My Beautiful Girl

Chapter 3.

This is how I spend every weekend.
Here, on someones couch, laying upside down with my body sprawled against three or four different people. Making fart jokes. Making 'your mom' jokes. Making cock jokes. Making immature jokes in general. Jamming, playing music, being deep, being shallow, going on a fucking childs website, texting people.
This is how I spend every weekend.
I have the best friends you could ever ask for. Sure, everyone says that. Everyone says they have better friends than you ever will. This is a lie. Everyone has friends who fit their needs.

I have these people who I wouldn't even want to start explaining, because you'd get so many ass stories, so many crying stories, so many comfort stories, so many cuddling stories, so many love-making stories. So many delirious four-in-the-mornings, two hours watching people play video games, killing ants with axe, eating pizza every Friday downtown. Because in the end, it's the people you trust who are around the longest. And these people I have found myself in. I have found people who care, and I have found these people who love me.

And to think, I almost ended it all.

I'm turning fifteen tomorrow. A lot happened.
But mostly, I want to thank everyone. For being there when I need them. For listening. For taking me up to their room during THEIR birthday party so I can cry. For loving me, even if it was for a little while. For punching me in the face everytime I see them, for seeing every retarded move I make. For smelling perfect, for letting me mess with their hair. For letting me make fun of them. For that 1,000 messages Facebook thread, and counting. For farting in my mouth, twice. For having the best couch possible, for holding intellectual conversations. For kissing my neck. For stealing my shirts, for letting me steal their shirts. For playing me songs, for jamming, for giving logical reasons on every single side of every emotional situation. For sharing the benefits of their big houses. For not being dead. For still being here. For screaming along to music, to sleeping to that same music, to cuddling and touching eachothers parts and laughing about it, because it's not awkward at all. For wrestling and admitting defeat, for foam plates. For letting me steal their heart. For my beautiful girl. For stealing shoes. For knowing that poop is, in fact, a conversation starter. For having the same taste in books, music, and movies. For keeping eachother going.

You're the reason I'm here.
This is how I spend every weekend.


I'm turning fifteen tomorrow.