Chapter II: Two Moons

“There are plenty more fish in the sea, but I have fished up two pearls that are ghost white pale and mysteriously beautiful like the moon.”

Remember that I told you that I’d make this book my own, that I’d make it part of me? I fear that I might be making it all there is left to me. Even though I’m simply writing down the things I see, the things I do and the things I feel, it is as if every sentence becomes harder to write down and every word takes longer to spell. I’m just trying to bring another sad, emotional teenage story to life, but there are no heartbreaks to cry over and I can’t speak of love, because I don’t even seem to know what it is anymore. I’m just bleeding out my feelings and thoughts like it the blood with which I fill the pages of this book. It’s insane you know, trying to write a book as a teenager. I thought it would be easy or that it at least was one of the things I might actually be able to do. That it was just filling up white pages with words and sentences and that the hardest part to writing, was simply finding something to write about. I have never been this wrong. First of all, it f***s you up, it really does, because when sit down and start thinking about life, love, alcohol, school and whatever, you can get annoyed or depressed with things quite quickly. You reflect upon life and you look for love, but you can’t find it. You think about school and you understand that it isn’t something to be hated, but something to be treasured and then you realize you wasted most of the years doing nothing but complaining about it. You try to think about the future and you’re so caught up in it, that whenever you look back upon the past, it’s like time moves faster than you could possibly imagine. Then comes the desire to do it all over again, the desire to stop time and make the best moments infinite, eternal, never ending. If you stand still to think about these kind of things, then it becomes rather troubling to write anything. You feel mixed up about everything and everyone.

I was going to tell you about love, yet I’m only a couple of pages further and I’m already uncertain about what it is myself. Isn’t it love when you feel that one person is all you need in this world, that her smile is all the happiness you know, that her voice is all the reason you hear and that her eyes are they only thing you care to gaze into? Oh, how often I felt the need to just look at her, whilst we were sitting in class, just until our eyes met and I had to look away in order to avoid it becoming awkward. Oh, how everything I say to her is but the needless desire to hear her laugh and how that laughter is like heavenly music to my ears. Oh, how every time she speaks, giggles or simply looks at someone else, even if it is my best friend, I can’t help but feel miserable inside. Miserable, because I get the feeling I’m never close enough, that I’m so distant and alone. Is it familiar to you? That feeling of being left out, being part of the crowd, but not part of the stage? If you agree with me, if these are indeed the symptoms of someone sick on love, then that is solely because I’m speaking about her, her, her and not them. How is it possible I love both her and her sister? Is it because her sister reminds me of her, or because she reminds me of her sister? Maybe I love her more, simply because I see her nearly every day at school and whenever I don’t, I lack the guidance to enjoy myself and the meaning to be who I am. She introduced me to concerts, to parties, to life beyond the death that is my room. She didn’t judge me for the loser that I really am; she showed compassion and care, she is that which no one has ever been to me before. How could I possibly not love her after all that or cherish her as my dearest friend? Friends or lovers? Take that which I have and throw away that which I desire? Give her only half of what there is to give? Take only half of what there is to have? Would you stop a song, because the last note might hurt you? I wouldn’t. Would you turn off a movie, because the last scene might make you cry? I wouldn’t. Would you close a book, because the last word might kill you? I wouldn’t.  Yet, would I discard my love, because I fear that I might lose everything there is to life? She can never know, yet she has to know it most of all. I can’t tell her, yet it’s all I have left to say. I wish I never met her, yet she’s the best thing to ever have happened to me.

I can no longer take this feeling inside, it's slowly eating me away, it's twisting in my stomach,  running through my head in an endless loop and I no longer see and perceive anything but her. I have to tell her, I have to cry it out! Not like a battle cry, but words mixed with tears, weeping and talking, a moment of sadness and speech. Even though I want to let it all out, I am afraid. Of course I am! It's like I have to decide whether I want to be dying in a world that is incomplete and imperfect, a world in which she knows nothing or whether I want to keep living in the damage it might cause, in a broken world where she knows too much. I want to sit down with her, stare at her and then tell her with cracking voice, shaking hands and a bleeding, booming, bursting heart all there is to tell. Tell her every thing that matters, tell her the only thing I care about in the world, tell her about her. Whilst losing myself in her mesmerizing eyes and that being the only thing preventing me from collapsing under my overwhelming emotions, I’ll ask her to hold me, I’ll ask her to love me, I’ll ask her to hear me like a song, to watch me like a movie, to read my like a book, from beginning to ending, from birth to death, because for all I am and for all I’m worth, I love her for all she was, is and will be.

I thought I was over this melodramatic behavior, I thought I would no longer be that naïve fool who would do anything for a touch, a kiss and yet here I am once again, subject and slave to another love; another obsession. One night out and instead of waking up with a hangover, I wake up so emotionally unstable that it feels as if all the love I ever had has been severed in to 2 equal pieces and that I’m now torn between them. I can’t reach for either of them, because I fear losing the other. One side is my hunger, the other one is my thirst. Why I share the same fate as Tantalus, why are the Gods so cruel? Why are they mocking me when I’m the one who has known nothing but mockery in his life?

Oh right, I still owe you some fragments of that night out, don’t I? I suppose it is best if I call them fragments, because I don’t remember all of it as clear as I had hoped. Not that I was that fucked up or anything - at least I don’t think so? " since I didn’t even wake up with the slightest of a hangover. I just woke up with the annoying feeling that I can’t shake off me.

What was it again? Apple Cider? It hardly matters anyway, what I can tell you is that it was a bottle of alcohol and that we were staring at it as if we were waiting for it to change color or for the content to dissolve. I wasn’t that bothered about it, I was too busy staring at the Indian store clerk behind the counter, and he probably was looking back at me with the same thought. Another tipsy " or was I drunk? " teenager visiting his night store looking for some alcohol that is cheaper than the overpriced s**t they force you to buy at a party. That was what he was thinking. And I looked at him with disbelief that the stereotype was pretty much laughing me in the face, a night store run by an Indian? Hilarious. “Thank you, please come again!”, absolutely hilarious. He didn’t say that though, we didn’t buy anything and I doubt he’d actually be thrilled to see us again. Like retards we came in, as bigger retards we left, claiming no one of us had enough money with him to buy that suspiciously looking bottle of whatever it was. I had enough money with me, but I was convinced that more alcohol was the last thing I needed right now. That’s another place I can’t or won’t show my face ever again. How did I even come to enter the store that was right next to the room where the party was held anyway? There was no reason for it whatsoever, because I still had my card for ten consumptions and another free one if I were to use all ten of them. What happened to that card anyway? I don’t recall drinking that much? I’m even convinced that I lost that card when it had 7 red marks on it. I remember that I bought one of my friends a coke, even after I persistently insisted on him taking a beer. I won’t deny that it kind of annoyed me then because even I was reckless enough at the time to not care about anything, but thinking back, it was the wisest thing to do. I’m not saying I’m regretful towards what happened that night, not at all, it was abso-f*****g-lutely fantastic!

I’m still astounded by the amount of dance moves that popped out of me that night. Don’t get me wrong, it was a lot of dancing, but it were definitely not the moves like Jagger. It’s really not like me to do something like this, except for when I’m at home and all alone in my room. I suppose it was just the couple of beers doing its work. Apparently, dancing with myself didn’t satisfy me at the time, because before I knew it, I was asking my best friend to dance with me. If I’m really honest, I really wanted her to! It wasn’t some impulsive disorder cause by drinking a little too much, but I kind of just wanted to, I suppose? As you figured, she did refuse. Ouch, better luck next time! I’m sorry, but that’s the best of self-motivation I have. Now, what happened next still makes me feel rather uncomfortable. You think that when someone refuses, that’s the sign to stop, right? I completely agree with you, but it seems I really couldn’t be bothered to give a single f**k that night. I literally dragged this classmate of mine on the dance floor and I slow danced with her in a very clumsy and overly affectionate way. It didn’t take long, or she was gone. I suppose she didn’t really like it that much. Actually, I’m very sure she didn’t. Oh god, what was I doing that night? Should I apologize the next time I see her or just pretend it never happened? Ahh heck, I don’t know, I’ll worry about it another time. Did anything else happen that is worthwhile to mention? I remember that I quite casually sat myself behind the bar and my friend, who was serving beer, looked at me with a face mixed somewhere between confusion, concern and almost laughing his a*s off. They also have very annoying toilets at that place, because there’s only one cubicle and it doesn’t have a lock on it. That being said, I think I accidently opened the door whilst some guy was taking a leak. I can’t remember for the love of God who it was, but I suppose that’s quite obvious because I turned around quickly instead of having a long, awkward moment of staring at each other. If there's one more thing, then it's probably that I had a short, completely pointless conversation with this guy who's in my P.E class. I don't remember what I said to him, or what he said to me, but I think he was kind of laughing with me. I suppose I'll know next time we have P.E together. I just wish it would have been someone else, because he's one of those "though, bully" kind of guys. It feels weird though, that I haven't spoken with anyone about that party yet. That's probably because I'm on a break and I don't really leave my house anyway.

My school held this party to celebrate our last 100 days of school. It’s a tradition that repeats itself every year. I wonder, is it really something to celebrate? Everyone enjoys it and here I am once again, missing out on all the fun. I went to the party and I got myself pretty drunk, but that short period of pleasure, that little bit of time where I had nothing to worry about faded away so quickly and the next morning it became sadness and regret. Not regret because of what I did, like I already told you, but because I came to realize so much. I woke up with this twisting feeling in my stomach and that’s all I have had inside me for the rest of this week. It’s not just because I’ve come to realize that I’m in love with my best friend instead of her sister, but also because I feel that it is all coming to an end. Perhaps it’s just a temporary one, but still an ending to something which I now no longer want to end. I feed myself every possible lie in order to make myself believe that I hate high school. I keep telling myself that college will get better and that I would rather have a job than go to school. I thought I could go on with telling myself this. I thought I could pretend that it would get better and that I could hold on to this thought until I’m dead. That it would be in my last minutes of life that I come to realize all the beauty, joy and wonder in this world, that it would hurt having to say goodbye to all there is, but at least I wouldn’t have worried about it during my life. Keep those feelings locked up and take them with me, to my grave. I had thought… I had hoped that it would go something like that, but you can’t suppress emotions and you certainly can’t control them. They come out of nowhere and I suppose it’s better to embrace them than to fight them. Whether it is love, sadness, pain or depression, I’m guessing it’s best to just take all of it and realize that it’s just a sign that you are still living.