Wonderwall, by Oasis [Rough Draft]

I guess it was my fault. It was supposed to be tonight, but I blew it. It was as simple as having dinner, taking a walk on the beach, and proposing to her on the edge of the cool, soft sand. I had it all planned out too- I ran the entire scene through my head at least a hundred times the night before, accounting for every little detail just so I could make sure it would go perfect.

Next week would be three years, seven months. 184 weeks. It seems like only yesterday that I met her though, at the end of a supermarket in the poultry isle. The first time I saw her, I knew it was meant to be. Love at first sight doesn’t just happen in movies you know. She was struggling with the muscular, weighty chicken leg when I first approached her, offering my hand in assistance. I carried that thing all the way across isle 3 to her car- I never expected a task like that to be so tiring. But then again, love is a crazy thing. It’ll make you do nearly anything.

When she ended it though, she ended me. She ended everything I had to live for everything I had cherished. I imagined myself as an old man, living alone in a tired old flat with thirteen black cats and an excessive supply of Gouda cheese, and knew I couldn’t go on. My soul felt lost amidst my thoughts, my heart pounding harder, ready to rip through my chest, when she uttered those last words: “I’m sorry Jamaal; you’re too chucky for me. This relationship is geometrically impossible.”

I told her I could change. I told her I could lessen the obtuse angle of my stomach and redeem myself. But no, she wouldn’t listen. She refused to believe that the SAS postulate could prove the new dimensions of my beater-belly, and left me for an isosceles-built Latino who worked on the beach as an umbrella renter.

From that day, I became the poultry in isle 3 that I had once courageously carried the distance of an entire supermarket. I became that weighty piece of chicken on the rack that people always struggled with, that nuisance in the freezer section that always gave you the chills and made you shiver when you came near it. Except this time, I had no one to carry me. I was the poor little chicken’s egg who rolled off a cliff before having the chance to hatch, smashing into millions of tiny pieces upon hitting the concrete floor, thrown way beyond repair just like poor old humpty dumpty. And from that day on, my life turned to crime.

Since then, I’ve thought about my decision many, many times. Surely more times than the number of sheep I can count before I go to bed, but definitely less than the distance from Earth to Pluto in inches. I think about the atrocious crimes I’ve committed since then too, shoplifting all of those cherry flavored cough drops and all of that cotton candy from the general store down the block. Through all my thinking though, I’ve never found a way out- a way to save myself from the terrible fate I foolishly bounded upon myself when I was irrationally in love. I’ve figured out why though- it’s because I still am. It’s because she’s still always the last thing I think about every night before I go to bed, and she’s still the first thing that comes to my mind when I wake up in the morning.

“I said maybe
You’re gonna be the one that saves
And after all
You’re my wonderwall.”

why be. (y.b) ah get it?

hey i'm yoni. yonibear, yonatan, yons, y, b, yb, why be, why, be, or whatever makes you happy(=.
So I have to say, I'm really craving food right now. I love food. Honestly, without food theres nothing to motivate you. Food's like inspiration. Cheesecake, Icecream, anything with honey including waffles and cheesecake; you better not bring it near me unless you want to see it in my tummy. Well you wouldn't see it, thats cannibalism. Something we frown upon in this society, right? Just kidding lol.
If you haven't realized it yet, I'm quite random. I can't help it, sorry. One idea always leads to another, and it always becomes a tangled web of facts of randomness. You know?
So basically, I'm up here right now writing creatively is to try to organize myself. I always get points off essay and literary works I have to do because I can never, ever stick to the thesis. I always wander off talking about something else of interest, avoiding the main topic I was assigned to write about. Silly, isn't it? So I guess I'm an exceptional procrastinator and a master of getting lost between the lines? lol, If that makes sense.
When I write creatively, I try to organize my random train of thought into a an ingenuous but unexpected idea. Don't deny it- you know that half the things you think about you'd probably never tell someone out of embarrasement. So the type of writing I like could more or less be categorized as maybe writing short stories or narrations, with nice twists and bizzare plots?
That probably explains why I love fiction books, more specifically suspense, mystery and adventure. The types of books I find best have everything in them- every genre from adventure and mystery, to love and romance. I guess it just completes to book for me because it leaves most of the questions answered. My imagination always takes over during a novel and creates the scene in some unique way or another, I suppose.
Oh goodness. You've heard more than enough of my miscellaneous shennanigans and random comments, so I guess I'll go. I'll be back though so don't miss me too much. sounds good? ohkay.
iite pcee(=