#muffinclan

[myrory]

me, on a date: what's your favorite high school musical song?

them: i don't really like high school musical.

me, shoving breadsticks into my bag: this is not what i want. this is not what i planned. and i just got to say: i do not understand. something is really.... something's not right.

[myrory]

what she says: im fine

what she means: how did Troy Bolton get into Berkeley? his only outstanding talents were basketball and drama, and Berkeley never went to see any of his plays and probably only saw him play basketball a few times. Is Troy Bolton that good at basketball? or did he have stellar grades? even that is unlikely, seeing as he complained about not doing homework multiple times and in High School Musical he tried to make an excuse about doing homework, but Chad Danforth, Troy's best friend, was surprised he was even doing his homework. It wasn't ever shown that Troy and Gabriella had any classes outside of homeroom, and while you could debate that it meant they were on the same educational path, his many jock friends, even Justin, who was shown to be the 'dumb guy' multiple times, were also in that class. was Troy Bolton a genius? was he that good at basketball? or did he have a connection at Berkeley? and even that brings up another question: why would Troy choose to go to Berkeley, when he got a free ride at the school near him? he didn't even seriously consider Berkeley until the end, so how could he make such a costly and important decision on a whim? he chose a school just so he could be near Gabriella. that cost his parents thousands of dollars and will probably put him in some debt. this brings us back to the original question about how he got into Berkeley and the real question: how can I apply to Berkeley I want to be near Troy Bolton.

[myrory]

i feel heavy. heavy hearted, heavy handed, heavy footed. like there’s this great big weight.  on my chest or on my shoulders, or somewhere in between. there are good kinds of weight in your body. a heart made of gold.  a brain full of dreams. a throat full of laughter. and there are bad kinds of weight. shoes of lead. eyes that are tired. hands so full you can barely pick them up. i will not tell you what kind of weight i carry. but it is heavy. but it breaks my back.

atlas, tell me how you held up the world. i can barely hold up myself. // 12:06 AM 

[myrory]

i hope you're fair when you remember me.  i hope you remeber the laughter and the way everything seemed drenched in sun. i hope you remember hands swinging like a pendulum between us, and out of focus pictures. but i hope you remember the rest of it too. the fights and the walking out and the way we figure out that sometimes love just isn't enough. i hope you remember the way the songs i would hum made you sigh into my skin, and i hope you remember that even things done in love can be done badly.

that’s how i’ll remember you, at least. // 5.25.15

[myrory]

when every nerve end is on fire; that's how you know you found her. she is the body electric, the quickening heartbeat, the ache in your chest. and you are the closed circuit, the hand to your breast, the thump, thump, thump of a living heart. when she touches you, and every muscle relaxes into her, that's how you know you found her.

of nerve endings and hearbeats // 5.6.15

[myrory]

i knew this  boy (& he would deny this) who had poetry in his bloodstream.  he was a poem come to life. the way he sighed,  like the coming of a storm. or his laugh that could make december feel like june. everything he did made my fingers ache. i wrote about him everywhere, on diner napkins, on the palm of my hand. one day,  the ink on my hand bled onto his, and he stared, and stared, and stared.  when he said goodbye to me, for probably the last time,  he paused, then said, 'you're a better writer than you are lover.' oh sweet muse, you were a writer too. you are a book all on its own.

  on writers and blood | 10:16 AM

[myrory]

i labeled my journal 'being happy' and i look at it every day. but its still empty

6.2.14

[myrory]

me @ some aesthetic pictures: what..... what the fuck is this... literally why would you do that.... wtf