The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
If you belive this crap.

Monday, 20 December 2010

Sweet dreams are made of tears. Or, at least, after waking up accompanied with a wish you could cry your eyes out.

I've been dreaming again. Damn you, The Princess Diaries! I know it's all your fault. You made me thinking of him again. Even at night, I just wanna have some sleep, the only few hours a day i can spend wihouth having to think all my problems and (im)possible solutions for them over and over again. Oh, damn, here i go again. Being there, in front of his house, seing the back of his head while he was vacuuming the interior of his car (oh, i love it), didn't really helped me to get rid of the sick feeling i got yesterday evening. not at all. sometimes i just can't believe how vivid and close to reality dreams can get. i was there, making some stupid excuse probably nobody ever believed to be true, so we can go to that city he lives in. we, what counts my sister, mum and grandmother (!) for my delegation. besides that, my grandmother was driving the car. which we parked in his garage, of course without his permission and even without him realising it. it just felt all right, you know, like in dreams the most stupid things ever can feel realy ordinary. well, and when we came back (from where we've been which i don't know where it was at all and was probably not even important) i saw him. actually, i saw the back of his head. with his dark brown hair. aww. and then i had to parked our car out of his garage and i wished so hard he would at least see me (but at the same time i wished so hard he wouldn't see me at all, because i had no idea how to explain to him what are we doing here. besides the fact that we came out of his garage.) he didn't see me, of course. probably the only realistic thing in those dreams. which felt pretty bad, but just seeing him was good enough for me to wake up with that sick feeling you get after dreaming something nice and then realising it's not even close to reality (eventhough it could be. you know, i could call him. and ask him for a coffe. i bet he'd come, i'm quite sure, he's a really nice guy (apart for making me crazy about him). but i won't. i don't want to. i mean, of course i do but i really don't want to bug him or something. which's not really good at all, because i got that feeling quite often and quite often of that quite often i shouldn't got it because i'm not really bugging anybody at all. people are, mostly, happy to see you after some time and to have a chance to chat with you. they do, i do too. i'm the most happy person in the world when somebody i haven't seen for ages (or it just seems so long) remembers of me and we met for a coffee or lunch or something. i really am. but, you know, he could call me either, if he really wanted to meet me. he could. he said "see you". i know people say that quite often without really meaning to actually see each other, but anyway, he could just say "bye" and go. but he didn't. so, well - ? or am i just being so impatient? it's been about one month from that time, and ... omg, you probably won't agree with me at all if you see him, because he really isn't anything special at the first glance, but - can a boy be soo damn hot, turning you on just by seeing the back of his head, his silhuete leaving, his dark sparkling brown eyes, his soft hair, his impish smile, his accent i miss so damn much and which sound so familiar, like i come back home. how can a totaly ordinary guy make me feel so great at one time and so down at the other? is this just that "crazy little thing called love" or me being occupated with the only guy in my life i was really so close to, wanting to repeat this feeling? i don't know, i don't know, i don't know. as socrates sad, "all i know is i know nothing". it made him famous, but it makes me feel sick. i want to know it, i really do.) ugh, that's enough. but it feels really good to write it all down and not just keep it all stuck in my head. eventhough probably noone wants to read that, but anyway - it's not important. it's about to be my diary, after all.

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