cross my heart

What frightens me most is a lack of reason.

-Loch

hold me, distract me,

After a while, things really do change.

Wherever you found it, it's none of my business,
now wherever you go, it's not my concern.
But for a second, your attention just belonged to me,
and it passed so fast which is scratchin' off my cool. 
I'm not broken hearted, I'm just kinda pissed off.


You sang to me in a whisper, a capella,
cross-legged on andrew's bed and I,
drunk beyond my fifteen years, 
wished to be anywhere else instead,
'cause I was still terrified of you and oh,
I was to scared to dare to do,
so I slid, unsprung, off the mattress
and crumpled to the floor, and the sad fact is,
you said you were protected,
I thought you meant you had a gun.


I wonder if I'd be so good if I saw you again?
Listen, miss, you've got me,
you should've taught me such naughty things.


Going to see patrick stump tomorrow <3
-Loch

drove all this way just to say

My favorite part of the daytime are the occasions when I manage to wake up early, and I walk to class while the air is still coolish and I listen to music and I let the songs make me feel the way I did the first time I heard them. My favorite part of the nighttime is when I get back to my apartment complex and I realize that it really does feel like home.

On an entirely different note
There is a night that happened over a month ago that I would like to discuss because something that happened this weekend reminded me of it and I would like to get this all out of my system (I promise there is a moral at the end). If you know me at all there is a chance you have heard about this particular night, and if you know me well then you most certainly have because I ranted about it a shitton, particularly if you live in Austin (sorry, MC). I like to call it "the night of the akward goodbye." I don't necessarily want to go into detail about the night itself, but it was back before a lot of shit went down with my neighbors, and at the time I was hooking up with one of them on and off. Now, a disclaimer, here's my thing- I'm really, really, really, I cannot express to you how bad I am at emotional stuff and relationships, and the thing that I am worst at is "having a thing." I am horrible at it. One night stands, I'm great at! I love having no strings attached. I almost never go back for more, but when I do, I start getting confused and overanalyzing and I never know quite how to handle myself because I hate/am terrible at all the emotional bullshit that happens in the very beginning of relationships, which is probably why I've been in so few of them.
Anyway, this particular night was a milestone for this "thing" because we had hooked up three times in a row, a hat-trick, one night after the other, which never ever happens, and on this night, the fourth night, this guy and I hadn't even kissed at all and instead of hugging me goodbye, he gives me this bullshit wave and I didn't know what the fuck was going on. He didn't even actually wave his hand, it was just like a raised palm. After that, there were a few more nights and moments but the "thing" was effectively over because what the fuck, a wave? Not even a fucking hug?
The ranting isn't really the point though. What I realized tonight is that I am sick and tired of having to try and figure out what people are thinking. Please just tell me, I do not read minds. This applies to everyone, not just guys who want in my pants, but it especially applies to them, because to be straight up, if you do not want anything serious, I am okay with that. If you are not straight up, you will leave whatever girl or boy or whoever you wanna get with looking like this ---------------------------------------------------------------------->
Okay so prob not really that sad, but seriously. I love casual, or if I think your cool enough I could probably handle dating you, but you need to tell me what you want or I won't know what the fuck is going on. What I would like to say, I guess, is this- if you would like to get what you want, then you need to open your mouth and tell the person who you want to get it from. Otherwise, I guarantee that whatever "thing" you had going on will be donezo.
Thaaaaaaaaaaaaanks, OH OH OH and
I wrote a whole lot the other night, and I decided that I am going to participate in national novel writing month :)

I know I don't usually type this much but it's been a week and I missed this. I don't even know who follows this anymore, hah. I'll prob post again in the next couple of days.
hey hey hey I love you,
Loch!

guessing at numbers and figures

There are few things in life that don't have words attached to them, but they exist, and they are always the things that I have the most trouble dealing with. The way I feel when I see my baby twin siblings, the safe notion I get when I curl up under the covers in Julia's room at home, the internal quiet that used to settle over me while I drove to and from a particular boy's house late at night last winter, the nostalgia of walking through my old elementary school's playground, remembering all the things that happened there. The strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realize that I don't know what I want, and I'm going to have to make a real decision soon.
I don't want to become the kind of old person who lays awake at night wondering "what if?"

-Loch

we are together

Writing writing writing, every day and every night.

seriously, people, figure your shit out!

Love you,

Loch.

don't you hesitate

Once when I was young, a boy in my algebra class who I'd hardly spoken to looked at me and told me that he'd dreamt that the world was ending, and everyone was sitting at their algebra desks during the apocalypse and everyone was panicking and the only face in the whole room that he could focus on was mine.

I don't know who's face I'd have liked to see in that dream, but I hope one day I do. I won't dread I won't dread I won't dread,
Loch.

eating well, sleeping well

Before this week, I had probably not eaten an omelet in a year. Suddenly, everyone's competing to make me the most fucking delicious omelet in the world.
Not that I'm complaining, but all of a sudden omelets have become a thing. I had a particularly fancy one earlier today. There were sauteed tomatoes on the side, it was a fucking serious omelet, and it made me think a lot about a way I could choose to go, eating fancy omelets and feeling a certain way I forgot I could feel, a particular kind of honesty I haven't allowed myself to indulge in since high school, since I began planning. If I can be totally weird with you, the omelet put me in this kind of intoxicating state of mind, a place where I could say whatever I wanted with no repercussions, something I've never really allowed myself to do. But while I was eating it, I kept thinking about this particularly endearing one I had a week ago today. I've gotta be honest, it looked super shady- it was more like a bacon burrito thing and the kid who made it filled holes in the egg with cheese. It was enormous, I couldn't even finish it. If I'm gonna be straight up though, it was probably the best omelet I've ever had.

I can't tell what but something about my apartment feels different from yesterday.
-Loch

baby went to amsterdam

My nightstand is shaped like an octagon, 
it takes up almost a whole corner of my room.
It used to be on my mother's half of my parent's bedroom,
but now it's not because my mother isn't there either.
It once held camera boxes full of photos she packed away,
catalogued like priceless memories even though most of them were simple,
me playing soccer or her and my dad looking nice, 
the nights she smelled like perfume.
It has seen my parent's first apartment,
and Columbus, Pittsburgh, Midland, Norman, Plano.
Now it sees me, sprawled across a quilted mattress with no bedframe,
trying to turn a piece of furniture into poetry. 
It holds the things I could not find a place for, 
nothing priceless, the things I forget.
Upon it sit a yellow lamp, an overpriced candle in a baby blue teacup, a picture of my best friend,
a girl my mother never met.
The nightstand has seen her come and go, has seen the things she could not throw away,
has smelled her perfume.
Now the octagon is empty in a new city,
and maybe someday soon I will fill it with things I cannot throw away,
and I will learn to catalogue too.

-Loch.

real pain for my sham friends

Champagne dripping from the ceiling

and from her dress and she’s dancing to New Boyz

and chugging the biggest mimosa that you’ve ever seen.

There is not much that could stop her,

a phone call from a particular boy with three easy words

is the only thing that could convince to come home.

Instead, she gets no call,

she gets more beer,

and when she tip toes from the house in the morning,

dried champagne glitters in the sun by the ceiling fan.

Not much editing.

-Loch

cowboy kid

There is something separate and quiet about 
the moments when my thoughts take hold of you,

focus on the crease of your lips when you smile

and the way your eyebrows raise,

on the times our eyes meet.

A half second later the vacuum returns,

sucks me back to ground and dirt

and I’m whirling again,

the earth throbbing beneath me

like it has for months, it feels,

I’ve felt so much until you.

You are separate and quiet,

a drug that makes me finally alone,

finally quiet,

finally separate,

finally able to fall asleep.

lightly edited.

Love,

Loch.