I Dream Lana Del Rey Lyrics

If I were to walk down two blocks and turn right, I would see his house. The concept of passing by and seeing The Boy With the Blue Walls terrifies me. I avoid Napoleon Avenue at all costs. My friends and I joke about throwing our seven-dollar coffee at his house, but we decide he’s not worth the waste of whipped cream and icy caramel.

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What about walking around with a pit in my stomach every day until I hear from The Boy Who Was Silent? Is that love or is it obsession?

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One removed friendship. Two read texts. Three misused words. Clearly, The Boy Who Was Silent has made the decision to sever the ties between us and put up a wall. If my screaming and crying say anything about the situation, it’s that I invest too much of myself too quickly. I have known for a while that I make this mistake and yet, when I stay more reserved with my feelings it doesn’t serve me well at all. The physical pain of a heartbreak is a weird emptiness that sticks around and tries to swallow me up until I become a part of the nothing.

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The Boy Who Loved Cars died a little over a week ago. In a car accident. I am mourning, I truly am. Tears and broken heart. It is amazing how much a song can change things. I have realized that I can relate “Dear John” by Taylor Swift to him. He was an expert at “sorry” and even better at comparing me to other people. But when I got the call from his sister, all I could think of were the good times. All I told my friends was that he was like a brother to me, I never told them how he talked to me. I never told them how scared I was when he would come visit me. I was wrapped around the hope of change. He never did change. I miss him.

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The Girl With the Highest Rank made me create a character to express my love for her. I wanted to learn what my heart truly felt, but all I learned was that I can write good prose. I stay confused about true feelings when it comes to her. I experienced extreme jealousy every time I felt I was not good enough for her or she was obviously closer with someone else. I wished to be the one to hold her at night.

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The Boy Just Like Me has lost faith in love. So have I. There is one more month left for us before the lifestyle of late-night talks is uprooted. I think that when he moves away our pinky promises will be broken. He will fall for some new girl and I’ll hear all about how he truly has found the one this time. And yet again, he will find himself calling me at one in the morning when she inevitably breaks his heart. Or, suppose she really is the one, the call I get will be an invite to their summer wedding. Summer is his favorite season, it’s mine too. Would I really go?

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The breeze whips my hair around, I need to move it out of my face every other step. I have a destination in mind. The place I am going will help me forget about The Boy Who Was Silent and help me focus on not letting my popsicle drip on the sidewalk. Where I am going will help me remember what is more important than him, my future. Originally, I thought he would be a part of my future. He has proven me wrong. Good, I don’t want him to tie me down with his confined silence. Don’t want him to restrict me or burn my wings. I’m flying away from him and the hole trying to swallow me up. I am flying into the bright blue sky and I will never see him up here where it’s peaceful.

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I love you and I’m in love with you are often mistaken for each other. I feel bad for the phrases. To be assumed as one thing when you are really another can become relentlessly annoying. Everyone I know freaks out when their significant other says “I love you” and I’m not sure why. They automatically interpret it as “I’m in love with you,” which is not what they said. To say that you love the person you are with is completely normal, just never say you are in love when you aren’t because that will destroy the person on the other end if someday you take it back.

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I have let him go. The Boy Who Was Silent left, but I didn’t try to pull him back to me. I suppose there was nothing there to hold on to. He packed up all his feelings and put them into nice, neat compartments before I could commit the horrible crime of loving him. I wish I could say that the truth was that I’m doing great. I really wish I could promise that I don’t miss him. I connected with him at first glance, cringey, I know. Truly though, I miss him. From FaceTime calls where we didn’t talk to getting the first text of the day from him at four in the afternoon. I would take unspoken over never speaking again. I can’t tell if this is the time of night talking or if I wish he were here watching our show with me.

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I put on an old playlist today. I had forgotten how difficult eighth grade really was for me until the first song came on. I remembered every sunset walk, every path that would make it take longer to get home. Every night spent sitting on my frigid bathroom floor considering that day’s horrible events. Cut off from talking to anyone, I cut myself off. No one understood.

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The Boy Who Loved Cars was one of many who thought hurting me was the best pastime. I sat on my bathroom counter and pulled my shaking knees into my chest. I wished I could fold into myself until I became nothing but another speck of dust on the unmopped floors. He wanted to fold me like an origami swan and then set my wings on fire. I hadn’t done my chores that week.

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The similarity between these boys is nearly comedic. Learning from my mistakes is something I would like to say I pride myself on. In writing these fragments I have learned that I need to find a new source of pride.

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I have decided that if I must go through the same amount of unbearable pain I have already all over again just to meet him, I’d do it. That may be the stupidest thing I’ve thought in a while. But does it mean I love The Boy Who Was Silent? I’d like to say yes, but these are things I do not know how to be sure of.

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Standing in the woods with The Girl With the Highest Rank made me feel important. Made me feel daring. Made me feel elegant. She was the only person I would be willing to tempt fate with. I trusted her implicitly. That was probably a mistake. Not because she’s untrustworthy, but because I know for a fact that I would take a bullet and much worse for her. I would let the shadows in the corner of my room consume me into the darkness for her.

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I had the impression that I was falling through a timeless abyss. I landed in my room, only it wasn’t my room. Everything was the same in it, but I felt like there was something off. I turned on the Elton John record that… wait, I don’t own an Elton John record. I turned around and there The Boy Who Was Silent stood, green hoodie leaning in my doorway. He kept repeating the same thing: “I guess that’s why they call it the blues.” Over and over again, as if to taunt me with your untimely, intentional disappearance.

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Then I woke up, face tear-stained.

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I am having a love affair with a Stevie Nicks song.