tHe fiFteEn-yEar-oLd poTtymOutH

never, ever, EVER carry around a birth certificate with you to show people that you're only fifteen. baaaaaad idea. bad. plain bad. sad too.

he asked me how old i was because i made that damned remark of not having been born yet when this thing (i can't remember what it was) happened. i said 15. didn't believe me. took out the cursed birth certificate and it was hell ever since.

that was then.

now, just this morning, i saw him in the libe. cute. that's what he thought too."aw, you're so cute... fifteen years old..." with a pat on the head.

and i said the two words that are the greatest invention of man since jude law:

"fuck you."

grrrrrrrrreeeat.

retreat to girl's cr.

hai.

hai.

hai.

we had an exam today and he started to say sorry. i didn't give in. because having him plead is just so nice.

since, common vote, im an idiot with a conscience, i nodded my creaky head--to forgive and implore. what. metaphors, metaphors.

damneet.