3Yesterday, I was reading Panic! At the Disco fanfiction.
Yeah, you read right.
Panic! At the Disco fanfiction. The one I read was really weird.
So, I wondered, what kind of fuck-up would write shit like that?
Enter this story.
Our love was like summer. I don't know what I mean by that, but it sounds good, you know? Because there are just some things which roll right off the tongue, and I swear, that's one of them. I think I've heard it before. Maybe I read it in a book? Perhaps the words were said in between guitar solos during a love song? I'm not quite sure. It sounds like Shakespeare, only worse
But our love was like summer, or perhaps more like fall, because I like fall better. Leaves of red and orange decorate the ground, crunching under my feet. Fall reminds me of pages turning, wood crackling, pens tapping, school bells ringing. Fall reminds me of you, and I like you.
Too bad the feeling isn't mutual. But I'm okay with that.
Our love was like fall but right now I think it's more like winter. Cold, frigid, one-sided and all of that. Because you don't know me, and how could you? We met for one second outside of a concert. How could I expect you to remember me after that? I had been sitting outside of the venue and it was a cold winter day. The rest of the week had been rainy but I had prayed and for that one day, that one day in the midst of a bunch of shitty other ones, the sun came out. It was still cold though, but that's to be expected in San Francisco. I was sitting on the ground, a backpack at my side, and I was eating a candy bar, I think. Your van pulled around the back, all inconspicuous and shit, but I still saw it. A few minutes later, you appeared, and immediately the girls began to scream and beg for autographs and pictures. It was mayhem. I waited quietly for my turn. You smiled at me, the same fucking smile you granted ever other bitch out there, but I didn't mind. I held you close as my friend snapped a picture and that was it . . . I grabbed your hand for a moment while I was inside the concert and I imagined that our eyes locked, although I doubt they actually did, and that was it . . . I understand now that I'm just another face in the crowd, just another girl obsessed with you, and I wonder if I'm okay with it.
So maybe our love is like spring, if you're okay with that, I mean. One day you may know me, one day if my dreams come true, and our love can bloom like flowers - like roses and lilacs and daisies and everything I like. We can have a house in the countryside, far away from everyone else, where we can make love as loud as we want and have our own garden. But I dunno. That sounds like some stalker shit, and I don't want you to think I'm a stalker.
Maybe my love is better off like summer. Because I pour so much into you, so much of me, and you just suck it up like a cactus and yet you're still dry. I want to give you more, but I can't, because it just isn't possible, you know? Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I'm trying to be deep and shit but I dunno if it's really coming out right.
Gah, I wish I didn't like you the way I do, you know? Because you're famous and you'll never meet me, no matter how much I hope and stuff, and even if you did meet me and find me attractive and all of that, I doubt you'd ever love me the way I adore you. Because I'm serious about that stuff I was saying. I do want to have a house in the countryside with you, with chickens and goats and stuff, and I do want a garden, and I just really, really want you . . .
I think my love for you isn't like anything - it just . . .
It just is, you know?
No, I thought you wouldn't.
Fucking loser.