meant to be yours | d.w

1

"If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression. Of something beautiful, but annihilating"

My main goal in life has always been to blend in with the crowd. Despite my status, attention was the last thing I ever wanted. They always say curiousity is what killed the cat. Well, I on the other hand think it's more so attention.

Attention is what killed my goldfish, that sounds silly though, doesn't it?

The epitome of silence was consuming this car that could be mistaken for a true beauty, for the bright Ruby Red Corvette was a remarkable piece of work that I felt honored to even touch. Even the steering wheel feels wrong beneath my hands that have done too many wrongdoings, far too much to even count.

I was immensely careful not to rip a single shred of leather in this car as I let my fingers fumble with the glove compartment, trying to grasp onto a cigarette. I knew Kristy would have some, she always does. Over the years she's been an on and off smoker.

One second she's saying: "never again will I let myself go ugly cause of those." And the next time I see her, one of the toxic sticks are placed between her lips. I was trying to mimic the way she puts them through her mouth, the way it molds its way perfectly into her lips as if it belongs there. But so far, I had been unsuccessful.

My lips are too dry, and are beginning to get quite chapped with this dry air.

However, it didn't in the least bit matter. All I needed was that momentary pleasure I got from allowing the smoke to release itself from my lips. I should know better than to smoke, my grandfather passed away years ago due to these harmful sticks, their toxicity influencing an entire generation.

But if they were so wrong, then why did the numbness I felt feel so pleasurable.
Whenever the smoke makes contact with my lungs, my initial reaction isn't to simply cough it all up.
For like I said, the numbness is just so damn tempting when dealing with the intense pain.

If my mother were sat right next to me in this moment, three things would be different. For one, I would stop slouching, fixing my posture in an attempt for her to not lecture me. Secondly, I would cower before her as she reprimanded me for smoking (she's always hated it, especially when my father used to chew tobacco), and third, I would look her dead in the eye and tell her dad wouldn't have minded just to piss off that simple minded brain of hers. We would then both succumb to the silence, everything going back to the life I had known for months.

The streets of Tulsa are definitely not as smooth, or defined as Burbank, my previous home. Out of the blue, I'll come across a path that has been overtaken by layers of rocks and dirt. But the top thing I can't seem to get used to is the lack of a fresh breeze every once in a while. For Tulsa in the summertime is like walking into a living hell.

In a way, it has been my own personal hell, but at the same time a safe haven of mine. Maybe even somewhat close to a promised land.

But moving to a promised land isn't full of only highlights. You have the negative parts that almost make you wish you were back in the place that you couldn't stand.

I suppose dirt paths and diners have become my new life. Quite odd compared to the posh life I'm used to. However I'm not complaining, for that lifestyle can be very lavish, yes. But when you've been hiding from the world for too long, it becomes suffocating, there's this voice in you that wants to scream at the top of its lungs.

Carefully, I closed the glove compartment. I suppose I really was taking this entire "protecting aunt Kristys car" thing to a whole new level, wasn't I?

Driving in the dead of night was such an exhilarating experience, filled with bright lights bringing their dim glows onto my skin.

My face remained neutral, only focused on getting to one specific location I saw earlier. But as I tried to keep a hold on my conscience, I couldn't help but even remotely enjoy this moment of mine where I was completely alone. I even almost wanted to have a picture of me from a distance, driving alone, the music blasting from the speakers.

You know what? I take back what I said earlier about going to a specific location. For there's not a single place I'm truly headed to. Maybe in a way, letting my body take control for once was some kind of odd coping mechanism that I highly enjoyed.

I wonder if every human out there craves control, I know I secretly do. Perhaps we all hide our deepest desires from the world as if to not show our true colors that make us appear to be monsters. But deep inside of me, there's a part that's terrified of change, no matter what kind of change it may be.

I always knew Tulsa would change me, just not in the way it filters how you think, but so many details about how it truly changed my outlooks on life. All in all, I blame him. I put the blame on him for turning me into this... whatever the hell I seemed to transform into.

All I know is what he turned into was the definition of horror. And to get into what I became is a topic I wouldn't like to even consider.

Downtown Tulsa is sprinkled with all kinds of cars. One second you'll see a crystal blue Cadillac, parked roughly on the curb. Ironic considering that car probably costs more than my worth wrapped into a shiny package with a velvet ribbon on top. But one glance to the left reveals a beat up T-bird, placed among the other beat up cars, blending in immaculately.

Now, downtown Burbank and downtown Tulsa may have their similarities, but I am not naive. After being here for about two weeks, I've noticed a few things. To start with, the rivalry with Socs and Greasers has the worst kind of tension I might have ever seen. It's so remarkable, but so intense, and so terrifying that they can have that much hate for people they don't really know.

Sometimes I wonder how we would treat people if each person was our dearest friend.

But in the end, maybe I'm the hypocrite. Perhaps I'm the idiot, fool of a girl who wishes the world could live in harmony. I know that we all can't just magically learn how to get along, but visualizing can certainly be fun. Almost as fun as daydreaming.

Daydreaming, ah yes my favorite pastime. The part of me that always seems to be lost in a haze is the best part of myself, but at the exact same time my most annihilating weakness. But I suppose that's the beauty of it all, being so powerful yet so weak you can barely breathe.

He made me feel like I couldn't breathe at the simplest of times, a blessing and a curse.

If you're looking for a story only filled with the highest points in life, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place darling. For the tall tale of my life isn't the most brightest of story's, and not everyone is alright with handling the anguish and affliction.

So I would listen carefully to this story. I will only repeat this all once. For the tale of Rebecca and Dallas is never to be spoken of again once you reach the final chapter.