by S. E. Mabson
Short Shots Entry (She named her journal Robin)
|Journal Entry: January 12, 2019
Green eyes. Long lashes. (Why do men always get the long, beautiful lashes? Ugh.) My gosh Robin, that smile, and his teeth! They are so white! And don't get me started on his dimples. Ah, someone must be throwing water on me because I'm melting faster than the wicked witch of the East! I don't remember anything that happened last night, but that face is engraved, etched, hammered, I tell you hammered into the deepest depths of my memory banks. Idk if I can call it love, but it is certainly enough to leave me on cloud 900 despite the fact yet another night has come and gone and taken my memories with it.
Oh, Robin, I wish I could remember more. Did I see him across the room and our gaze locked in lingering a little too long or not long enough? I mean seriously, you should have seen his face, girl! Did we bump into each other in the park, realize we had something in common, start strolling through the park, sit on a bench talking and watching the sun set, and then rise again. Nah, that's too cliche. Those kinds of romantic things don't happen in real life. Or maybe we danced chest to chest, hearts beating in sync until the sun came up, and then I turned all cinderella in the sunlight and forgot on purpose to forget his horrid expression when he saw how ugly I was, but the impression he made on me was too great to ignore. I don't even remember where I was last night. I honestly could have been binge-watching tv and seen him out the kitchen window and got caught staring! LoL, I hope I wasn't drooling! Seriously though, what am I going to do about this? I’m lashing out at people spouting out knowledge and anger or sadness I didn’t even know I held. I get excited about things and news I wasn't aware I knew. The worse is when someone comes to me about something important, and I’m totally clueless. No, the worse is the sudden dread or even terror of something random (in which I have no idea why I am even scared of it), and everyone is looking at me like I’m the looney lady with a sixth sense. Mom said I am becoming unstable and should see a therapist: Robin, IDK about all that.
Something is definitely...off. But what is there really to talk about? LOL, I literally talk to you every day about this. Ironic, I know. I can feel your judgment seeping through the pages. Seriously though, If I told someone, especially a therapist, I'd be hiding pills under my pillow by noon the next day. Yeah, I'm good telling you about my random amnesia, and well, you know, the nightmare visions. I hope you feel special, Robin. They say dogs are man's best friend; well, Journals are a crazy lady's best friend—Goodnight, for now, bestie.