The Valentine's Day 2k14 Playlist

This may seem really late, but I had to post a Valentine's Day related entry because I made one last year (kinda like making a tradition, or something like that), and also because I have nothing better to post.

Here are the songs I've been playing on repeat last Friday. I hope they are to your liking.

Crave You (Flight Facilties)-Daniela Andrade (4:12)

Like I Did- Gina Cimmelli (4:16)

I Was A Fool- Tegan and Sara (3:31)

Little Person- Jon Brion (4:02)

Young Folks (Peter Bjorn and John)- Dawn Landes (3:27)

I Still Think About You

I still think about you even if I tell myself that I don't anymore, which is a bummer because if my brain doesn't listen to me, who will? I've tried hard to stop, to be honest. I close my eyes every time I pass your school, so I won't end up analyzing the features of every male dressed in a student's uniform, looking for your signature features. I hid the class pictures you and I shared, and I'm this close to blocking you from Facebook (which is a pretty bad move, because everybody will know that I'm trying to forget about you, and I don't want them to think that way even though it's true).
I think the problem about forgetting you is that I don't know where to start. Most people tell you to cut off connections right away, because that's where it all begins. Like taking out weeds, where you uproot them  because without their little capillaries of life sucking out all the minerals from the soil, they'd shrivel and die. The problem about forgetting you is that there are no roots to uproot, no direct spot to target. The part in my brain dedicated to you is very abstract, where the lines are blurred and the colors are smudged into different colors. You don't know where it ends, much less where it starts.
So I still think about you, even though it's poisonous and sad because I know you barely think of me. I still think about you and your stupid green shirt, and the way you lost weight over the year. I still think about why I never said the things I wanted to say, and why I don't feel remorseful for not saying them.
You're there in the rain, when the weather is gloomy and gray. You are there in flash floods and little rusty tricycles. You are there in little notebooks with cheap padlocks.
You are still there.
And maybe, to start not thinking about you, I have to accept that you will always be there. Maybe accepting the part that you will never really go away is the first step- the fact that you may be significant now, but in a certain time, you may not be.
You are a part of me in a sense that most of my pubescent years were dedicated to you. And in order to start another stage of life, your part has to end. It may be slow, but I'm getting there somewhere, somehow. And one day, I won't be thinking of you anymore.

The Walk to Your House: A Short Story

I knew it was a bad idea to head out my house at twelve in the morning just to see how you were doing.
I forgot to grab a jacket and scarf on the way out, and was walking down the wet pavement with nothing but flip flops and shorts, and a t-shirt too. I should have changed, I told myself. I should have thought about myself before I did anything for you. But like everything that involved you, my body went on autopilot, desperate to please you, desperate to be with you.
So I wrapped my hands around my arms, hoping that they would suffice as substitutes for jackets or cardigans or other clothing used for warmth. My cellphone juggled in my bottom's pocket, holding the text message you sent me ten- no, five- minutes ago.
"Where are you? Let's talk."
That's all it said and it was enough to make me leave everything I was doing- to jump off bed and sneak out of my house. To forget what happened three months ago.
I thought we mutually agreed that we'd never talk to each other again after what happened the past few months. Like how you said you needed space and how I lied that I needed some too. But then you send a text like that- who do you think you are, to send texts like that to people you haven't talked to? Who are you to tell people what to do?
Like everything that involved you, I was an idiot. Like how I gave you cash when you were 'running short', or when you needed that ride somewhere and I was your plus one, when really, all you needed was a ride. I'm still trying to find out how I fell for it though. Maybe I was blinded in more ways than one, or maybe I was just insecure and happy that someone finally noticed me.
Maybe by doing all those stupid things, you would consider me worthy of you.
Maybe, just maybe, you'd want me back after this walk to your house.
I let out a sigh, and pushed my hair back. I was halfway there. It wasn't a long walk. We used to walk to each other's houses and climb up our bedroom windows, sharing secrets that we promised we'd never tell anyone. Then the visits slowly disappeared. We'd then agree to just meet up midway our houses, the waiting shed by the bus stop, every nine in the evening. That was our routine, until  it became just my routine, you giving out excuses that you had homework, or that you were tired. I was tired, and I had homework too, but I was there. So why weren't you? Until now, I still don't know.
Before I realized it, I was standing in front of your porch. Your lawn, to be exact. I could feel the wet grass on my feet, mostly because I was wearing flip flops, dammit. Your bedroom window was the only one with a light that night. Your parents usually slept early, exact opposites of you.
I was contemplating if I should climb up your window, like the way I used to three months ago, when you were sick with fever and feeling lonely. But then again, I remembered that there was a reason why that happened three months ago, and why that can never happen again. I punched in your number in my phone, my fingers automatically finding the keys that made it. I never really forgot it, though I convinced myself I did.
It rang multiple times, until the operator told me that you were busy. So I rang again, and again, and again. And still, you didn't pick up.
I rubbed my left eye with the back of my hand, as I could feel the tears coming in. You used to say that you hated it when I cried. I sighed again, and sat on the pavement, not caring if my bottom was going to be wet. I was cold, from being practically naked in the cold spring air. You weren't going to pick up my calls. And even if I was in front of your house at 12 something a.m., you weren't going to come out of your house and welcome me in like you used to.
Then I heard something open, and you called out my name. I turned and saw you at the front door, smiling at me.
You invited me in. You acted as if we haven't been not talking for the past three months, like nothing happened. But after you gave me a cup of hot chocolate, you asked me "Why are you here?"
And I, being the idiot that I was, showed you your message. "Because you said so," I replied.
I could see your face turning red for me, and then you looked away. "That was supposed to be for someone else."
I knew that was coming but I came anyway. I wanted to tell you that, but I didn't because I was stupid and young and desperate. Instead, I smiled and thanked you for the hospitality, and ran back home, and hid under the blankets, telling myself that tonight didn't happen.

And then I woke up.