I've come to realize

That seriously, the word 'love' gets tossed around way to often to even mean anything anymore.
This isn't a joke.
I'm pretty tight with this chick who falls in "love" every few weeks with a different boy. Granted, she's in like, the 7th or 8th grade, so she doesn't really understand it, but... I was only an 8th grader like, 8 days ago and I still understood how important love was.
I just refrained from telling someone I hadn't talked to in months I love them. Because I don't love her, really.
Do I even love half as many people I say I do? I think not, I think I tell many people I love them when I know I don't. When it comes down to it, I probably truly love only around 4 or 5 people, family not included.
And to be honest, what is love? I hear scientists are actually trying to figure out love scientifically. I think that ruins the magic.

The other topic I wanted to brush on: Death. That is the scariest thing in the world. They, whoever the fuck they are, say that when your father, or someone really close to you dies, you end up going through the motions. Not really crying, not really affected until after. Post-funeral, post-burial.
The day I figured out my grandpa, my best friend, someone who I underappreciated my whole life, died, I was coming back from Colorado. I was in the car with my cousins. I, for some reason, chose not to drive with my parents. Probably just to be with my cousins. Me and Christine and Rebecca had some burritos from Chipotle and they dropped me off at home, and my parents followed me into my room. Saying, Lizzy, we have some sucky news for you, Grandpa passed away.
You know that feeling when the shock renders your body and your head is absolutely like a feather?
Imagine that times twenty. This is the first time I've ever written in detail about it.
I didn't even give my dad a hug. I gave him a side hug. And then laid in my bed with the lights off crying for hours, probably. I could not breathe for motherfucking shit.
My boyfriend at the time called me. I couldn't even stay on the phone with him.
I remember the second hardest I've ever cried was at his funeral. My dad started crying, too.
My brother didn't cry. But I tried my hardest not to.
With death the kind of loss is a lot different than breaking up with someone. It's worse, it's seriously heartwrenching, because you'll never be able to talk to that person who died ever again.
My grandfather was my everything.. And I only wish I could remember what my last words to him were.
And isn't that funny, that suddenly when someone dies, all you want to remember were what your last words to that person were? Why does it not matter what your first words to that person was?

It's a lot of thinking this blog has created in my mind..
My week had been mostly amazing until today.
Well, until tonight.

I'm going to wait because that's what I do.