hipsters & high school

i realized a few minutes ago that my blog is me.

it's who i am 

it's what i breathe

it's what my heart beats to

and that is definitely far from the definition of 'hipster'

because apparently that's the thing nowadays

to write like a hipster.

and I'm not even sure what that is and i think that's why i always have writers block, because i try to write like someone i clearly am not.

so I'm going to write from my heart to see if that changes anything.

alrighty, here it goes.

the story of my high school life begins with letter grades and brown eyes that I couldn't seem to figure out.

they ranged from C's to A's and

he ranged from love to hate

my heart skipped beats and my eyes 

turned weak from the derivatives 

clawing at my pupils.

the day we spoke about us and the day I choked on variables was the day

I wrote on napkins at in n' out instead of notebook paper about how much i wanted you to love me again 

like i still loved you

and how much i craved the touch of your fingers intertwined with mine

and summer nights in the bed 

of your '96 pick up

listening to 'the cars' and spilling

logistics about life and how much

we both despised calculus;

how nothing mattered but the wind and the stars that spelled 'stellar' in the sky.

and how we know this love will never exist again.

the heartbreak, the dropping grades, the empty sound of number two pencils scratching on lined paper; that's how the story of my high school life ends.

with D's and some hopeful B's

a few words shared 

but nothing too personal

and a diploma with a cap and gown.

and an ending with brown eyes;

still unfigured.