elizabeth. my lordy. shes cute, shes blonde, shes thin, shes quiet, shes intelligent, she likes hard rock, she draws, shes hot, shes sensible, and shes in my latin class. thats the only downfall i suppose. i hate wanting girls from class. it never works out right. the rhetoric girls, the lit girl, the one from calc... none of these are good indications of success at this thing. that and shes young. younger than i should be looking at. still lives in the dorm. still calls mommy and daddy as such. but she looks over at me alot in class. often adds that constant hair flip and play. shes just suggesting that i watch more. ... ... ... and i do. sometimes i feel guilty doing that. falling for the same old tricks, in the same old ways. ill do the same old thing, and nothing will ever happen. nothing good atleast. this past year i even learned that doing everything different, and doing everything right still wont let you keep happiness. someone has to throw it away for you, if you dont. so i dont know. i do know shes very, very attractive to me. i guess thats hard to describe. most people could pick my outward type of person, but a precious few would know the inward type of person i look for. she seems like it. but then again, not so much like it. in her eyes, its a bit empty... more so than id like it to be. because that means something else to me. but there seems to be something alive in there. something interesting about her. but its altogether challenging to tell. she readily entices me to observe and flirt, but will not look on in the same way. more of a welcoming motion in, but wishing not to be welcomed herself. it is interesting. kinda like how im asserting all this from just looking at her in class. its all a game to her. moving spots everyday in a classroom the size of livingroom... the constant - hes not watching me watch him- glances. and the pretending not to see me, while still watching glances. it is nothing but a cruel, cruel game. a game of chance. a chance at something that is nothing more than a faux battle of witts and superiority of mind's precarious nature of the fleeting happiness and and lust that maintain our purpose for playing the game. its a smaller dinner cracker when you need a meal. and it is all very, very exhausting. but i digress away from the point of concern.


which...

is that i hate wearing these pants. these jeans, faded, ragged, ill fitting... the ones i find in the bottom of the back of the closet when i need them most. i search to find something stronger, cleaner, fresher. and i find this from the pit of the hole. but they suit me. blue. simple. functional. if not a little worn. the waist is a bit big now. the legs are a bit short. but they still fit. more so than i may want them to. and so i wear them. reluctant maybe, to not have found a new pair. a foregin pair. tags still intact, somewhere in the lower filings of my wardrobe. but i do not. i find only what i know. only what i have. only that which i may have touched to the point of comfort. but im not talking about blue jeans. and my true readers already knew that.


s


arria. o dei immortales!