Him.

I knew instantly. He gazed at me with eyes that seemed to have come from a another universe rather than from the hands of God. They shined with a brilliance that I had never before been privy to until this very moment. His stare was so alluring that the iris itself seemed to not possess a color but rather a meaning.

Two weeks ago, I could have given you a detailed description of him. The usual height, hair color, eye color, etc. etc. Everything listed on a "WANTED" poster. However, giving you this man at face value is a luxury I no longer possess. Yes. I did say man. That's exactly what he is. Mind you, he is only just. According to any legal view. Eighteen. Eighteen, and nothing less than a man among boys.

There was something inconceivably remarkable about him. Something great. No, he's not Gatsby. But, I'm sure he is as close as one could ever get to being Gatsby. And seeing as I have no intention of revealing his true name, I will refer to him as such. Jay.

I've known Jay since moving to this town. And when we met we were but children. However, there was always a magnetism that he carried with him, ever since I could remember. It was unusual and it made him invincible, fearless... immortal even. Whatever it was that lurked inside him, it was colossal and grand. Like a white marble staircase that connected his feet to his soul. It allowed to him to stay grounded as to walk among giants and fly as to soar among angels. No doubt he was born this way, for it would be impossible to have that magnitude of greatness thrust upon you and carry it so expertly. Nonetheless, at this age my attention span was shorter and so these moments of recognition were fleeting.

As we grew older, I knew nothing of him besides the boy he used to be and the boy he was said to be. Of course, I'm certain that neither of these were what he really was. Years passed and I fell victim to the acidity and interest of the rumours that circled him. A fascination surrounded him like a pack of hungry wolves cornering an aging stag. And then he was gone. Obliterated from the map. Off the grid. Hidden in a cave. However you wish to say it.

Yet, two weeks ago this stag sauntered through my mind. And it was not long after that I found myself face to face with this immortal being. I shall spare you all of the details of how this all came to be but suffice to say he's now a colleague of sorts, or perhaps it is better said that he is a fellow artist. And as I sat comfortably across from him, I was struck by a most curious feeling. One that I do not know the name for.

Perhaps it was terror.

For I had never known myself to behave this way. I was in a way hypnotized by his presence. His calm statement of "Let's go for a drive." resulted in me asking zero questions. Something that doesn't happen often. I instead calmly put on my shoes, continued to speak with him, and got in the car. I had no thoughts of where we were going or why. Although both of those answers were of perfectly innocent intention. Still, the blind trust I had in him was terrifying and unnerving. The trust was what scared me most. The fact that I had one hundred percent faith in anything and everything he had ever done or ever would do. I felt safe. And that was something that made me terribly afraid.

Perhaps it was reverence.

For I had never respected someone as much as him. He was honest. But in all the best ways. He was completely vulnerable in every sense. He cared not of what anyone thought of him or of his thoughts. He was completely loyal to his beliefs in a way that I had never witnessed. Yet, his vulnerability didn't make him weak in the slightest. If anything, it made him even more of an impenetrable force. He was open about his ability to manipulate, but in such a way that you didn't feel threatened. I could give him nothing but respect as I witnessed his courageous and eloquent abilities in play. It was as if he, at any moment, could climb a tower and slay a dragon all the while holding the hand of a princess with such delicacy that if she had been a flower not even a petal would fall.

Perhaps it was surprise.

For I had never met anyone who was as much of an enigma as he. He was wonderfully intelligent, yet few knew. He philosophized with an ease that came naturally only to the greats like Aristotle, Rousseau, and Locke. His mind babbled like a brook of wisdom and insight, but few had heard him. Oh, I'm sure that plenty had listened, but few had heard. He was shrouded by a mystique that one couldn't decipher. I couldn't quite tell if it was an intentional mysteriousness or just a cloud of uncertainty that enveloped him. Either way it was shocking. My mind fluttered in a chaotic pattern of confusion and wonder. But perhaps one of the most surprising things about him was how inferior he made me feel. I am sure it was not intentional by any means. I trust that he would never want that. But I, an astute and intelligent girl, have rarely ever felt inferior nor ignorant. Yet with him, I felt both of these things. He was smart in all the ways I was stupid and logical in all the ways I was insane. It was a wonderful partnership of oddities and intrigue. I felt that the whole situation was one great puzzle to be solved.

Perhaps it was all of these things, and more.

Whatever it was, there was a connection of some sort that I could not quite grasp. Like a radio wave it wasn't quite tangible. The look....it was as if I had been noticed for the first time. It was as if I was no longer invisible. It was as if I was the only other person that existed. It was quiet there, in that co-existence of ours. And when he looked away I was overcome with a sense of loneliness that was incomparable to anything that I had ever felt. It was almost indecent the sadness I felt. It was utterly ridiculous. The Heartbreak! The heartbreak. This one, that took place after only a micro-second, was but a promise of a more fatal one to come. A more painful, serious, fatal heartbreak to come. Imagine! Imagine feeling like your soul had known an other's for a thousand years. Imagine losing it. Imagine finding it again just for them to be ripped apart from each other after a minuscule moment.  Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

But in that moment, in that instant, in that fleeting micro-second...the world stopped. I know that sounds crazy. But I knew instantly.

Got Ribbons In My Hair.....Again.

Another useful piece of information about yours truly is that I was once....dare I say it...I suppose I shall...a cheereleader. Cue scary music, gasps, and a circa 1920s scream.

I know. I know.

But, at age eight it was all I had ever wanted to do. So, I became a cheerleader and cheered for the football team throughout elementary and middle school. And at age 13 and grade eight I realized that I could no longer remain sane and cheer at the same time. I turned in my pom-poms and went into high school with little to no status and a budding tennis career. And why, because the girls had gone from innocent little girls with pretty ribbons in their hair to evil man-eating pre-teens with pretty ribbons in their hair.

However, this year I gave up tennis when I realized that my "budding career" was going nowhere and that I didn't really like tennis that much. I had always wanted to go back to my elementary team and coach. Most of this is because I have a secret agenda to help those like me and ultimately get justice against the "mean girls" of this cruel world. So, I am now the "manager" (aka the high-school girl who's helping out) of *insert elementary school name* Varsity Cheer Squad. Girls ages 9-11. Which is perfect. They are currently in their pre-formative to formative years and tend to be very impressionable, so I plan to use my powers for good and perhaps implant knowledge and wisdom in their heads.

That being said I am currently unsure of how this will affect me. Once I start putting those perfectly tied ribbons in my hear again will I revert into cheerleader mode? Will I constantly stand in a power pose position? Will I only be able to count to eight? Will I start quoting the plethora of Bring It On movies?

We can only wait and see. I am sure we will all know soon enough. Stay tuned for updates on my counting skills. And may God have mercy on my soul....especially if I drop the Spirit Stick.

Good Girl With Bad Habits

Hello. As this is my first post, I suppose I ought to give you all some background information on me.  

First off, the picture below doesn't accurately describe me. I'm not exactly the kind of girl that is shown taking off her underwear in such a sultry manner. In fact, let me point out that this lovely lady is wearing a pair of fabulous heels. And while I have perfected running in heels, I have in no way mastered taking off any type of clothing without first taking off my shoes. 

However, the tag line 'Good Girl With Bad Habits' does in fact describe me accurately. Again, not in the manner that the image depicts but generally speaking. 

Also, apologies for being so diplomatic. My whole life I've been accused of being a.....harlot....shall we say. Which wasn't my fault. The truth is I developed earlier than my friends in middle school and hadn't gone out to replace my wardrobe. Everything ended up appearing a little bit tighter and a little more low-cut. Anyway, the general conversation that surrounded me changed to talk of my inevitable burning in Hell for being "unholy" and Satan's whore. Thus, I barely survived didn't really enjoy my middle school years. And truth be told it still haunts me in my sleep. Thank God those years are far behind me. And by far, I mean four years.

Back to the picture! In summary, I am a good girl with a few bad habits. I make mistakes and tend to keep making them. And although I am branded by a select few as a closet slut, I will have you know that I am neither parts of that equation. I've never been a slut and thanks to my new found blog I am no longer in hiding. 

So, this is a blog about a dreamer with a serious case of wanderlust and a dangerous love for poets. This is a blog about a good girl with bad habits. And in all honesty, this is a blog about me trying to make it through my senior year of high school.