landon, dallas g.

[DALLAS LANDON!]

dallas gatsby landon ,

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TWENTY. ASS. BASSIST. STRAIGHT. THE CHERRY BOMBS.[/font]

artistic . passionate . outspoken

if i could get this feeling to end, with trembling idle hands, holding me there. we laugh in the face of love 'cause
nobody's really there, nobody's real.

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CIRCA SURVIVE → THE GREATEST LIE

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My life is barely interesting to someone standing outside and looking in. If there was a movie about it… it would definitely need an eye-catching name to make up for its extreme lack of excitement. The Life and Times of Dallas Landon - too boring. The Curious Case of Dallas Landon, perhaps? Anyway, regardless of the title, I’m fairly certain that the director would go bankrupt, and my life would be the laughing stock of all movie theaters and popcorn eaters nationwide. Fortunately for the current human race, my life is not a film. However, my twenty short years on this earth have still been significant in an odd way. I’ve never been entirely sure if my existence was something that I enjoyed or something that I completely loathed. Either way, I find myself waking up each morning and going to sleep every night, and no matter how many cups of coffee my life requires in order to carry on, it’s still happening. I’m still here.

I should probably start off with my middle name, since that might just be my only redeemable quality, since it’s the only interesting thing about myself that I can ever come up with. It’s kind of embarrassing; not a day goes by that I don’t thank God himself for not making my mother crazy enough to name me ‘Gatsby.’ It turns out she was only a little bit crazy; she decided, in what had to have been a moment of temporary insanity, to bestow the middle name of ‘Gatsby’ upon my lucky but also quite unprepared shoulders. See, my mom had a bit of a fascination with naming her children after characters from works of literature… my middle name comes straight out of the pages of The Great Gatsby. Considering my mother’s love for books, you could probably take a wild guess as to where my older brother, Max, got his name from (Where the Wild Things Are). Now, you might think that seems all neat and dandy, but imagine me sitting in English class during my junior year and being forced to read my namesake out loud, surrounded by a bunch of my peers. The teacher thought it was hilarious to assign me the role of Gatsby every single day. Needless to say, I wasn’t really a big fan of my middle name after that unit in English class. I mean, let’s face it. Gatsby isn’t even a good guy.

Anyway, my childhood and all that nonsense, really doesn’t take much importance in my story. Things were going exceedingly normal for me until my eighteenth year of life. Now, don’t get me wrong. Normal and boring are definitely not synonyms under any circumstances. At least, not for me. Normal is good. Normal is waking up each morning, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, and going to school. The worst thing about a normal day is failing a history test. Normal is not the inability to pull yourself out of bed. Normal is not filled with grief. Or regret.

Normal is not waking up, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, going to school, where upon arrival you are told that your girlfriend died while you were sleeping. She didn’t wake up, eat a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, or go to school. Because she was dead while I was waking up, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, and going to school.

Ever since that day, I haven’t been able to eat breakfast. It just seemed ridiculously unfair. That I had been alive and spending my time focused on a bowl of rainbow-colored nonsense while she had already been dead for at least six hours.

I apologize, I tend to be all over the place. My girlfriend’s name was Lily. We had been dating since the summer before our sophomore year, and I woke up one day and she was dead. Just like that, the girl I’d been giving goodnight kisses to for over a year was gone. The girl who wrote me notes in English class, gone. The girl I wanted to take to prom, gone. The girl I texted every night before I went to sleep to tell her I loved her, gone.

It’s not really something that you get over in a few days. Or a few months. Or ever, really.

Needless to say, it changed me. After Lily died I stopped talking to everyone and absorbed myself in music and lyrics and words and paintbrushes. I was depressed. The days were dark, and honestly there’s not much to say about them other than I am trying to get better. It’s been almost two years since she has died, and I’m still not entirely over it. But I have friends again. I talk to people again. I graduated high school. I decided to put my newfound musical talent to use by joining a band. I’m trying to move on, but it’s difficult to forget.

I do my best to stay away from girls now. I don't want to get attached again. I don't want to be heartbroken again. Ever. I know that Lily didn't mean to break my heart, but her sudden absence still did. So that's why I focus on my music. Girls are definitely too much of a risk for me. I'm better off alone, because I can't even fathom having to deal with losing someone again. I have learned the hard way that I do not do well with separation of any kind.

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MY NAME IS SARAH, I AM NINETEEN YEARS OLD AND HAVE BEEN ROLE PLAYING FOR TOO MANY YEARS. I FOUND THIS SITE VIA CAUTION. IT'S AWESOME!

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