You never really see the manic pixie dream guy, do you?
Being with Jace was like standing in the middle of raging wildfire. He was vibrant. Fast. Never one to stay around for long but when he did he was nothing but trouble. Trouble in the good way of course. He never started any fights or anything, he just fooled around a little.
Sometimes though, with Jace, you got burnt. Almost like the way a child does when they get too close to a burning candle. Except with Jace it was more like walking aimlessly into a burning building. He was like a human safety hazard but the type you wouldn't really mind breaking a leg for or risking your life for. Somehow he made it seem as if you'd leave with nothing but a slight graze to the knee.
Jace was the type of guy who'd tell you the stars were nothing but an arm stretch away and dramatically gesture with his hands to clarify that he was right. He was never right. He spoke in away that made no sense to anyone but him, yet everyone would stop just to listen to his stories. The boy was mad but he hid it well. Sort of like how you try and hide your vegetables as a child just to get out of eating them. He'd simply just quote a Beatles song and instantly it seemed like he had everything put together. In reality though he was broken. And broken was what he'd never hoped to be.
One thing you should know about me is that I will never fully finish any piece of fiction that I ever write. It's okay though, I'm going to patent it so that it seems like it's intentional and not just a result of my high level rasphutility.
I've been blogging for almost a year now and the idea of that slightly terrifies me. Mainly because it's now dawned on me that I've spent almost a year using my blog as a way of procrastination and also because when I grow up there's a permanent reminder of my awkward youth. Which isn't really all that bad until you take into consideration how awkward I actually am. A good comparison would be to that of a panda. Or more specifically, this panda.
This is yet again one of those unstructured posts where I'm simply just rambling. Is there a point in this? No. Am I writing this to avoid doing revision? Probably. Should I stop asking you questions and then answering them for you? Yes.
I'm also pretty certain my next door neighbor is trying to kill me. And I can tell because they're making no effort to hide it. I'm not even remotely kidding here. They are legitimately trying to gas me. I know this because there's a really strong smell of smoke coming from the walls and unless I'm completely mistaken, walls don't voluntarily emit smoke. It's not even a subtle tobacco smell, you know, the slight whiff of lung killer that occasionally hits you as you walk past a smoker? It's more like the smell of burning plastic but the type that wraps around your lungs and chokes you even when all the windows are open and you're standing in the middle of an open door. I've breathed in enough second hand smoke to last me a life time in the time that it's taken me to write this post and that is scary. So if you don't see a post from me for more than two weeks, just know that it's probably because of severe smoke inhalation.