I don't even know.

It's just that people can do all this stuff and fall in love and get the shampoo out on the first try and know all the tricks on Photoshop and get stuff for free and have a savings account and they're parents just also give them stuff for free and they're all yelling "Oh you forgot to clock into work the other day!" And they all own Instax cameras and you feel like you're growing irrelevant and it's scary. AM I IRRELEVANT? And I don't know what I'm doing with anything and I haven't gotten into college yet and twice this week people have complimented me on my skin, which is nice but it's just a weird compliment. And I want to write about you but I can't for so many reasons and I'm in love but I'm also not. Also today started with the thought "THIS IS SUCH A STUPID THING TO BE MAD ABOUT" & I think I spend the majority of my time trying not to be like my mother. My dad and I talked about it in the car today; how this is nothing how a marriage should be. It was a sucky conversation, to say the least. IDK why this is even on here because people don't like sad things. Well. I do have this candle that smells like cotton candy and it's really great. It's too bad I can't just walk around with it and have people smell it and then we would become instant BFFS. (It smells really good.) I DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW I JUST KNOW I AM NOT PARTICULARLY HAPPY OR SAD AND THERE ARE LOTS OF THINGS THAT I CAN'T CONTROL. (But it isn't about control?) I don't know. I don't know a lot of things. I don't even know what this post is. 

rrrrrrrrrrrrrbye. 

XX

Rothko

STILL BLOGGING ABOUT HIM & LOVE BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP.

He is iridescent. 

I loved him, no doubt. 

But time and distance have a way of changing everything;

And even still, everything about him draws me in- his half smile and the crinkle in his nose. The way he smells and buttons his shirts. 

His laughter is all-consuming. Every bit of him; his words and the placement of his commas. 

XO

Rothko

To You: (Singular.)

Always, Continuously. With increasing anticipation and decreasing hope. I will love you if you choose to move away or if you choose to stay. I will love you with I will love you with no regard to the love of others or the hatred of parents.  I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to to do calculus, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize your consistently new address. I will love you no matter how your baseball team played in the tournament winning game  or how many stains I got on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you no matter what kind of car you drove (I liked yours, though), or how you decided to spend your time after school. I'll love you even though you ate my half of the napoleon. (That wasn't the best day ever, by the way.)

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair although I hope you keep it how it is.  I will love you if you forget my birthday and I will love you if you betray your father.


I will love you until all the emails and letters worldwide have been open and read and responded to.

I will love you like the car crash loves the tears of the daughter who just lost the father and the father loves the daughter even though he's gone. I will love you like the dog loves to run and the running dog loves run away and make the previously mentioned sad girl sadder. I hope you still love me even though I killed our fish. I tried, to keep it alive, though.  I will love you because you make me feel like I am on the moon. (Except sometimes I get scared and I am all "OH MY GOODNESS IM ON THE MOON AND NOTHING HAS EVER LOOKED LIKE THIS EVER BUT I ALSO FEEL LIKE I CAN'T  BREATHE". I suppose that is actually very accurate because when you look at me that way it makes my heart stop, and I can't breathe for a second, either.)


I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, and now we are so far that only email is reasonable. (Mail is expensive when sending internationally.)  I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero. I will love you if you spend your time thinking of impossible scenarios, like I sometimes do. 


I will love you if you don't choose me. I will love you if you choose someone else. I will love you if you are always alone, and I will love you if you if you do finally choose me. And I must say,  especially on cold nights, I prefer the last scenario out of all the scenarios.

That is how I will love you.

XO
Rothko

Stream of Consciousness:

I was just thinking about what I would say to YOU if you got in the elevator. How about "Please tell your mom to stop commenting on my instagrams." Too Hostile. Oh, I've got it: I wasn't mature enough to handle our relationship; but not a day goes by that I don't--

It's just that all I've ever wanted is to be  all you've ever wanted, and even though I can't suppress the thought that the only thing worse than using emoticons in conversation is using hastags, and I think that the better you are at Twitter, the worse you are at life, I want to know: what is the emoticon for existential loneliness in the universe ? AH don't leave me, do not go gently into that good night. What is a Cronut, anyway? Why isn't my father Hugo Guinness, and why does no one know who Hugo Guinness is? There is a certain sadness for artists the because people do not realize who painted 'Spectrum' or 'Night Hawk' and how as long as I live paintings will be hung on walls, untied in thoughts to their respective artists, and artists will lay in unmade beds, alone, probably. Also lets talk about how 'happy hour' is usually from two to four, which is more than one hour, and how people are bought into the idea that leasing a car is actually a good idea, and that there is a thing called the 'Real World'. (There isn't). Why isn't that coat SENSIBLE, mom? The antagonist. Just because it is BLUE doesn't mean it doesn't GO with EVERYTHING. Is a woman raised by wolves really human? No. I should be able to buy more $100 pair of shoes without feeling guilt like a murderer feels guilt and some theives have a lack of it. 

And I can't stop thinking about the warmth in my toes and the color of my hair and how I hope one day I'll have some spare time and I'll be at the grocery store or in a Barnes & Noble or maybe I'll be in a coffe shop, not getting coffee, because it's likely you'd be there, and out of the corner of your eye, you will spot my newly colored hair and have to do a double take, and then you will shout my name, and we will be so happy because we finally, finally got it right.

XX
Rothko

I want to talk about lines, okay?

I'm not a geometry major, nor am I an artist. Both of which, I think, know a bit about lines. I do know that I can draw a straight line. That three of them make a triangle, and that curved ones make circles, sometimes. That we try to stay within them when coloring and driving. There is lithography and drawing and sculpture. Lines can divide territories and write hate mail and they created my favorite painting and they draw my name on the tops of all the pages. (and there is a point to it all!)

I read somewhere that parallel lines have everything in common and never meet, ever. And also that perpendicular lines meet once and drift apart forever.

They're both sad.

So maybe what I'm saying is that I KNOW THEY WERE JUST TRYING TO TEACH YOU MOTOR SKILLS BY KEEPING YOU IN THE LINES AND MAKING YOU TRACE OVER AND OVER AND OVER THE LETTERS IN THE ALPHABETS, BUT THEY JUST WANT YOU TO END UP WITH GOOD HANDWRITING AND THE ABILITY TO GET A COLLEGE EDUCATION AND A DESK JOB.

And that's pretty sad, too,  I think.

\\
Rothko

Current Thoughts:

• Why are social security numbers so important? They're too easy to steal. And I'm thinking that some very un-smart people probably keep them in their wallets, and then one day, you could just take it. Then they wouldn't have it, and you would have their identity.
• You never understood my relationship with my mother and I still can't finish my self-help book, titled : How to Forgive your Mother.
• I want to get on the whole tennis-shoe (but more specifically, the new-balance, tennis-shoe) fad. Its fashion meets function, really.
•  It takes me at least five tries to spell the word restaurant. (Lol, right?) 
• "Once I get a spray  tan I'll look Puerto Rican" -an inexplicable note left on my phone. 
• I had a dream last night that you broke up with your girl and I'm not complaining I just don't know what that means. 
• The batteries on this keyboard are 'very low' (says the little box in the top of my screen) so I just invented a key board that is powered by typing MORE TYPING, MORE BATTERIES MOFOS.
• I bruised the palm of my hand classic skating, so yes, it is possible.
• Rules about restaurants: no laminated menus, no happy birthday singing. 
• It really bothers me that Marilyn Monroe married Joe DiMaggio. It just doesn't make sense. (He had the money, obviously.)

XX

Rothko

About A:

Do you know the feeling where you see someone, and your stomach suddenly collapses? You literally can't breathe, all you can do is think; and you are trying to figure out how carefully these decisions were made and then the emptiness starts to wind up your stomach and into the base of your throat and it coils around your neck like the carefully tied noose from your execution.
Its how I feel, right now. 
And my thoughts are going to the pond by the blue silos and the fish that I killed. I remember you wouldn't tell me that I killed it; you just let it swim away to die. My thoughts are going to the place on your wrist right where it bends. There is an ink mark there, from your favorite blue pen. Its the same one that you used to write with on the back of my car, because you thought it would be funny. My dad is still upset about it. That was 162 days ago. And my thoughts are going to the scar on the side of your face. Its on the left, almost in your hairline so not many people know it's there. And they're going to the day when you left. 
Now I can't go anywhere beautiful without tasting you there and I've finally figured out why storms are named after people. 

XX
Rothko