Okay wow.

That was unexpected.

attempts to define

This is me and this is you and this is how it's been. I'm going to pause here and hope you imagine a blank because the truth is, I don't know how it's been exactly. I can't simply categorize it and then push it away indifferently. Seeing everything you do and analyzing it in terms of my classification. My narrow minded, depthless opinion of you. No. Not anymore.

So how has it been in terms of feelings? I'd quote Shakespeare. Something about Caesar and the stars. But I can't remember it right now. It was beautiful though and the first time I heard it (You walked in, silenced us all, looked straight at me and said it out loud) I couldn't understand it but I felt like crying.

People shouldn't be cynical about Shakespeare but that is another story.

But you and I, we're not another story. We go beyond any sort of classification, any secure category. We are the times you tell me about your day. We are the books we've both read and learnt from. We are the laugh we share after I have said something that somehow manages to be incredibly mature and naive at the same.

We'll laugh like that again someday.

But for now and for the record. I really miss you.

Sometimes I'd fool myself into believing that whenever he looked away into the distance it was because he was actually thinking about something and not because his eyes were losing focus. I'd tell myself that what I had said the day before had just slipped his mind for a moment and hinting at it slightly would make him remember. I would convince myself that he dreamed dreams that would make me smile if I heard about them.

And I would always be wrong.

Benassi

He's going to dazzle and daze me really. There will be bright lights and sunsets. Fireworks and looks across rooms. Careless whispers and less glorious moments. Times when I'll be driven to distraction. When I won't sleep nights but somehow stay awake mornings.

And he won't even know.

Jazz

Peace strikes you at the funniest times (Wow. Peace strikes. Almost-an-oxymoron.) What business do I have being peaceful now with sociology to worry about, history homework to tackle and a politics test first thing tomorrow morning. Should I not, at this very minute, be agonizing over the state of my hair? Or, like many of my friends, why no one has asked me to prom yet?

After all, prom is only a month and a half away *Insert eye roll here*

But I'm not doing any of these things. I am sitting on my bedroom floor, listening to jazz and I can't remember the last time I was this happy. I love jazz. And the man's voice on the radio. I sort of wish I had paid attention to the number listeners can text into just so I can text him. What a strange sentiment. I mean, what would I say?

It seems pointless to get up, turn the lights on and read for History or even to text someone and ask what chapters are coming in tomorrows test.

The whole number thing I did a couple of days ago was totally out of line. Sometimes I wonder if it pays to stick to girl rules. I should really learn what the rules are before being able to stick to them.

It doesn't matter right now. Jazz is good. The RJ's voice is downright sexy. He probably has an earring. What a gig though, midnight to 2 am jazz programme on the radio.

I wonder what his day job is.