Deservingly?

Because no matter how much you tell yourself that you know this, you know this, it doesn't mean you've accepted it. And by this, I mean how we live in a constant state of randomness. There are no patterns, and probability trees only exist in math. The output is not directly proportional to the input. What we do doesn't always pay off. And what we don't do is sometimes worth more than any imaginable action. There is no Lady Luck. And the stars have not spent millions of years realigning themselves in such a position so as to tell you in what month you'll be meeting the love of your life. But we're all so desperate for guidance and reassurance that we'd believe in anything.
Someday, when and if you'll be ready to stop believing all the fairy tale talk you've been fed, you'll acknowledge the fact that everything you receive in life is not something you have necessarily neither earned nor deserved.
You've been forcefully shoved into this world, blind and ignorant. Force fed a bunch of ideals to soothe the aching heart but not the mind, as useful as a map that only has ' you are here ' written all over it.

Pictures of who??

Good God!! I lost my virginity to a guy who now quotes The Last Goodnight's 'Pictures of You' on Facebook. In my defense, I was small and naive and slightly intoxicated.

This is the very good thing about losing your virginity to a guy you didn't really have a relationship with. The memory of it is clear and clinical, funny and devoid of feelings of heartbreak or disappointment. What's left is the memory of a sense of deflation, the burning, and funny ass, ridiculous quotes on Facebook.

That song is so incredibly gay.

12:00

I feel the need to ramble. I feel this need because I'm mightily pissed off. It's fucking midnight. I'm on here wasting my time looking at all things pretty and the fucking house is flooded with light. I can hear the sounds of people breathing because they are in the same room as me. They watch television. They type away on their notebooks. They listen to music, really low, but I can still hear it. It's fucking midnight and I still can't have any time alone in this cursed and fucked up house.
I hate that I'm back to living with this dysfunction because I'm not in a position to choose. My brothers talk to me with their deep voices and all I want to do is cover my ears and scream for them to shut up. Their fucking deep voices when all I want is dark and silence. It's late. It's not much to ask.
I don't want to smell other people's body odor. I don't want to hear them speak. I don't want to hear the sounds they make while they move around burdening me with their existence. Their presence is unwanted and unnecessary.
It's fucking midnight and I hate them. Right now I hate everything.
And if this sounds emo, I don't give a shit.
No one is forcing you to read this.

Really really random.

I will never, for the life of me, understand this. Look at this. Does that look sexy to you? How can something like that be so erogenous? I really want to know.

Movie Lovin' - American Beauty.

"It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."

I can't believe I only got to watch this now, but it really was beautiful, in a twisted and fucked up way. Which is how I like beauty to be. Morbid.

Five in the morning and I'm browsing aimlessly though pretty stuff on here. I just got a call from a very good friend whom I haven't seen in about two and a half years and I'm so happy she called, even if it's the middle of the night. It's took me about .0 seconds to come to and shake the drowsy sleepiness off.
I miss London. I miss living on my own, in the city, having friends who think it's fine to call you in the early hours of the morning from the other side of Europe just to chat.

Innocence Lost.

She walks around wearing thick framed lenses and no one could tell you the color of her eyes. Her hair is a mismatching rainbow and she could be such a pretty girl, the poor thing. You could call this the equivalent of self mutilation, only not as violent and a different kind of messy.

The weary little Lolita in hiding, punishing herself for something she's not sure she ever had a choice of avoiding . She wishes she could say she is mourning, but mourning means grieving for the dead and you can't mourn for something that never lived.

All too soon, a child is made aware of the power a body holds, the trouble:
"Don't sit with your legs open, don't hug men too close, Don't wear short Shorts, Don't bend over at the waist."

Fast forward only a couple of months and she'll be doing just that to get that Barbie, that glitter nail polish. Later still, to get the attention, the dinner, the opportunity, the fuck.

She dreamed long before it was due, of hands sliding gown her body, lips whispering dirty secrets while alert eyes followed her every gasp. Belatedly, all she yearns for now are chaste kisses and gentle play with her hair.

Too late now, she was broken in too early and for too long.

It's too late for her to believe enough to hope.