I was talking with a friend online a few days ago, and we were laughing about how if someone had told me on sophomore year that I'll be spending the Friday nights of my last year of official childhood couped up at home, my only companions being my laptop and a memory stick named Severus, I'd have told them to go to the school nurse. (And just for the record: Yes, my memory stick is actually named Severus. Make fun on him and die a vicious death. My laptop is named Seamus. They're my best friends.) Two years ago, I was spending three nights a week in a way that... Ugh, I'm ashamed to remember what I was like. Stupid, stupid girl who moved from a restrained, overprotective society to suddenly having almost full freedom and friends who could get her anything she could ever want to try. Sigh. I can honestly say that I haven't grown up more during the course of any five years of my life than these two last. I moved to Finland a self-concious barely-teenaged girl with no idea how to behave in what felt like a new country, and a bad case of sexual confusion.Well, I'm still more or less confused, but at least I'm proud to say that in all other aspects of my life, I've somehow managed to find myself. I don't need to pretend that I'm someting that I very clearly am not; I don't need to drink a bottle of liquer to tell someone how I feel. Among other things. Actually, I'm quite proud of the person I've turned out to be, faults and all. Even the - several - faults that I have make me who I am, and I'm not sure I'd want to trade that for anything. I've finally realized that it really is true that before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself; and if someone doesn't love me for who I am... They're just not worth it.

What made me start thinking of this? I realized that I can actually tell apart some of my favourite authors - fan fiction and "real" authors - just by the way they write. My favorite authors of "real" literature are probably J. K. Rowling, of course, in addition to Dan Brown, Roald Dahl, Henning Mankell, and Astrid Lindgren. Favorite fan fiction authors include Vorabiza, Emma Grant, Jordan Grant, Sarah Rees Brennan, Zsanya, and Picca. I strongly recommend all of these authors - both fan fic and published authors - to anyone who appreciates a good read.

I'm at home, sick. I guess I should take advantage of this by reading ahead in Swedish or Bio, but quite frankly, I just want to sleep and listen to Antti Tuisku. No-life? Perhaps, but I'm happy.

Damnit, life's hard.

Oh, and sneak peek at the über-long fic that I'm writing! For convenience's sake, I'm calling it Countdown for now, though I'm not sure if that's gonna be the final name. It might also turn out to be something completely different. Hide And Seek, maybe. But anyways, sneak peek of the fic coming up:

COUNTDOWN<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

by psyduck

Fandom:

Harry Potter

Pairing:
 HP/DM, several minor pairings.

Genre(s):
Novel-length, drama, (slash) romance, humor, angst in later chapters.

Rating:

M

Era:

This fic covers 1 + 200 days of a Post-War Hogwarts, with our favourite boys in Year 7. Written after The Order of the Phoenix and an unspecified Year 6.

Summary:
On the verge of expulsion from Hogwarts, Harry and Draco have to find a way to tolerate each other, no matter what. Even if it means sharing quarters for the next 100 days.

Chapters:

Prologue + ? (a bitchload, probably over 50). This fic is divided to two parts; the first 100 days from Harry's perspective and the latter 100 from Draco's.

Warning(s):

Hot boysex yo. If you're a homophobe, why don't you go play a nice little game of Hide And Go Screw Yourself. Oh, and also a bit OoC characters (but I guess that's unavoidable), violence, language, and BDSM.

Author's notes:
This idea actually came to me when I was sitting with Kevytmelankolia in the pier area of our hometown, eating from two enormous buckets of ice cream with plastic spoons. All of a sudden, I got a mental image of Harry and Draco sitting like that by the lake at Hogwarts, except that they'd both be sulking. The final touch came when I was talking about the Finnish Big Brother –show with some friends, and figured how hilarious it would be to stick Harry and Draco in one of those houses. The plot starts to unravel...

I hope that you enjoy this piece of writing, it's actually the only fic of which I've planned the entire plot beforehand. I know it's a bit of a cliché, but I think that every devout H/D-shipper needs to write at least one of these "By some mysterious force, Harry and Draco are forced to be together and live happily ever after" –fics. :P

Anyways, back to what I was thinking when I started writing this.
So I was talking on IM with my friend Minna. She showed me two of her latest sketches and asked what they communicate to me. I told her that I really can't say; art in the form of pictures and sculptures has never spoken to me as much as music, literature, or dance. (Oh, and by the way: Those of you who don't consider dancing an art? Well, consider again.) Dance and music are, at least to me, similiar in the way that while they both create more feeling than reason in my mind, it's still possible to analyze them to some extent. Though I hate using the word "analyze" on art; it always feels like I'm somehow violating it. Breaking down to pieces and poking on something that's supposed to be just there to be admired. Literature, however, has never created as much feeling in me as other forms of art. I mean, of course some pieces of literature do, but mostly literature affects my mind, my reason. It makes me thing, not feel. Art in the form of images, however, makes me purely feel. Whether it's Claude Monet's Water Lily Pond (which happens to be one of my favourite paintings of all time) or Pablo Picasso's Weeping Woman (which makes me want to gauge my eyes out with a fork), it creates some emotion in me; not stimulation for my brain. It's always been that way, and I actually like it.

My favourite artists are probably Van Gogh and Monet. I've always seen Van Gogh's work as a representation of human life (though I know it's not, mind you): It's really beautiful and amazing, but there's just something really odd about it, something's just akward there. The thing about Monet that I like is, as cliché as it may sound, the way he uses colours in his paintings. I've always had a thing for more "classical" art, such as the works of Monet, while more "modern" forms such as cubism and surrealism just really make me cringe. Take the works of Picasso, for example. I hate it. Every time I see a Picasso painting, it makes me feel uncomfortable, akward, and hyper-aware of myself. I don't know why; it's the same way with all more-or-less modern art.

Anyway, the point of this entry? None, I guess. Except for that art = love.

I'm skiving off Psychology class and eating banana chocolate ice cream.

I woke up at 6:00 AM to work on my World Literature Essay 1, and skipped the four first hours of school to complete it. By the time I'm going to school at a bit past noon, I'm completely hysterical, panicking, you know the drill. So finally Finnish class comes along, I hand in the essay... And have a total breakdown and start crying. Slightly embarrassing, one could say. Well, at least it's over now; now I just have to worry about my Extended Essay ("To what extent does an unhealthy relationship with members of the immediate family contribute to violently criminal tendencies later on in life?") and some Biology lab reports.

Oh, funny thing happened today in the bus while I was on my way home. So I'm just sitting there, thinking about school, when Bon Jovi's Livin' On a Prayer starts playing in my iPod. I have to use every single ounce of self control that I have not to start laughing out loud, that's how funny the mental image I got was. So, you all know the lyrics to the song, right?

We've gotta hold on to what we've got
It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot
We'll give it a shot
Whoa, we're halfway there
Whoa, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear
Whoa, livin' on a prayer

Well, the image that I got in my head: Our class, 06IB, a moment before the Final Exams start, singing this á la Once More With Feeling (in case you're a n00b and don't know what that is: It's the musical episode from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 6). Quite hilarious.

Oh, and I totally dyed my hair today.

Physics teacher: Hey you guys do you want to hear a joke?
Class: Sure!
Physics teacher: I just marked your quizzes.

What we don't realize is, this is all just a huge scientific study to find out how much stress kids can be put under before they haul off and kill themselves. The idea is that they give students amounts of work that are impossible to achieve, and periodically add more and more work during times when key projects are due. I don't know about you guys, but I'm tired of it. I quit.

We you're in IB the phrase "I got five hours of action last night" means something completely different.

ToK in a Nutshell
The Question: How do we know?
The Answer: We don't.

When asked to comment on the IB a student replied: "I'd commit suicide but I don't have the time."

During a break in the biology mock exam
IB Student 1: What's evolution?
IB Student 2: It's when we finish this exam and half of us drop dead so that only the people who are smart enough move on to the next mock.

IB - it's the best condom in the world.

IB is like an abusive husband. You know you should leave but you can't because you have a life together even if that life occasionally beats you, calls you names, and makes you feel like killing yourself.

The International Baccalaureate: The only educational program owned, run, and sponsered by Satan himself.

Student 1: Hey! I've got a brilliant EE topic!
Student 2: Ah-uhm...
Student 1: It will be: Oedipus, the original motherfucker...
Student 2: ...

"It's only 6 tests, how hard can it be to take 6 tests?"
- An IB student's little sister, age 9

Teacher: A catalyst is something that speeds up a chemical reaction, but it's not involved in the reaction itself.
Student: Um.. can you give us a real life example?
Teacher: Sure, I tell my son to clean up his room, he says no, I ask him nicely, he still says no, so then, I take out my belt and and ask him again, he runs up to clean it.
Student: O.o
Teacher: See, the belt it not never touched him, but it speeds up the reaction.

The number 45 never looked so high until now...

To be or not to be? That is the question. If you choose to be, don't choose IB.

The realization of actually being in IB hit me when I decided not to wear my seatbelt in the car becuase I would prefer to go to the hospital rather than go to school.

I'm so hot my enzymes denaturate.

I had a life full of joy, happiness, love, parties, friends, food, sleep
... and then I woke up and finished HL paper 2.

Question on an HL Bio Exam:

A tall, blue blorg mates with a short, white blorg and produces all tall, blue blorgs. This is a result of:
a) both parents having heterzygous traits;
b) both parents having homozygous traits;
c) magic.

Chem Teacher: Did you guys hear about the bear that fell in the water and dissolved?
Class: No...
Chem Teacher: They say he was polar!

IB Freshman: You know, I'm planning of getting 45 points.
IB Senior: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
IB Freshman: What's so funny?

"You shall not pass"
-Gandalf on IB

IB English Class
Teacher's advice to students: So when you're home alone practice your oral on your dog...
Students: That's what she said...

Now I understand why 42 is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. See, it means a 7 on all IB subjects.

Student: ...but we already have three tests scheduled for the next two days...
Teacher (mockingly, sarcastically and evilly): So if you add the one I'm giving you that makes four... Right? Your math teacher will be so proud to hear you do all of these advanced calculations.
Student (in a somewhat whiny tone which is completely justified): haha... Very funny... I haven't spent time with my friends or family or girlfriend in almost a month.
Teacher: And you're surprised? Didn't you read the fine print when you agreed to be in IB? It says : "In IB there are no significant others, only significant figures!"

Student 1: What's 2 times 9 again?
Student 2: Wait a sec, let me just get my Texas..

Teacher: [Noticing that half the class isn't there] What's due tomorrow?
Class, in unison: Bio/chem IA.
Teacher: Oh. 'Kay. [continues with lesson]

Non-IB student: You're in IB?
IB Student: Yeah.
Non-IB Student: Do you ever have nervous breakdowns involving all-night study sessions ending in screaming Latin phrases and offering to sell your soul to Satan if he'll put you out of this misery?
IB Student: ...just the once.

Life is like a box of HL IB Chemistry. You never know what you're gonna get, but it'll probably suck.

Teacher: No, we won't be getting into our math groups today. Carter's talking out of turn.
Carter: Life is all about second chances.
Teacher: Not in IB it's not.

Student gets up to leave halfway through a lesson.
Teacher: Where are you going?
Student: Slowly insane.

IB Coordinator to upcoming IB Freshmen: So, the IB is a programme designed for the gifted and elite-minded...
IB Senior class: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

All's fair in love and finals.

IB First Year: There's so much work, I'm barely eating!
IB Second Year: Pah, I gave up on food. My current survival is due to copious amounts of coffee and a f*ckload of cigarettes.

(Day that a math's portfolio was due)
IB Student 1: So, how many of hours of sleep did you get last night?
IB Student 2: I haven't slept in two weeks.

(After HL Math teacher arrived at class, late)
Student: Thank the Lord you're here, sir. We just couldn't function without you.
I'm serious, NOBODY outside the IB actually laughs at that. My brother looked at me like I lost my mind when I said this to him.

IB is like being ruled by facism:
Everyone talks about how much it has ruined their life but nobody actually does anything about it.

In IB Bio class:
"I wish I were Helicase so I could unzip you jeans!"

The secrets to passing your Math HL exam:
1) When in doubt, equate to zero and solve for x. If you're feeling adventurous, make it an inequality.
2) If a matrix is given, find the determinant, and continue with step 1

American Gov't Teacher: Now, I know we're in Paris and don't get American news, but you've got to keep updated on the election. Just check up on the CNN website or something each day.
Student 1: Oh my god... there's an election going on at home?
Student 2: Hmm interesting analysis, but you might need some sources for that. On another note, did you know the IBO made an update to the Syllabus for Mathematics SL? It's on page 34 in the syllabus, and page 235 in the Vade Mecum. Section D14 I believe.

______________________________________________________________________

Now I really should go write that essay. I've laughed enough to compensate for an entire year of IB.

Yeah, slightly irritated doesn't even begin to cover it.

Otherwise things are doing fine, I guess. I mean, I'm still screwed with schoolwork, but I do my best. I got now 4 days to finish my World Literature essay ("Wives' use of power withing the family in Wuthering Heights and The House of the Spirits") and then I gotta start finishing up my Extended Essay draft. Sometimes I really wonder why on Earth I would want to be in IB.

I wonder what my life would be like if I still lived in McLean? Would I be a different person than what I am now? Well, I guess that much is obvious. But how different?
I know I'd have kept my 3.7 GPA, I wouldn't really have had any other choice. And besides, it's not like it's a bad thing. I'm pretty sure I'd still hang out with Claire, Virginia, and all my old friends. Would I have made a lot of new friends? Would I be popular? The popularity doesn't really matter that much, since I'd rather have a few best friends than a hundred acquaintances, but it would be nice to know. I'd probably have a boyfriend, since I could never imagine admitting that I like girls, too, over on that side of the puddle. Way too conservative people, if you know what I mean. Would I hold his hand in the hallways, kiss him before heading off to different classes? I bet I would, I've always been a bit of a romantic. I'd go to football games with him and my friends, I'd laugh and sneak beer to under the bleachers. I'd cheer for the Langley team, while making fun of the cheerleaders with my best friends. After the game, we'd go to my place since I'd still live 400' from the school. We'd have a sleepover, giggle and talk about guys all night, just like we used to in middle school. I'd sneak my boyfriend in one night, get caught and grounded for a month, but I'd just laugh and spend the whole month on the phone with Claire and the others.
I bet I'd be happy.

I admit, there are moments when I miss 22101-2 so much that it hurts. I miss going to Tyson's Corner, spending hours in Wet Seal and such, drinking Frappuccinos and all the other amazing things that Starbucks has. I miss talking on the phone for hours a day, I miss having sleepovers where there's no alcohol involved. I miss watching scary movies until dawn, while having so much cookie dough with crapple juice that I feel like I'm going to explode. Hell, I even miss those big yellow school buses.

I'm just so sick of Jyväskylä. It's small as hell, I only have like, what, one or two really good friends here. There's nothing to do here, and the weather's crap. There aren't any proper malls. Hell, a proper mall wouldn't even fit downtown here; Tyson's was bigger than this whole fucking town. I hate the school system here, it's too complicated and the teachers aren't as good as in Cooper MS, or Langley HS, or even Churchill ES. I just.... I miss having an easy life.

Let's start with a quote: "Procrastination is like masturbation. First it feels good, but in the end you realise you've just fucked yourself." Great, eh? And that's just what I've been doing for the past week. Er, procrastination, I mean. That might have come out a bit wrong... Well, anyways. *rolleye* I'm positively drowning in schoolwork, but all that I can manage to bring myself to do is to read loads and loads of fan fiction on my brand new computer(!). It sucks, yet there's nothing better. I guess I have an excuse for this day, considering that I'm sick. I've gotta do loads more work on my Extended Essay, as well as start thinking about my ToK Essay, not to mention World Literature Essays 1 and 2, as well as my Finnish Orals and Biology lab reports and and and... Ugh, I get a headache just thinking about it. Or the headache might have something to do with my 38,7-degree fever. Who knows.

I guess I can blame this next topic on PMS, but I've been so incredibly irritated and easily flipped out for the last few days. I've argued with my friends and Mom about the stupidest things ever. Like, even stupider than before. And I got so incredibly sick of this one chick that used to be a good friend but ended up as just some twisted mind game of mine that I completely blew her off (oh God, I've been reading too much H/D if I can't even say blew off without thinking about dirty things) and broke all contact. Not that I regret it, not in the slightest bit, but thinking about it doesn't make me feel exactly happy and bubbly.

This girl in my class asked me on Monday if I could kill someone if it was guaranteed that I'd never get caught. I've been thinking about that alarmingly much. I'm really not a psyhopath, am I?

"To those of science, let me say this. You have won the war.

The wheels have been in motion for a long time. Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new god.

Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation… these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.

But science's victory has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.

Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but is has left us in a world with out wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident. Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science looks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God's world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning… and all it finds is more questions.

The ancient war between science and religion as over. You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. WE see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests — all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. They are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.

Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species… moving down a path of destruction.

Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea.

To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be you sign posts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the church who points the fallacy of that reasoning.

And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God! You ask what does God look like. I say, where does that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in you science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God's hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us?

Whether or not you believe in God, you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith… all faiths… are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable… With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do… looking beyond the ritual of these walls… they would see a modern miracle… a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.

Are we obsolete? Are these men dinosaurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?

Tonight we are perched on a precipice. None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality, the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it. The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.

Pray with me. "

It's the second day of school, we take a tour of the school and I'm bored to the extent I think I might burst. The girl who has the audacity to claim my name has a really funny shirt: bright yellow with a pink pig. I go up to her and sigh that are we really supposed to care about the school's history; that I personally am all for waiting until I get the hell out of there. She laughs and agrees.

It's the first day of real lessons; we sit next to each other in every class and laugh together when we both write the same name in the seating arrangement.

It's the first Saturday since school started and I'm sitting in a park downtown with the redhead and some of her friends. It's really weird, with the exception of her; they're all wearing black, lots of chains and unbelievable amounts of makeup. And they talk with a really strong country accent and curse all the time. They seem nice enough, and she turns out to be a really funny person.

It's recess on the second week of school, and we're sitting in the schoolyard with some classmates. She's written "Fuck you, Kela" on her jeans and laughs at me because I ask her who that is.

We're sitting in an Internet café because neither of us have access to the Web at home. I'm writing an email to a friend in the States and the green-eyed girl is sitting next to me, talking to her friends online. I just can't stop looking at her.

It's Biology class and we're sitting in the back of the classroom with a tall, British boy, talking and paying no attention whatsoever to the teacher with the bad English. The boy asks us if we're straight, and she says without blinking an eye that she's bisexual. I think my heart might have skipped a beat, and I say shyly that I am, too.

It's the first Sunday of September and I'm unpacking my room, cursing the fact that I'm stuck at home. I get a text message from her which says that it sucks that I live so far away from downtown, she'd love to hang out with me a lot more. I start grinning like a fool while trying to piece together my bedside table.

A German girl in our class asks me during Math class if I like anybody. I shyly say that maybe I do. She won't stop pestering me about it until I admit that I might have a crush on that girl sitting on her other side. She swears that the girl told her that she likes me, too. I refuse to believe her.

My namesake is absent from school, she sends me a message that she's sick. I ask this kind of gay-looking bloke to sit next to me in class. He turns out to be really sweet, and we go to the redhead's place after school to cheer her up a bit. We laugh hysterically and take hilarious pictures, one of which will eventually be one of my favourite pictures of all time.

I'm writing in my diary, as I always do before going to bed. As I trace my pen on the paper, I see letters forming into words, words into sentences, all about her.

It's a Friday night and I'm partying at her place with her and two others. I'm lying down on the couch with her, eating ice cream with the same spoon. I say drunkenly that this is almost like us making out. She asks if we should make out; I giggle and I think I might have even blushed, but don't have the guts to do what she suggested.

Later that night, we're sitting next to each other on her balcony, she's smoking a fag and I'm babbling to her about my friends back home. At some point, we fall quiet and she leans forward and I meet her lips in the best kiss I'd had in my life so far.

A few days later, I write her a text message that I'm going to go crazy unless I tell her how I feel about her, that I really like her. When she replies that she feels the same way, it plasters a smile on my face that lasts the entire day.

Two weeks after that, we're sitting on her couch, one of our guy-friends is lying down on her bed. We're not doing anything special, just talking about everyday things. All of a sudden, the boy asks if we're a couple. We look at each other and smile, and she replies that "I guess we are."

One year, 9 months, and 28 days later I say goodbye to her at the station in Tampere. My bag is heavy as shit, I'm tired, and I've just had one of the best weekends of my life with her and the pouf-looking guy I met such a long time ago. I hug her for what seems like forever but still not enough, and kiss her lightly on the lips. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, so I quickly try to compose myself, tell her that she's incredibly dear to me, and start walking toward the train doors. I know that was the last kiss we'd share for weeks, months, a year, maybe forever; it hurts so incredibly much to know that she is going on a date with some bloke later today, but I try not to think about it.

I boarded that train 4 hours ago, and started writing this one hour ago. During these hours, I've replayed over and over everything that's happened between us during these two years. I can still remember clearly what she looked when she sat in that desk behind me on the 14^th of August, 2006, how she tasted of beer and strawberry liquor when we kissed for the first time, when she took my hand for the first time. I remember how it was a bit awkward but still incredibly hot when I slept over at her place for he first time, and I still get butterflies in my stomach when I think of the time she first told me she loved me. I remember every fight, every time I've just wanted to give up on everything; but I also remember every kiss, every 'I love you', every morning that I've woken up with my arms tangled with hers.

I've been lost in memories for the whole evening. Usually I like going back in time in my mind, but now, when I know that I can never have that back, it's really quite horrible. It hurts like hell to know that I don't have her anymore; it hurts to know that she's found someone who's better than me. It hurts to see her write less-than-three to someone who's not me.

You all probably know who she is. I don't care; I just had to get this off my chest. I hope she knows how much she means to me and how she'll always have a piece of my heart with her. Friends or more-than-friends, it doesn't matter. I'll always love her to some extent and she had better know that.