Dear Advanced Placement Literature Diary, and Mr. Sikorski,

I know in your last comments section you (Mr. Sikorski) noted that I should get over Voxtrot and stop “obsessing” and focus on my field hockey scholarship but I can’t. And I’d like to confess here that I’ve actually started singing my own refrains and rewording the choruses to both “Raised by Wolves” and “Wrecking Force” from the Raised by Wolves EP and I don’t care what you think about it. And no this is not because Ram’s lyrics are unsatisfactory (I know you know a lot about old writers, but I’m pretty sure you just don’t get today’s art). No, It’s because I feel that, having been deeply involved with Voxtrot’s songs for nearly a year now, I feel that it’s time I take my relationship with them further. I want to share myself with them, commit to them, help them grow in new ways – to really share myself with them. So I write little love notes to Voxtrot and sing them over their songs. My friend’s older sister did it with Bros. She ended up meeting them once, too.

The last love letter that I copied into my diary (I don’t know why you wanted to read it, but whatever) contained all kinds of funny pet names for the band: Arcade Parade, Saying Yeah to Your Hands Gave Me the Clap, etc. I was just teasing. I do have trouble expressing myself sometimes. I mean, if I had the guts I’d probably I’d just run up and pull their cowlicks and then run back and hug my Smiths CD collection, wink at The Life Pursuit, and then steal a glance back at Voxy over my shoulder, one leg kicking back like a skank. But Mom threatens to cancel my debut if I “flirt in public,” so I have to find other ways to show my true feelings.

The sad thing is though, it doesn’t really matter any more, anyway. It seemed that Voxtrot wanted to play the game before, they chased me around the playground a couple of times, they told me their most swinging, catchiest alt-rock tunes were about me, but then they played them at the talent show (winning) AND DEDICATED THE SONGS TO THAT GIRL WHO HIKES HER SKIRT AND SMOKES. And then, I’m not sure, but then later that day I think one of them brushed up against my butt in the hall on purpose (I acted like I was mad, but I wasn’t really, but don’t think I’m a skank because I’m not). But it’s like, after Christmas, they’ve come back more serious. Like something happened. And now I can’t seem to get their attention.

I’ve heard their new song. And they still write a perfect melody, the guitars still shimmer, you still think a song is perfectly fleshed out and totally boppable when they go and add a second chimey rhythm guitar or double-time the percussion in the perfect place, so it’s like they’re saying “you’re too easily satisfied, see?” (And yeah, I still close my eyes when I listen to this new song.) They still sound like Stuart Murdoch writing for and fronting the Walkmen in the best way possible, but now instead of snarky break-up songs it’s more profound. It’s like they sucked me in just to “tell me something”:

I’ve seen you working wasted and gray / you’ve got a delicate heart / and listen you would be smart / to keep yourself in a world of mothers / sisters daughters and wives.

I mean, I know Christmas break is a time for family and all, but I want a relationship now, and I’m going to work on this until I get them to realize it, or I’ll just die and be so depressed. I mean, enough of this childish superficial flirty stuff, ignoring me on purpose. Can’t they just be adult about it and tell me how they feel? Like, what kind of mixed message is this. None of my best friends can figure it out, either:

And if you see this world as ugly and thin / then you’ll be cruel to the touch / you’ll lose this body you’re in / to a land of angry soil / that swallows boys and coughs up men

So, like, what then? Getting older is like dying? You lose your nice body when you get old, and then you may as well die because you’re ugly? Either way it’s pretty immature, if you ask me. God I hate boys. They are always so hard to understand and to get to know; and sometimes that totally makes life so hard.

p.s. Please advise whether that was proper use of a semi-colon.

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