ghost and the glass children.

first there was samantha puentes. her favorite band was the smashing pumpkins. i always thought it was kind of on purpose, you know, S.P. for both. but it wasn't because samantha has a middle name. i remember i wanted to get her initials tattooed on my wrists. and i drew a heart, a pretty damn good heart, and had an old english "S" right in the middle. i wanted to get that tattooed too. i was going through my superman lunch box, where i keep things i've collected over the years. little things that mean the world to me, including my high school diary. i opened it and your pictures were the first i wanted to see. i was so ridiculously and madly in love with you. i always wonder if you even knew. if you ever realized how badly i wanted to just touch you. you weren't the type of girl who liked to be touched by anyone. you were so different from every single girl in high school, in any high school. i'll never forget your red socks and how you didn't give a shit about what you wore, or how your hair looked. your long and curly brown hair. rarely combed. i miss you. i know you don't even remember what happened your senior year of high school or who you hung out with or anything, and i'm sure you don't want to. but i do. i remember how pretty you looked the first time i saw you drinking water from the water fountain. and how i went to look for carla and nadia and you had my name written in red ink on your hands because you didn't want to forget it and nadia had given you what she thought was the correct spelling but it was missing an "e". i liked when you asked me to let you borrow my CD's. i especially loved when you called me "the smiths baby". and you said this because i used to smoke and you asked why and i said i didn't know and your answer was "because you're a smiths baby. 'what she said i smoke coz i'm hoping for an early death and i need to cling to something' that was the reason you said i smoked. that afternoon i carved those lyrics on the inside of my arm. i was fucking 15. my brother is fucking 15. we were both cutters. i think that was our sort of calling for eachother. a stupid 15 year old aries girl in love with a 17 year old aries girl. my sam. i carved "sam" twice on my left wrist. they're still there and they're only noticeable because they were inked in. you were the first girl whose name i carved on my body, the first of two. i miss you. i don't know exactly what it is i miss, but i miss you. i miss you yelling at me and demanding me to speak. i miss your voice. i think that's what i miss most, your voice. i used to write a lot about you. fuck, i have written so much about you. just mostly in notebooks. notebooks with other notebooks of two other girls stacked up on top. but you were the first girl i loved and you certainly didn't hurt any less. wherever you are, i hope you are happy. i can't wish you anything but happiness. i know you had a rough adolescent life and i hope adulthood is treating you better.

my left arm belongs to you.

there's more to this but this is creepy enough and yes, i am obsessive. i was obsessed with you for eight years.

what you said was our song.
your part of the song.
"what she read: all heady books she'd sit and prophesize."