my sisters
loves
school. liars. matt. people who think they're 'all that'. abercrombie. boy bands. hilary duff. rap music. commercials. homophobics. hot weather. unrequited love. jerks. lawn work. pain.