No sólo de pan vive el hombre y no de excusas vivo yo...

Oh Lord. Why can't Avi just bring the freaking American book for me? Why must there be all this melodrama, all this accosting in the hallways and covert looks back and forth in the cafe? And now, most unsurprisingly, rumours are abounding that we're together - or, at the very least, that I like him. Oh, I have such a bad reputation with teachers now.
Dammit.
My God, I've just noticed how casually I type "Avi" rather than Avalon. And that I think of him as Avi rather than Mr. Ali. Christ. Anyway, I don't like him. Or so I tell myself. We'll see how that goes.
And today is Varune's birthday, he's twenty-eight...and this was me lying on my bed not very long ago in an emotional mess, trying not to remember the last two years...the last two years that have been so, well, memorable. I'll never forget him. Years can pass, eras can come and go and kingdoms rise and fall, but I'll never forget him. Never stop loving him. It's quite pathetic, actually.
I seriously hope stupidity isn't genetic - I'll curse my children.
I'm stuck on Nickelback's song Photograph. And it fits. There are pictures of him in my photo album just as there are in my memory, and yes, I look at them. I don't want to forget. Maybe it's a foolish impulse - to remember the beauty and the pain - but it's how I feel nonetheless. That's life for you anyway; sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's beautiful, but more often than not it's both. So if you want the beauty, you've got to learn to handle the pain as well.
And on that note of wisdom, I'm off.

“You know what I figure about hell? I figure that hell’s going to be filled with a lot of like-minded people and the odds of actual punishment rather than a party going on 24/7 are pretty bad.”