Of Fearing The Empty

You want to know a secret?

I'm scared of being alone. In more ways than one. But right now? I'm terrified of this house I'm in. Because I'm completely alone.

No, that's a lie. I've my two cats and three fish. But I doubt any of them would be able to be considered "Guard Cats/Fish."

I'm scared that someone will break in. I'm scared someone is looking through the windows. I'm scared someone is hiding in the shadows. I'm scared there's ghosts hiding downstairs, or just around the corner. I'm scared I'll see a centipede or spider and I won't be able to ask for someone to kill it. I'm scared I'll have a nightmare of any of the above. Actually, the latter three I'm scared of all the time, but it's heightened when I'm alone.

It's just not safe.

And since my brother and his friends saw that peeper outside the living room window back in April, I've been scared that he's going to come back. I want new curtains, since blinds just don't cut it.

I wish we had a second storey, cause I'm also afraid of being kidnapped. Through the window even. Like those two girls a couple of years back, one being dumped in the woods somewhere and one hacked into several pieces and scattered along the bayfront.

I'm scared of a lot of things, but whenever I am I just brush it off. I'm okay. I'm okay. Ha-ha, watch as someone breaks in. Isn't that funny?

Except it's not.

But I won't tell my parents because I'm an adult now, and they've got a cottage to go to, and I can't go with them because I've got work.

And I have to sleep in this huge room by myself, where there could be a sasquach passing by my window at any moment. Some hairy beast. That can't happen around here cause, well, someone would see him, it, her, and there's fences and raw wood and a lot of stuff. And I don't want someone telling me differently cause those are the things that keep me from crying.

And I won't tell anyone because I like being alone. I like having the freedom to blare music, or (as I normally do) sit around in the silence and enjoying it.

But this house just isn't safe.

So there's my secret. Care to share one of yours? I promise I won't tell.

Of Uncontrolled Temper

Honestly, right now, if this was a year ago, or worse- two or three years ago, my room would be smashed to pieces. Along with everything else in the house.

It's only because I've gotten a helluva lot better at controlling my temper that I have not hopped on a bus and rode it down to my cousin's house to punch him out.

But I'm more sensible than that now.

Somewhat. But a lot more than I was so-long ago.

Of Trusting Almost Everything

I'm going to hang out with one of my ex-friends. Ex-sisters. We'd been falling apart much before February happened. In all truth, we probably should have never been friends, let alone almost sisters. And yet, we were. Funny how that works.

We hurt each other. I know what much. What was said and what was done, it's all equal measure. We were crappy sisters and friends until the lights went out and we hugged our pillows to our chests and texted our biggest worries to each other, and replied in the same fashion.

How does that change? How does a person change from day to night, two completely different people?

But when there was no one other to talk to, and even when there was, we'd turn to each other, because we somehow understood each other. We were too alike, you see. Fire and fire only causes a bigger fire.

And now I can't trust her. I haven't in months. I don't. And part of me doesn't want to. I want to seclude myself, cut myself off from anyone who would ever have the means to use everything I've said against me. Especially when it comes to certain people.

So why did I agree to hang out with her, though almost everything is screaming alarm?

Because, I think, it's the fact that it's only almost everything. It's not everything. There's something there that doesn't scream alarm. There's something bigger there than a person who I know wouldn't say a word has in my mind. I trust him less than this ex-sister of mine. And perhaps it's just sentimental. But late in the night when I text her "Do you remember..." and it all feels like it once did... Well...

 And I sum it up to something more heartless because when I think about the risk I'm taking for a bit of old-times sake, I get a bit anxious. A bit run run run away. I sum it up to this, which is no less true; I need to start trusting people more, and if I don't give someone a chance to choose whether to hurt me or help me, then I am stuck where I am.

And I'm a stray, looking for other strays.

Of Searching for Paradise

We all searched for paradise. We all followed the path we thought would take us there. All our paths were so different, but we were determined that our way was the right way, and screw everyone else.

We all participated in our own little rat race. Who could reach Paradise first. Who could claim it for their own. Who would hold the bragging rights.

And in the end, we all lost Paradise.

I don't know if we found it, or if we never even made it there. All I know is that everything crumbled in our hands, and now we're trying to make something out of this suddenly-nothing.

I don't exactly know what I have right now, or where I'm going. I don't know if I'm still foolishly looking for Paradise still, or if I'm just looking for another place to run. I don't know much.

I just know, or think I know, that I have some kind of happiness in me. Some kind of calmness. I still have anger and sadness, but I'm okay. I'm still working out things, and I'm still figuring out trusting, but... I guess the big point about this is that I'm Okay.

I don't know anything about Paradise anymore, but I'm okay.

Of Remembering When

All my texts and all my emails to you start with the words "Do you remember..."

Because I don't see a future in us.

Because all I have of you is the past and the memories that go with.

Because I need to make sense of the past, and everything that was said and was done in it to decide whether I can forgive you, even if I will never see you again.

I need to know in my heart whether to lock you in a box and throw it to the depths of the ocean, or to just put it away at the top shelf of my closet, behind the Porcelain dolls that share and keep my secrets.

Of Baking Cakes on a Moment's Notice

I can't make cakes on a moment's notice.

I mean, you could tell me to make you a cake the day before and I could probably do it (24h), but that's a lot of work and I'd be up all night doing it.

But when I've got work all weekend, and I'm out a lot of the day Friday, and you want me to make a cake I've never made from scratch and you tell me four days in advance, at midnight?

Yeah, a little hard to do.

I can do it. I just will hate you for a while.

Furthermore, if you don't respond to my messages for hours in between, even less time.

Some people are just lucky they're family.

Of Secrets in the Dark

And sometimes you don't need the dark basement and the breathing bodies close. You don't need the glowing clock of three AM. You don't have to have the whispering and the quiet confessions. You don't need the hands reaching out in the dark to grasp hold of.

Sometimes, having a distant connection through MSN, a phone call, a text message, is all you need for one of those moments to happen.

Of Weather that Surrounds You

My favorite kind of weather has to be something like;

Right before a huge, powerful thunderstorm, when you can see the dark clouds and you can feel the pressure build, and the heat and humidity is there. And you're standing and you're waiting and the anticipation and power is zipping through the air. Or you're on a bike and you're gliding down the street and there's a few drops on the ground and on your skin, but it's not even the beginning, it's like the drops just make everything build even more. It's silent and calm, every living thing can feel the storm coming, and then the thunder sounds, and soon you know it will break open the entire sky.

Or it's drizzling very lightly. And there's fog everywhere. Or should I say that the other way around? And it's cool, and you can feel every miniscule droplet on your skin, and it slowly weighs your hair down but not too much. And it feels as if you're alone in some other world, and you're not worried because it's perfect. Anything can be anything, and you too can be anything. And it's so silent that you might be the only person there.

Or it's an early-autumn day, and it's drizzling heavily, not quite rain, and the air is cool to the touch and the droplets aren't any warmer, and you're running around getting all sweaty and mucky, and you've got to ditch the coat you put on before you came out, because you're not the least bit cold inside. The outside of you is cold to the touch- your skin is like ice, but there's a fire inside you and the rain hits you and cools in trickles, but is no match for the heat inside you. And if you stop for too long, you go from hot to unbearably hot to cool, and you never want to be contained within walls ever again.

Or it's right after a huge snow storm, and the side walks are piled with snow on either side, and there's snow falling lightly around you, and it might be a little too warm in your winter coat, and the whole world around you is silent. Even the busiest of streets is somehow muted by the snow scattered around everywhere. Your hair sticks to your face from the snow, and it's nice for once, even though you sometimes (frequently) swear you hate the stuff. It's times like these that make you remember just why you put up with winter in the first place, and that it might not all be about the summer that eventually comes when all this white stuff is gone. And it's times like these you'll remember all year round, and maybe in the confines of your mind you might wish for winter to come quicker, just for another one of these.

Of Playing with Fire

I play with fire, happily.

You know I'm back up on my game when I start playing with fire, and a lot of it in one day.

Fire is my element. I'm comfortable and thrilled by it.

Of Friends Lists

I've been clearing out my contacts on various things (MSN, etc.) recently, deleting a lot more people than I have ever done at one time.


Because unlike some I know, I don't keep people for just their contact, or to reach a number or whatever. If I've got a list titled "Friends" I attempt to keep it limited to people that are, indeed, considered my friends.

And, as I've explained to one of my friends, I've spent my whole life unknowingly afraid of breaking off friendships that were harmful to me, and keeping friends with people who constantly hurt me, and I shan't do it any longer.

And someone who does not ask me for my story, and instead believes blatant lies of those who would only like to hurt me, and then avoids me at all costs because of such rumors, does not deserve to be called "friend." And I hope that one day they really mess up, or have it done to them so that maybe, just maybe, they'll learn.

Probably not going to happen, but a girl can (and this girl will) dream.

Of Airplanes and Possibilities

We dropped my brother off at the airport today, leaving him to go through security and board his plane to Dublin.

Surprisingly, I didn't cry or feel like crying, or any sad stuff like that. Not because my brother is leaving- he'll be back in 28 days, but because of all the memories this airport held. Because the first and last time I'd been on a plane was this airport, with my best friend (at the time), heading to the Dominican Republic for a week.

The memories of trying to stay up till our three AM bus ride to the airport, but crashing at midnight (or was it one?); the sitting in the waiting area, looking out onto the dark faces of airplanes, thinking they looked like dark hawks (which, no matter how much I explained it, my friend and her family just didn't get it); feeling a wave of homesickness while I still hadn't left Canadian soil; sitting on the plane almost hyperventilating; the mantra I repeated in my head, inspired by the conversation we'd had on the bus with another couple; laying down half on my seat, half on the makeshift blanket-pillow settled on my friend's lap, listening to a repeat playlist on my ipod and drifting off once in a while; pointing out whales and ships as we came close to our destination.

They didn't hurt as much as I thought they would. Or that I realize they "should" now that I've time to reflect. I mean, I could have had them hurt me, I could have scrunched up my face and felt the tears. I could have, but I didn't let that happen. By the time I got to the point of realizing "Hey, that should have hurt!" we were on our way home, and I could see a plane taking off, and another taking it's place. And I remembered the check-out-line wait the whole taking off bit was like, an dhow surprised I was at it. You don't just go fly? I have to wait in anticipation and get freaked out enough to jump out the door, and be able to?

The only feeling I had while in there was one of longing. Longing to, in a place that could take me almost anywhere, to buy a plane ticket and go anywhere. Rome, perhaps. Or London.

Longing. That's what I felt. Not for the past, but for adventure. For the unknown.

It still sits with me. All those possibilities.

Of Home-Baked Goods

I don't exactly know why, but I'm always hesitant to try home-baked goods.

I mean, getting something from a bakery, no problem whatsoever. Eating something made by a friend? Eh... risky business in my mind.

Perhaps it's because I have been fed too many horrible home-baked goods, now I am a little less likely to eat without thinking.

That, and I'm pretty bad with people. So I'd rather not eat something that tastes horrible and then have to fake a smile and say it's good when I really just want to spit it out.

Of Past Truths Said

Some truths just aren't meant to be said.

Like, perhaps, the ones that haunt months, even years, after, when it's no longer applicable.

Or the ones that are unfair and unjust.

Just saying.

Of False Readerships

So I write and post on Mibba sometimes. My Roma story, and my Cassa story, and some other mini ones. And I was going through the writing contests, which I don't usually do. The "prizes" just made me gape.

You win a comment to X number of your stories? You get a subscriber to that story? Even if it's horrible?

I write to get read. Not to get some superficial subscriber who will just up my numbers, or some comment that says "Hey. Great story. Here's my post for winning the contest."

Sickens me, really, that people would get excited over these things.

I'll stick with writing and gaining a readership with hard work, and have a true readership to boast for it.

Of Past Attempts at the "I Don't Know"

So today will be my first Tai Chi class, in about 5 hours and 24 minutes (that's 5:30).

To say I'm excited would be an understatement. And I've got to go to work like this?

I'm kind of glad that my brother's girlfriend is coming with me. When I told her she got so excited and offered to join me (begged, perhaps?). I wasn't going to turn her down.

This is one of those times I'm glad I don't have many friends that I have to ok my schedule with, or try getting them to come with me. I remember when I tried this weird form of yoga which wasn't much yoga at all. The first time was pretty weird, and we laughed about it, but they didn't want to go back. Perhaps because the lady-in-charge seemed to be putting some spell on us while we were trying to meditate? I think one of them still gets emails from her, asking to  come back.

I won't go back now, though. One because I am quite busy in the sense of I can't get anywhere freely when I need to (still need those driver lessons). Two because... Hm.. The spell thingy did creep me out a little.

But now I can go to Tai Chi, and though I'm a bit nervous about someone coming with me, and what if she doesn't like it and tries making fun of it during it and all? I'm pretty open minded, and I think she will be too, but if she's anything like my old friends, one that shares her name in particular, well this could end badly.

Wish me luck.

Of Stopping Time

Everyone, at least once in their life, stands still.

This just happens to be my time.

It's sad, but I'm trying to live it day by day. Not thinking about the unavoidable end to this temporary sanity and oddly made sanctuary. Not thinking about it until it comes to past.

It'll hurt when it happens, but maybe it will hurt less than February. It will be a slow end. With a start and a slow middle, and possibly, an unnoticeable end.

I will hope. I will dream.

Because that is what I do, until the walls come crashing down on me.

Of Being Left Behind

It's July 20th today.

It's hard not to think of this summer as what it used to be- finite, cut down to two months. It has been this way for pretty much the entirety of my life. And now it spans ageless into the future, though I know it's really only a year. Hopefully.

But I find myself panicking. And it's a weird feeling, seeing the end of something that's supposedly not there.

There is an end, though. Right where the end of summer is. Was. That's the end of my confidence if I don't find another source soon. It's the end of security, because at the line-where-Summer-should-end waits the beginning of the farewell of the few friends I've retained thus far.

It hurts. And I know that even if I make friends at the barn with those who I've got the most hope, they'll be gone too. Because everyone is leaving, everyone has the end of Summer where it should be. Everyone but me.

Everyone. But. Me.

I'm standing still as I wave off those who have a normal Summer, whilst I keep on being my anomaly self. Everything normal seems to bend around me. And if this is what "special" feels like, I don't want to take part. Not now. Maybe later.

Special feels like standing still. Special feels like watching everyone you love turn down a different path than you. Special feels like being alone. Special feels like struggling to put on a smile and a laugh and only being able to cry in the shower where no one can hear you. And even then, you can't always cry because it seems the shower does it for you except there's no relief from the tears.

Melancholy. That's what I feel right now.

Of Romeo and Juliet

I don't get why everyone is so enthralled by Romeo & Juliet. The main characters were fickle and had a "love at first sight" thing going on. May I correct and say LUST at first sight?

And then, later on, it was probably the desire for something unattainable that drove them where they went. And perhaps the thrill of the secret.


Of Cracking Chocolate and Paragraphs

I just want to put this out there; I do not like making cake pops.


Because of temperature. I need to have the cake cold but the chocolate warm, and when the chocolate is cooled and I bring it out, or if they're cooled on the styrofoam, the cake expands cause it's warmer and CRACKS THE CHOCOLATE.

Over and over again. And if I do it while the cake is warm, it falls to pieces.

But here's a picture (blurryish) of my brother's I made him. Devil baby chick.

And I hate paragraphs. I never know when to break them. Or rather, I usually don't. Blah.

Kind of suckish day, but I'm alright.

Of Tai Chi and Hours Cutting

I'm starting Tai Chi next week.

Excited? Perhaps.

Okay, YEAH.

And EA is thinking about cutting down my hours.

7 hours off every other week.

That's a quarter of my paycheck.

Suddenly, too.

The second I get my hands on a bakery job, well... If it offers me full time, I'm taking it. Whereas before, I was going to negotiate enough hours for both EA and ? Bakery.

Not just the hours cutting. Some other drama I don't think falls in my favor. At all. I could be fed to lions soon enough.

But Tai Chi next week. Yay! Dragging my brother's Girlfriend to it too (she comes willingly, mind you!)

Overall... pretty okay day, if you ignore the 4 hours of work where I listened to complaint after complaint- none of them customer. Hell, we HAD no customers. It was that dead.

Of Free Spirit

Way back when, and for a long time since, I'd thought that there were two types of people. Same and different.

To be "same," you would be like those who tormented me- pretty, popular, girly/macho.

And they say there's no more cliches. Try going to my school district.

To be "different," you would shun anything girly, you'd be on the receiving end of a lot of crappy stuff, and you maybe weren't tomboy, but you weren't at all like they were. No dresses or skirts allowed.

Well, there were shades of grey. The people who were in the middle, never bothered.

As a writer now, I wince to think of these separations in my too-young-to-be-blamed head.

It took a long while for me to realize I didn't have to be wholly different. That I could like wearing dresses (as long as they weren't two grotesque) and not spontaneously combust (why is it telling me that's spelled wrong?). That it's okay to be less-than-wholly free-spirited (and after all, I do like schedules a little, and being on time, and I'm not about to run out and jump on the next train out of here, no matter where it goes, until I've got the money and education to support myself, that is).

Even now I have a bit of a problem, thinking I'm doing something wrong. It doesn't help that I've got a pretty free-spirited (all-the-freakin'-way) friend that recently got back from one of her free-spirited romps of the world. She has adventures I wish I could have, but I'm just not that comfortable (it's past the line I've set on how uncomfortable something can be and still get me to do it).

But it's okay. It has to be. I'm not about to hitch hike somewhere in random stranger's cars cause, well, I don't want to be raped and gutted and thrown out into some ditch on a back country road.

My friend though, she's seemingly okay with risking all that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, though I will admit I am a bit free-spirited (or perhaps a better word would be "defiant") I'm nowhere near my friend's level. And that's okay. Honestly. No intertwined fingers.

And I'm pretty proper too. There's a lot of things I just find repulsive and not fit to do with company around. Even if "company" is just me.

Of Pride

Everybody's got another piece of advice. Another saying to set me in place. Another word of wisdom.

Chin up. Walk forward. Be proud.

 My chin is up, but my eyes can't help but be steely with hurt.

I walk forward, but I can't help but hear the past call my name.

And pride? Pride doesn't keep me company. It's hardly enough to get me to sleep.

Of Too-Thick Glass

I miss you.

We were once good friends, maybe not the best of, but good.

But over the years we changed, we grew apart, we left. Though I'm sure we were never from each other's mind for long, we became two very different people.

And here we are again, like finger tips on different sides of glass.

And I don't want to break apart, in fear we might lose each other again.

Though I know that one day, we'll come back, no matter how much the glass has thickened.

Of Tentative Healing

Today was good for me, even I can see that as much as I want to feel strong in the loneliest of times.

I went riding with two girls from the barn, and was joined temporarily by the girl who sometimes joins me on Mondays after she's done  mucking stalls. They're all friends. I'm the outsider. But for a bit there, I didn't feel like one.

Not to say I never felt like a complete outsider, because at times I did.

We're nowhere near inviting each other for sleepovers or karaoke or to the cottage for the weekend. I wish we were, but we're not.

Maybe one day. I don't know. Possibly not.

I don't know if I can give a piece of my heart out that easily, as much as I want to. I know hardly anything about these people, and I don't know if they'll be here come September, or if they'll be gone.

There's too many "I don't knows" for me to try throwing a rope of my heart out.

I've said it before- I can't afford to lose anyone else right now. And that means not reaching too far out to anyone.

Of Living Without Breathing

These memories, they could drown me.

I could hyperventilate, any minute now.

The depths of the sea could drag me down.

All the parts of my life I never want to see again, flashing before my eyes.

And where would I be then?

Of Standing Up

I believe that if you let people push you around, never saying a word, they'll keep doing so. Perhaps they will get bored, but then someone else will come around and do the same thing.

And I believe that you shouldn't stand by and watch someone get hurt and not at least try to help. Those that aren't stopped won't suddenly realize Hey, they're doing the wrong thing! And by keeping silent, you're just as bad as those who egg them on.

But sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who has these ideals.

I can't count the number of times I've stood up for someone and when I'm in trouble they've gone silent. They watch. They smile for whoever looks at them.

And when they have a mind to say something, they point the fingers back at me, ruining their whole purpose.

It's now that I realize I've been bullied my whole life, because no one listens to the person they torment. They listen to those around them. And no one around me was saying it was wrong.

Of Survival of the Fittest

This weekend, I've survived almost entirely on chicken nuggets (with ketchup and feta cheese- strange sounding, but very good), ice cream (with the help of lactose pills) and chocolate (kitkat and plain chocolate chips, which I never liked till I started working at EA).

Yeah. This is a glimpse of my free life in a couple of years, I just know it.

And I'm supposed to be a chef (pastry, but still, I make damn good meals).

Of No Replies

I'm tired of calling and no one picking up. I'm tired of texting and no one replying. I'm tired of pleading and no one telling me it's okay.

I'm tired, and sore.

Of you. You and your ways.

And I won't say another word, because I don't want to trade my truth and my worries for lies.

I don't want another them. I don't want another spinner of tales.

I want you, good and true.

Now you're different, gone and blue.

Of Too Many Wounds

Because I don't think I can handle any more cutting ties, any more loss.

And I can't risk trusting someone who's hurt me so much before.

Of Counting Chickens

I've got to stop believing I'm safe.

Today I rose my head and calmed my shoulders, believing that after Saturday (next), I'd be home free. I'd never have to see them again. Sure, I'd see them, run into them eventually, I live in a small town, and I always run into people I haven't seen in forever and don't want to see when I don't want to see them, but I was generally safe.

So I thought.

A couple of hours later, An old "friend" comes online. And, surprise, she starts talking to me.

As if she never fell off the face of the planet, or acted like you had.

As if she never got caught up in too many things you can count.

As if she never called radio silence without announcing a warning at all.

I hate people like that. There's only one person I'd forgive for that, and they'll never know, because they'll never call off radio silence. Radio silence is our wall of safety, our pillows and beds.

Of Rain

Why does it have to be so bloody miserable today, of all days? Why not break the heat three days ago?

(An excerpt) Of Life Under Star

"And I wonder if Eva and me would still be friends, after I'd tell her all these things. I wonder if we're still friends now, with me so far away, having not told her anything of my plans, and her thinking me dead, or worse. I wonder if I truly am dead, no longer the friend she knew, but Aishe the Gypsy. And I wonder, finally, if someone can be friends with a dead person, even one who's dead but come back to life as someone else. Someone you've never met before."

Of Whispers and Hearing

What people need to realize is that, if I didn't eavesdrop, I'd know a lot less. And I'd be in trouble a lot more. Eavesdropping has saved me a lot.

It's resisting the urge to eavesdrop when I know I'll be hearing something I don't want to that is hard.

I have no qualms about listening into a conversation. It's what I do with that information that is really important. Though I might know something, it doesn't mean I have to tell anyone else. That's where qualms come in, not before.

If I Could Hold You One Last time

It's weird how it hurts when I see your picture, even now after all these years.

It's the feeling I get when I'm falling, or when I'm nervous, or when I've forgotten that last step. And it's mixed with a twinge of pain, loss, despair.

And all I can think of is that I'll never be able to hold you again. And you'll never see me smile again.

Staring at a picture of you, and having your ashes in a box... it's just not the same. Not at all. Not one teeny, tiny bit.

What We Sacrifice

It makes me wonder how many times people thought the same thing about me.

"You call them your friends?"

"You're bowing down to them?"

"You're letting them control your freedom?"

"What are you thinking?"

A Rock

And I guess I need someone who can be forever.

Even though I don't believe in it.

Not anymore.

Not that I know of.

Why It's Too Much

Because I've seen the eyes of someone who had nothing, nothing at all, to do with this, and yet has heard one side of the story, the side that wasn't mine.

And they never asked for my story.

They never gave me a chance.

Their eyes.

Who I Need The Most

There's so many feelings I want to convey right now. Every piece of the spectrum. But it'd take hours to write up, and half of it wouldn't make sense, and most of it would be repeats, and no one would care enough to read it.

And I think all I want is for someone to read all this and say something.

Say anything.

Anyone but someone who's already formed an opinion of me. Or at least, anyone but someone who's formed an opinion of me based on theirs. You know... them.

Wide Awake, Dreaming

There's a part of me that constantly says "Put away those fanciful things. Lock the fantasies in a box and bury them in the shadows. Silence the voices that talk of imaginary things and hide them under the bed, because they are the only things that bump in the night. Stop looking for those legendary beings, there's no sparkle in the grass, no flit in the shade. Put away, put away, all those fanciful things."

It's not a harsh voice. Not usually. It's a soothing tone, one that is used to hush a tearful child, or treat a fevered brow. That's what makes it so convincing.

But, is it really the right thing to do? Without my imagination, without my hope in the impossible, I think I might just fall to pieces. It's a sad thought to some, and I don't know if it's a sad thought to me, but I know that giving up all these fanciful things would just make my life a whole lot harder.

Or that's what I think.

But I seem to be so far behind those who find happiness.

I'm wishing for the impossible, and the impossible never happens.

I make dinosaurs out of slices of melon. They... what do they do?

I truly don't know.

The Opposites

I don't know how many people would understand how it feels to finally be appreciated, to be told I'm an excellent worker and great and that it doesn't matter if I'm a bit shy.

And then the counter-feeling of realizing that the only place that seems to think this is the place that isn't tied in at all to my dream job.

And it makes me wonder what this means.

If Anyone Can Read This...

Oh god. I've made so many mistakes, and not one can I take back.

I don't know what's worse that I've done- that I let you go, or I didn't hold on tight enough.

Surprisingly, there's a big difference there.

And for the record, if you think I'm talking about you, I'm not.

Unless, of course, you're the one person that matters to me. Then yes, I'm talking to you.

(But you won't know it, because you don't know how much you truly matter to me.)

(And though I wish you'd say hi, I still couldn't bring myself to say it still)

(But I do truly hope you say hi. Or bye. Or anything. Anything at all)


It hurts to know that, though they worry, they have the assurance of making friends as I fade away. Me? Not so much. There are no assurances. Only the assurance of an aching heart come September, or October, and possibly, almost most definitely, November.

Heart Break, Forever Style

The future scares me. For once, the future terrifies me.

I'm going to lose everything, again.

And I was foolish enough to believe, again, that forever could happen.

Or that the future doesn't take things away so quickly. That it lets you enjoy them as much as you want, for years and years.

But I should have known. After February, when I thought i had months, when really I had days, hours, minutes. I should have known, because I'm a writer, and every time one of my characters thinks they're safe and sound and everything is calm and forever is real, I've got to shake them up. Shake them up real good. Shake them up so they no longer know which way's up and which way's down, and they don't know if the world they're in now is the same one as they were in before.

Forever waits for no one. Forever breaks hearts.

Again, and again, and again.