Awkward Turtle 2.0
Great Crush,
Hi.
I miss you a lot. I miss you so much it’s crazy. I miss you so much it’s miserable.
I still can’t get over you. This feels like a first love I’m trying to move on from but can’t. What have you done to me? We’re not even flirting yet, but I feel like I’m going to have a giddy fit and cry at the same time. I see you everywhere – like in a creepy movie. Before I go to sleep, I think of you; when I wake up, I still think of you. I think of you when I go to school, when I eat, when I read, when I write. I’m thinking of you right now.
I see you even in guys. Don’t worry, I’ve been looking at others and appreciating their beauty and all. But in the end, by some pull of a pathetic phenomenon, I remember you and compare. I compare your beauty to them, even your brain. I could have liked them; I could have opened myself and sent “Hey, I’m Available and Can Flirt” signals to them, but
you’re the one I like. You’re the one I want to see and talk to. You’re the one I want to
flirt with, for heaven’s sake.
Songs make me cry, Great Crush, especially songs that remind me of you – which is
a lot, if I may add. I listen to them and then I just fucking cry like a little girl with a broken doll. It’s pathetic in all its levels. I don’t know, maybe sometimes the lyrics don’t really describe you or anything, maybe I had imprinted in my mind that they do. It’s perspective. It has always been.
I could have changed my views and started the excruciating process of forgetting. I could have distracted myself and tried to remove the spectacular image of you in my mind, along with all those silly hearts hovering around you. I could have, and trust me, I did.
I tried. I tainted you, erased you, brushed my brain clean. I was almost successful, but I didn’t make it. I was just lying to myself, running from this problem I couldn’t face. Maybe it was wrong to force myself to forget and deny all these feelings.
Maybe all I can do is accept the glory and the burden, and admit that I can’t get over all of these.
I am fucking crazy over you, Great Crush. This feeling is so big I might crumble underneath; this feeling is so intense I might break. You’re my
great crush, for heaven’s sake. I am crazy over your quirks, your lame attempts at punch lines; your vanity is annoying but it’s cute. I like that you like the music I like; I like that you read and is a nerd. I like you! I once told myself that this is just an unrequited infatuation that I can’t forget because of the pain it’s causing me; that I’m holding on to this pain because that’s all I have (and that I have masochistic tendencies); that, hey, when someone new comes, the pain and memory will ebb. I thought a new guy is the answer. Heck, maybe it
is the answer, but I wasn’t ready yet. And that just makes it
entirely miserable: how will I be ready for a new guy when I find it hard to forget? I’m acting like a crazy ex-girlfriend. Fuck it all.
Another thing: I might be in love with you. It’s almost there. I’m not an expert in this field; I don’t know where the line lies between a crush and a love, but I’m sure I’m just tiptoeing on that line like a daredevil trying to test gravity. I’m just a step away from falling in the vast, complicated world of loving. And what’s scary is that the chances of you catching my descent aren’t promising. Before, I said I wanted to have a “long, peaceful descent”.
Long, I get (heck, this is a
saga already), but
peaceful? Not really. I don’t think so.
I’m hurting, and I’m so pathetic. I’m sorry.
But I weirdly miss you.
I miss you a lot. I hope we meet someday soon.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Awkward Turtle 2.0
Great Crush,
Hi.
I miss you a lot. I miss you so much it’s crazy. I miss you so much it’s miserable.
I still can’t get over you. This feels like a first love I’m trying to move on from but can’t. What have you done to me? We’re not even flirting yet, but I feel like I’m going to have a giddy fit and cry at the same time. I see you everywhere – like in a creepy movie. Before I go to sleep, I think of you; when I wake up, I still think of you. I think of you when I go to school, when I eat, when I read, when I write. I’m thinking of you right now.
I see you even in guys. Don’t worry, I’ve been looking at others and appreciating their beauty and all. But in the end, by some pull of a pathetic phenomenon, I remember you and compare. I compare your beauty to them, even your brain. I could have liked them; I could have opened myself and sent “Hey, I’m Available and Can Flirt” signals to them, but
you’re the one I like. You’re the one I want to see and talk to. You’re the one I want to
flirt with, for heaven’s sake.
Songs make me cry, Great Crush, especially songs that remind me of you – which is
a lot, if I may add. I listen to them and then I just fucking cry like a little girl with a broken doll. It’s pathetic in all its levels. I don’t know, maybe sometimes the lyrics don’t really describe you or anything, maybe I had imprinted in my mind that they do. It’s perspective. It has always been.
I could have changed my views and started the excruciating process of forgetting. I could have distracted myself and tried to remove the spectacular image of you in my mind, along with all those silly hearts hovering around you. I could have, and trust me, I did.
I tried. I tainted you, erased you, brushed my brain clean. I was almost successful, but I didn’t make it. I was just lying to myself, running from this problem I couldn’t face. Maybe it was wrong to force myself to forget and deny all these feelings.
Maybe all I can do is accept the glory and the burden, and admit that I can’t get over all of these.
I am fucking crazy over you, Great Crush. This feeling is so big I might crumble underneath; this feeling is so intense I might break. You’re my
great crush, for heaven’s sake. I am crazy over your quirks, your lame attempts at punch lines; your vanity is annoying but it’s cute. I like that you like the music I like; I like that you read and is a nerd. I like you! I once told myself that this is just an unrequited infatuation that I can’t forget because of the pain it’s causing me; that I’m holding on to this pain because that’s all I have (and that I have masochistic tendencies); that, hey, when someone new comes, the pain and memory will ebb. I thought a new guy is the answer. Heck, maybe it
is the answer, but I wasn’t ready yet. And that just makes it
entirely miserable: how will I be ready for a new guy when I find it hard to forget? I’m acting like a crazy ex-girlfriend. Fuck it all.
Another thing: I might be in love with you. It’s almost there. I’m not an expert in this field; I don’t know where the line lies between a crush and a love, but I’m sure I’m just tiptoeing on that line like a daredevil trying to test gravity. I’m just a step away from falling in the vast, complicated world of loving. And what’s scary is that the chances of you catching my descent aren’t promising. Before, I said I wanted to have a “long, peaceful descent”.
Long, I get (heck, this is a
saga already), but
peaceful? Not really. I don’t think so.
I’m hurting, and I’m so pathetic. I’m sorry.
But I weirdly miss you.
I miss you a lot. I hope we meet someday soon.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
Accounts
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
INSTAGRAM
GOODREADS
