This book. I read it yesterday. Twice.
It tore asunder everything. Everything I thought I knew, that I thought I wanted. It left me questioning every action and every thought and every move and every direction. It made me cry.
And stay up until past 4AM. It made me want to talk, and talk and talk. About my family, and to Tany. Thing...things with us..I've noticed. Noticed how they are. It's like..the other day. When we were in the mall. On one of the upper levels, theres this huge fountain. It's pretty and the water always looks so...calm. Collected. warm and perfect. Anyway. One floor down from there, and..I never noticed before. Looking up, in this perfect exact spot..you can see up. Up into the faces of the people looking down. You see the glint of pennies that kids toss in. The garbage that found it's way in by accident and hasn't been tossed out yet. You see the light. The bright, accusing and helplessly mesmerizing light. It's greenish blue and filters down like a first snow. Slow and delicate. And..thats what I was doing yesterday. Looking up at myself looking down. Seeing the glint of happy things in the shallow pool of time my life occupies. I saw the light, and I saw the darkness. The cracks. The leaks and the things that I didn't understand. The gray areas.
All I can think about is this book. And what I want. And...I dont know. I dont know what I want. I've had Stranger and It's Not Over by Secondhand Serenade on repeat.
I'm not sure but...it fits. Somehow. I want that. A song, a profess of love. So intimate and sincere that others wouldn't begin to understand should they look upon it. Or hear it. Or somehow get to be presented with it. I want to be able to close to people, and have them listen to me. That unfailable, unconditioned perfection. Something utterly free and utterly true. I want to know that it exists. But..how can it? When I do not quite fit into the personality of any of my favourite characters. In this book, I'm more Owen then an Annabel. Twilight? I dont identify with anyone in there. I am not brave enough. I am not truthful enough. I am not pretty enough. Too smart. Too short. Too round and too imperfect. I can see, in the mirror, that girl I once was.
She's beautiful;radiant. Thinks so highly of herself and it isn't pretend. She doesn't worry and she does not doubt. The world can take her opinons and do what they like with them for all she cares. She's bolder and amazing and right. And I am not. I can see, the circles under my eyes from too many nights spent awake. The frizz in my hair. I can see the way my smile looks, and how it's unique but not lovely. I can see the excess, and where there isn't enough. I see my habits and my faults, laid out there upon my face. What others think, I am aware. I care. I'm fragile. Now, untrusting. Worried and stressed and sick of it all. And I think. "What do I want to do with my life?" And I'm not sure. Fashion...it calls. Like a beacon. A flag waving there. A phone call, ringing away and awaiting me to answer. I'm edging closer to the phone...my recent re-make of a dress is seeing to that. And..writing. Obviously, that calling calls just as passionately. Desire to stay here forever. To just sit. To write and worry and live my life exactly this way. I can, if I should wish. But..determination burns stronger. It's there, no matter what I'm doing. "Dont think about them. This is for you. You and you alone. It helps you. It'll take you farther. Just do it." Pushing myself. A bit too hard. And..no one knows.
I want to be Annabel for this. I want the story to end with me spilling all of the things I hold back. My family, listening. And friends that are amazing. No cares and no desire. Perfection.

If only.