We Were Liars (and random announcement that doesn’t need a whole post to itsself)


Cadence. Sweet, sweet Cadence. How could you ever do such a thing? Hurt such innocent people. And then just forget.

*And now back to your regularly scheduled program*

Let’s break this book down. I read We Were Liars by E. Lockhart at the recommendation of a friend (also out of pure curiosity) in about 10 hours, it was good, not great but good. Also, it made me cry, so that’s something.

In terms of the actual story, I loved it. I connected with Cady and loved Gat whole heartedly and slightly hated Mirren for being such a bitch at times.

In terms of the actual style of the writing, eh. It was very confusing at times. I might just be a little dumb, but I feel there were times where the author mistakes Cady for Mirren and then I would go back and be like “oh wait I though Cady dyed her hair, but now its saying Mirren.” Just little things like that.

Also at random

times in the


of the book

it would break

up like this.

Granted sometimes I loved it and it added drama, but other times just made it annoying to read and slightly difficult.

I wish the other characters were given a chance to develop more. I read somewhere that the title never really got explaining because the part where they are declared “The Liars” was cut out in editing. That bothers me because 1) it would probably help me get a larger understanding of Mirren, Johnny, and Gat but also because 2) why do publishers get to decide that a part of the book isn’t necessary, like excuse me, you need to back up.

(This is why I am going to start my own publishing company and let people publish whatever they want)

Do I recommend this book? Yes. Would I read it again? If I have 10 hours to spare and nothing to do, so probably not. Is it worth me purchasing? No, but I’m still going to buy it off thrift books to say I have it and because I love owning books. It makes me feel significant and educated.

Other reviews have complained that Cadence is annoying or spoiled or whatever, but I like her. She falls fast and hard. And she’s poetic about her pain. And she fell in love with a boy she couldn’t have. And she messed up really bad. And that’s who I am. I fall in love fast and hard and for no real reason, not know who the person is. And I aim to be poetic, sometimes. I don’t know, I just liked Cady… and Gat. Gat’s my favorite.

I didn’t like Mirren or Granddad. Mirren was annoying and Granddad was an arse.

This is the kind of book that you either love or hate. I mean granted I don’t particularly love or hate it, but there was nothing powerful or impactful. It’s a book to pass time and make you cry. It’s a good book. It’s a good book about a rich blond girl who has brain injury and is in love with a boy she can’t have and can’t remember most of summer 15.

But, it’s just a good book.

Read it or don’t.

My feelings won’t be hurt.



Starting next week, I will start doing “Short Story Saturday”. I probably didn’t make it up, and I won’t always post short stories, I might also post poetry, but it was catchy and Saturday is a nice day for me to just write and read and be lazy.

I just aim to post something not ranty/life/school on Saturdays 1) to improve my writing and 2) because I like posting my writing because I don’t expect feedback or feel it’s necessary.

Also, I’m sure it gets annoying having to read about my life.

Alright, that’s all for now.

Happy Saturday and happy memorial day weekend 🙂


Senior Portraits and the end of the year

Today it hit me. I’m in my final few weeks of my junior year of high school, and what do I really have to show for it beside the evolution of my outfits and my slightly above average grades and GPA.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed most of high school and have lived nearly every aspirable (yes I know that’s not a word) moment that most high schoolers dream of besides the partying, I’ve never even been invited to a party, never mind gone to one. Like birthday parties yea, but not party parties that people have on Friday nights where they drink and get high. I never really wanted that anyway. But to be invited would be nice.

My high school checklist was/is as follows:

-Get a job and save money (check)

-Get good grades (so far so good)

-Make some new friends (Love you guys)

-Get a boyfriend (Love you Ant)

-Drive (working on it #stayofftheroadsfeb2018)

-Do fun summer stuff (hopefully this summer)

-Go to prom (T minus 7 days)

-Have fun (Thankfully I learned what that was this year)


Those are just some things that I really wanted, or were happy once receiving. They’re just like the typical good kid high school experiences.  And that’s all I could really ask for or want.

But now here I am, 3 weeks away from finishing junior year. I took my senior portraits. I’m looking at colleges. I saving money. Like this is all becoming so real, and I don’t think I’m ready.

I’m not ready to go to college. I’m not ready to provide for myself. To have to fix things on my own. Pay bills. Get an adult job. I’m just not ready yet.

I like being in high school because everything is pretty much handed to you. The work is little tough at times, but its manageable. You have a set schedule and parents making sure you go to school on time and do your homework and keep your grades up.

I’m not ready to grow up, and I’m not even graduating yet.

I can’t wait to see what senior year has in store for me.

Happy Thursday guys 🙂

BLACK&WHITE (short story)

It was once all in color. The vibrant spring flowers of Battery Park. The obnoxious taxi cabs and bright lights of Times Square. The rich jewel tones of our tiny studio apartment furniture overlooking Central Park. It was all in color. And I was in love. And he was my soulmate. Life was in color. But now it’s always dark. And Everything is grey and dreary. And I no longer believe in color.

The urn on the book shelf of the apartment I can barely afford reminding me daily of the color my life now lacks. That gold and turquoise urn is all that’s left in color. But I wish I could bury it. Burn it. Throw it in the ocean. Do anything just so that I didn’t have to feel the same heart break every day when I come home from my miserable job to my lifeless apartment and dull cat named Mr. Mittens. But I can’t do that unless I fall in love, which I frankly have no interest in.

Falling in love is not something I ever imagined for myself. In grade school they taught us the wonders love had to offer. When we were little we saw glimpses of color, but as we grew into our late teens reality set in and everything went grey.

I knew in order to get the color I missed from childhood back I’d have to find a boy and fall in love. Not too hard. But being gay in this grey world is impossible. Yes, our mentors taught us to fall in love if we loved color and happiness, but they never taught me to fall in love. They never taught me how hard it would be to find my color. Or my soulmate. Or simply just another gay boy who was looking for some different hues besides grey. So I moved to New York and met the love of my life and life was in color.

I was at the Limelight with some friends. One of the most iconic NYC clubs. I honestly didn’t want to go, I’m not a clubbing type person, but I went. I felt something in me forcing me to go. I was longing to go. Some asshole spilled a sticky mixed drink on me, but that didn’t even matter the second I saw him. There he was. Sweaty. Careless. On the dancefloor. The most beautiful sight.

It all happened so fast. Everything I did I did for him. We got married quickly and discussed adoption. We settled on a cat seeing as we were only 22 and poor. Not ready for little feet running around. We never fought, except for about the color of the kitchen table, though we settled on a hideous sunny yellow. I always had a chest to snuggle in and soft lips accompanied by a scruffy face to kiss. I lived every second of every day in color admiring the blooming flowers, beautiful taxi cabs that reminded me of the kitchen table, and the bright lights of time square. Those 6 years were the best of my life.

Until it was all grey. My heart dropped and I skunk to my knees on the corner of Central Park West and and West 89th street. I was on my way home, a mere three blocks away. I felt it in every inch of  my body. I knew he was gone. My baby was dead. Everyone knew. The people walking saw all of the color being drawn out of every inch of my body. But they all just kept walking as I cried and screamed in agony. I don’t know what was worse. The color being ripped out of me or losing the love of my life.

Even after being in such breathtaking, heart stopping love, the only thing I love anymore is Mr. Mittens. He can’t give me any color, so when his time comes, there won’t be any color to lose and I can just replace Mr. Mittens. I don’t even want the color anymore. It’s too bright and obnoxious. The thought of it makes me want to throw up or cry. Maybe both. Definitely both.

The truth is, I’m not scared of love. I’m scared that I’ll never get my color back. I mean I know I will, or at least that I can, but it’s not going to be the same. It’s not going to be as bright and precious as it once was. And not only is your first colorful love your greatest, I’m gay and I’ve had that. Finding a fellow gay is hard enough, but adding the fact that I’ve had my firework love makes it a million times harder.

Do I regret falling for him, no never. I was young. I intended to love him forever, and I will. I wanted a forever firework kind of love or nothing at all. I wanted the moonlight kisses and picnics in the warm sun. I wanted to give away my heart completely. But now there is no color. My color was taken away, and so was my love before it even had the chance to begin. And you see none of that matters any more. It’s just me, Mr. Mittens, and the hollow, colorless apartment I used to call home.

Got Physics?

Every year the physics class takes a trip to Six Flags. Today was that day for me. I feel like I’ve waiting all of high school for this dumb field trip. 

I went on every ride though. It was amazing. Out of the 7 people in my group only 3 went on rides but that didn’t stop us. They were essentially the designated bag holders; (sorry guys). 

The only ride I wish I went on was Zumanjaro. But I’m also kinda happy I didn’t go on it, it’s crazy haha. 

I did some how convince my 2 friends to go on King da Ka and they hated me but agree that it was well worth it after the shock and hate dissipated. I thought it was fun. 

In other news, I just finished up a story, so I’m going to make a few changes and it’ll probably be up tomorrow or the next day. 

Anyways, sorry I was gone for two weeks, things got a little busy, but I’m good now. 

Happy Friday guys 🙂