"You said, no you sang, you sang that everything was gonna be alright. You said that we'll be alright, Harry. But did you mean that?"
Where Belle Olivia Granger encounters five young boys who happen to be in the biggest boyband on the planet, and sh...
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They say that when you dream of someone it's because they are dreaming of you too. It's like your conscience goes out of it's way to find theirs, just to reunite your souls for a small moment in time. Some may say dreaming of someone is a sign from the universe that you're meant to be with that person. Your subconscious is trying to tell you what your conscious can't.
I believed all of that, until a particular pair of green eyes kept appearing in my dreams, disrupting my sleep for the past few nights. However, it wasn't a disruption that left me tired and lacking in perfect slumber. It was more like a disruption that irritates the shit out of you when you wake up, because you haven't slept that good in years and you can't help but wonder if it's because you dreamt of that person- because I dreamt of him. I don't want it to be because of him.
Google is a thing that exists. Twitter is also a thing that exists. These are two sites I know all too well, and its been killing me not to use them to find the boy... I mean boys from the other night. I shouldn't care. It was a one time thing, and I'll never see them again. Even if I do, it will probably be on some billboard or maybe even my TV screen, but that's only if there's any validity to their little boyband claim. It also depends on if they have talent, and for their sake, I really hope they do considering their cocky attitudes.
Books have always been a good distraction for me. Getting lost in someone else's world is my medicine. Living within a character's mind and experiencing their wild experiences always helps me forget my own problems. But now that my current biggest problem seems to be the only face I can picture as the characters in my books, my medicine is now my poison.
Now all I have is music.
And I may even lose that when One Direction gains more traction.
But until then, music will be my therapy like it always has been. Whether I'm feeling sad or so happy that I could scream from the rooftops, music has always been there. I practically have a playlist for my life with one song specifically relating to each year I've been alive. That playlist is mostly comprised of Queen and David Bowie, but that's only because my mom raised me to have taste.
One of my favorite things to do during my summers in England is go to the record stores. Since some of the world's greatest artists have come from here, the record stores are immaculate.
With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I browse through the bins in search of Abba's Arrival but come up with Super Trouper instead. I already have this one, but Mom has wanted her own copy for a while, so I decide to get it for her.
As my fingers continue to search through the hundreds of records for more hidden treasures, I hear a chorus of screams from outside and see bright flashing lights glare through the windows just as a huffing boy runs in and shuts the door, trailed by an extremely large man.
