One of "Those Days"
[God.
Fucking.
DAMMIT!!!
I've lost this damn entry three times already! I'm sick of retyping it! I refuse to do it again!]
As it Is, Part I
Perfect
...you have to believe / in the power of love...
A girl gave a heavy sigh as the song ended, drifting off into a quiet instrumental before falling altogether silent. Believe. Yeah, right. She had lost the ability to believe long ago. Believers were idiots. And love? Hah! Love was a lie. Love was a cruel joke played on the innocent, the guiltless.
She knew.
She'd been in love once.
He'd been a pitiful specimen of a guy, thin and wiry and blonde and a full foot shorter than she was. He played sports, sure: Tennis. And that only because his mom made him. He hated sports. He certainly wasn't hot, by any definition of the word; he wasn't even cute. He talked with a weird lisp, and people made fun of him for it all the time. He wore thick glasses because he liked them. He told bad jokes. He smiled too often. He was a bookworm, pure and simple.
He was perfect.
A boy sighed as his computer screen went dark, leaving his room in an inky blackness. He didn't like the light. It was too revealing. It might tell the world about his innermost, most secret thoughts, his dreams, his desires.
His love.
He shook his head bemusedly at himself. He had no right to talk about love. It was an infatuation, that was all. Sure, there had been moments, moments that a solid couple would be jealous of, moments of pure bliss in the most unlikely places (Biology class stood out sharply in his mind, as did a certain field trip), but what were a few instants? Flukes, that was all. They were nothing. It was all just wishful thinking on his part.
But they were so real...she was so real...
She was tall and dark, not particularly thin but not fat, either. She didn't hate sports; she just preferred that other people played them. She didn't have an accent, unless she was speaking in Spanish. Her voice was completely and totally neutral. She had her own peculiar dialect, a strange mixture of English and American English and Spanish and Japanese and Quenya and computer lingo and what she referred to as "otaku-ese." She toned it down, usually, but he had heard her angry, heard her exuberant, heard her devastated. He knew and understood her language. He could speak it fluently. She wore glasses because she didn't feel like dealing with the hassles of contacts. She played the flute. She didn't tell jokes. She didn't smile enough, didn't show her twisted and chipped and slightly yellowed and absolutely stunning teeth. She had more hobbies than she could handle at once. She was a weirdo, pure and simple.
She was perfect.
Random Quote of the Day:
Assert your right to make a few mistakes. If people can't accept your imperfections, that's their fault.
- Dr. David M Burns
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