Secret Stories.

We both knew I was invisible to him now. It was so obvious. He never looked at me, never seemed to notice me, never tried to run into me anymore; he had utterly and completely erased me from his life. I was nothing but another person in the hallway to him now. But I suppose I only know this because I still couldn't keep my eyes off him. Of course, as soon as he noticed, I looked away, keeping a reasonably blank face. He did well to do the same, staring into a blank distance ahead of him. It wasn't so much that I missed that we used to actually be friends, there was just something different about him. He didn't smile much anymore. His wide grin revealed his sparkling white teeth (saliva, I presumed); a cheeky smile. It comforted me to know that he was happy. But that was in the past. There was only really ever a half-smile across his face now, or no smile at all. The corners of his mouth showed amusement, but it barely touched his eyes. His eyes. The way they used to... glimmer. Shiny, I quoted myself when I first noticed his eyes; he looked like he was about to cry. This was back when his grin reached his eyes, shimmering vividly with excited animation as he talked.

And that time when he almost smashed his head into mine - on purpose, of course. I turned to see his face no more than a few centimetres from mine. It was dark, and his eyes still glimmered as they bore into mine. I couldn't take my eyes off that one cheeky spark in his left eye; the corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide a smile. Nothing happened since. We moved on, simple as that. Well, at least he did. I suppose I could never move on from something like this. Ex-friends always left a scar.

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I so could write a story aye! Haha. Last week, when I went over to my cousin's house, we were talking about writing short stories, and I had told him that I wrote stories based on the dreams I'd been having. Talking about my dreams led on to some sort of deep discussion. Pretty cool... but anyway. What I was saying was that my cousin suggested that I should write my own life story.

I'd never thought about that before; in fact I thought that would be almost impossible. I held on to that thought though. I've now recently realised that of the 24 hours that my mind thinks, about 12 hours of the time, I'm already compiling sentences and paragraphs based on fragments of my life together into a story. And I've just realised that I do that all the time. SO, haha you get to suffer by having to listen to my life stories. Don't worry, I'll TRY to make it interesting. I mean, isn't what you just read interesting? Obviously this happened ages ago. I think I've been reading too much... Yes, I've definately been reading too much. I've been reading the Twilight Saga, and I've just finished Eclipse. IT'S SO GOOD. AND IT'S GOT SO MUCH LOVIN'. Reminds me of my unnecessarily vivid dreams... hm. Yes. No dreams recently, hence no stories ABOUT my dreams.

Omgosh, my scar is finally not flaky at all! It's just purple. Eww. It's like a long, thin line of dark crater, and within the crater is a thin white line of white, wrinkly skin. Hehe, it's manly. And yes, it DOES mean that I know how to be a manly man. Ask me, and maybe Kathy and I will teach you how to be a man ;). And trust me, you might want to ask. No, you need to. There are too many people who simply do not know how to be manly. It's sad.

ANYWAY. This was not at all what I was even meant to be talking about. I had a theme for this blog, but it's taken so long to even just bring it up. Haha, sucks for you, because it means that you'll have to read more. But trust me, it's good :). It's an analogy. An analogy about people. I hope I don't ramble too much. Okay, here goes:


People are like beaches. The sand is them, and the water is how much of them that they try to hide (I love this already). A person cannot change who they are, in the same way sand does not change, they can only hide themselves under an unwillingness to be open, covering as much sand as they feel that they need to. Their water has the ability to shift the sand underneath, burying certain things, while revealing others.

People walk along others' beaches. And, naturally, they leave foortprints, or imprints, as I would call it. Some walk on the very edge of the sand, while others don't fear to go deeper into the beach, where the water is. The deeper they go into the sand and water, the bigger the imprint they leave behind. A person who goes deep into the water can reveal the underlying secrets under the water as he/she sifts under the sand. And when they leave, they leave a trail of water behind, hidden secrets still hidden under the clinging sand on their wet feet. And no matter how much that beach tries to swallow up the sand, and smooth out the sea floor, a spot will always be there. An imprint will always be left behind. And that person will never forget that place where he/she stood.

I'm not entirely sure that all that would make sense... but it sounds pretty cool :). I thought of it earlier today, so I thought it was cool to finally update my blog. It's good to be in an uplifting mood as well :).

Anyway, guys, I suppose it's been really long to read, so I'll stop now. Take care, all you :).

LOL, Sarah.