Lucky

Some disclaimers:

1. I am female.

2. I write from whatever perspective I want.

3. I am not actually a boy named Adam.


 

I’m very lucky. Her name is Jenifer and she uses strawberry scented shampoo.

I like to go on walks with her – she likes to walk. I usually hate being alone but I love being alone with her. I don’t know if that makes any sense – I tend to lose most of my sense when I’m with her. She’s like a drug, I guess. I feel like I’m on every drug in the solar system when I’m just standing next to her, and holding her hand usually sends me into a neighbouring universe. Heaven knows that she’s not out of this world, but she must be something special.

We’re both so ordinary, actually. I don’t know why. We both tried to be different at one stage; she got a piercing and I stopped wearing a belt on my jeans. It didn’t work, for me at least. She still has her piercing. It’s beautiful, like every other part of her. The whole of her is so, so beautiful.

They say that you don’t forget your first kiss. I think that’s a lie. I forgot mine. I think it was in a movie cinema and horrible. I do remember kissing her, though. She was holding my hand and I thought I was going to fly away. I liked her, and she liked me, and we both knew. We were sat on a carpet in her living room, and I couldn’t think clearly. It made sense. She was in front of me. Jenifer. What else was there to think of?

Between the skin on her hands and wrists and the voice that she had, I don’t know which was smoother. She looked at me very closely, and I thought I’d screwed up, but instead, she laughed. She laughed her beautiful Jenifer laugh, and tried to cover her face with the hand that was intertwined with mine. “I like you, Adam.” I forgot how to speak, as expected. She laughed more and I replied, “I know,”.

And then, it was like everything that I thought was good and right in the world was in front of me. I was taken by the smell of strawberries that wafted towards me, and the feel of her hair between my fingers. She laughed, and kissed me. By the time her lips touched mine, and I felt the muscles in her face work towards a small nervous smile, I was so far gone into a world where only her and I existed. Adam and Jenifer world. Full of kisses and strawberry shampoo and hand holding. I smiled, at a loss for words, and she giggled, and we both laughed more than we had in weeks. We lay on the carpet, close to the TV. There, with her head on my chest and my hand running through her hair, I asked myself why I was in the situation I was in, where she had come from, how she was so beautiful. I couldn’t answer myself. I figured I was lucky.

As my mom came around to pick me up, she skipped beside me as I walked to the car.

“I know, ” she whispered, as she kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t know how it could have happened. I didn’t get it. I couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, it may have just been a Jenifer effect.

“I like you, Jenifer,” I said. Then, I got into the car while she greeted my mom.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

                                                 -Hozier


Love and light,
Shalom X

An Open Letter To You All

Dear friends,

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Granted, most of it is hungry 2AM thinking that shouldn’t count, but it’s thinking, so it does. I’m on vacation (what’s the difference between holiday and vacation?)! I have 36 (including weekends) days left, and after a really long time of doing nothing, (read: browsing the internet and lying on the ground) I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t like having nothing to do.

But Shalom, you say, you DO have things to do! What about that YouTube channel of yours that you so excitedly started over here? Ah, well, here’s the first part of this letter:

PART ONE: BEING A YOUTUBER IS HARD WHEN YOU DON’T OWN A CAMERA

I feel like the title is self explanatory. I shall be uploading and apologising again tomorrow, and I’m sorry if anyone was (is?) actually waiting in anticipation to see it. I hope it’s satisfactory. This is not how I wanted this blog post to go so I’m stopping part one.

PART TWO: WE NEED TO LIVE MORE

Partof my nothingness time hasbeen spent on Ella Grace Denton’s blog, We Need To Live MoreNote: I feel really strange about calling her Ella in this post, but I’m going to do it anyway. Cringe. Ella is twenty years old and extremely insightful and fantastic. I feel like a school teacher writing comments on a frightened child’s report card. Cringe again. Cringes aside, I’ve spent a lot of time on WNTLM and I’ve come to the agree with her. We really do need to live more. Yes, another teenage girl is being a cliche and writing about happiness and experiences and such. Come to think of it, it’s really difficult to NOT be a cliche. You do what you’re expected to? Cliche. You do something overdone? Cliche. You do something completely different? Oh, look! Other people want to try it out because it seems positive! You’re a cliche.

Less about cliches and more about Ella, she gives all sorts of tips and advice and recipes and all in all, cool things to possibly make your life more awesome if you try them. I advise you all to give it a look, and do something different today or tomorrow (today, because tomorrow never comes). Thus ends part two!

Kidding. You can follow Ella on twitter and instagramNow it’s done.

PART THREE: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO CALL THIS PART

You’re a cool person. And life can be so crap and awful and I’m so sorry because it’s really important to note that regardless of anything you have EVER done, you never deserve to feel like you are unimportant, unloved, or unworthy. Mistakes get made, and some people never get that. But you know what? At the end – or whatever time suits you- of the day, you’ve got to tell the haters to back the hell off. Why? Because you’re fricken’ magical and anybody who tries to hurt you sucks. They suck more than I suck at combing my hair. THAT’S A LOT OF SUCK.

I think that so many people forget how much life there is in them when the life around them gets shitty. That’s not very beautifully phrased, but I can’t think of a better way to say it at 11:42 PM. Look, what I meant to say through this letter is that you should believe in your magic. God damn, I believe in your magic. I believe in my magic. This is rare, because for me, believing in myself is a hard thing. I have 35-ish days before I head into my final year of high school, and I’m going to try my darndest to believe in and act on my magic. The magic is real, people. The magic is your dream of going to the sea by yourself, your first mirror selfie, the second CD that you bought and the feeling that you get when you scream. That’s magic.

Believe in yourself and have a time while there is time.

With Magic,

Scoot X

Dare – More Angst. (Really, Shalom?) (Yes.)

Hi! I’m feeling super angsty and I keep writing these break up posts even though I have absolutely zero break up experience. Hence the melodrama, I think. Here’s another. Yay!


How dare you come into my heart? How dare you claim ownership –falsely! – over the only thing that I truly own? How dare you come, fleetingly, and leave marks like foot prints in the sand, in your opinion? Let me assure you, my heart is a Persian rug and you were, are, wearing those caterpillar boots with soles laden with mud and heartbreak.

How dare you make me think that anything was for you? It was all for you at one point, all points! Everything – how dare you make me believe in me because of a couple “you’re beautiful”s? How dare you?

How dare you allow me to think that good things come from you and nowhere else? How dare you crush anything that was alive and call it “housekeeping”, who told you my heart needed to be kept? How dare you, you and your empty words and “no promises” mantra. How dare you leave when you thought you’d cleaned up enough?

My carpets are dirty and the curtains are hanging off the railings. How dare you.

To whoever dares come after, some words:

Stake a claim in my heart, or get the hell out.

Amanda Torrini


 

That’s all. I’ll be back soon, I hope.

All my love,

-Scoot xx

Choose- A piece about an angsty teenager and luuurve

Hello friends! So while I figured out why I was feeling all sap saps this week, I started my channel! Also, I wanted to write some angst about how I don’t have a Jackson Harries to fly halfway across the world to see me. Watch that video here, it’s great. In any case, here is the angst romance shmance pants!


 

I miss you.

I miss the stupid way I used to feel when we went out, the way it seemed like I was on drugs a little bit whenever I was with you. The way you used to – do you still? – bite on the corner of your top lip when you concentrate too hard. The way you used to know so little about so much.

I remember the way one day played out: when we walked for a long time, and I got tired, so we stopped. You sat and I sat after you and we made shapes with the clouds. You asked I was okay and I asked if you were happy, and you said, ‘yes, kind of’ and I said ‘yes’. I remember you leaning on my shoulder and asking why I was so tired and I told you that I was having a regular day. I told you that I was confused about choices and that I hated losing and that the world is a big place.

You asked what my choices were and I said, ‘a couple here and there’, and you asked what I wanted you to say. I didn’t know. I was quiet and then you were quiet and then we held hands. I keep drawing hands because I miss holding yours.

I remember you looking at me and touching my nose, watching my face scrunch up and the tension in my body disappear. I remember when you turned and propped me up onto my knees while you were on yours and you held me tightly. I remember you squeezing tight and asking if I was crying. I was crying.

You held my one hand, with the other still around my back. You looked at me, and said, ‘I choose you. I’ll always choose you,’.

It’s December, darling. You didn’t. I miss you.

Qui dit que tu m’amais? // Who said you loved me?

 


THUS ENDETH THE ANGST! I’m feeling a lot less teenagey-hormoney now, so I’ll probably be back to my usual crap talking…whenever I …ah, I can’t even keep my train of thought from being derailed.

Soonest,

Scoot X