Jumping Off A Bridge

This is not a metaphor. It happened. Someone I know jumped off a bridge. It's completely altered my state of mind and I feel frightened. It's an exposed feeling and I feel very vulnerable to the different things surrounding me. My sense of reality is parched and concentration ebbs but for the breathe I take in, and the breath I let out. I didn't know him very personally, but I think it is for this that I feel most shaken by the situation. We went to school together. I remember always knowing who he was and having spoke to him maybe on two different accounts. He was in my Drama class. He put on a dress for a scence once and made everyone laugh. His friends were mine and mine were his, but we didn't know each other. This makes me reaffirm the grand idea I hold dear that life is so precious and so full of such detail. I don't know why I didn't know him and I wish I had. What if? I know my influence would have been insignificant, but in times like these the thought of what if is inevitable. I feel overwhelmed and was told all I could do for him is pray. I wonder what people feel and I feel it kind of funny that moments after receiving the news, I felt it necessary to type out my thoughts in order to receive solace. I'm scared for people and I'm scared for the awful things that happen to us. It's so easy to live the way I do...to be carelessly happy and trot along with simple notions and romances. But these demons make themselves present and rattle your understanding and comfort of what life is to its core. The world, though very beautiful, is very ugly. I hate it. I am disgusted by myself. How could one possibly ever go on with the idea of peace and love and happiness when such awful things aren't retained. They burst in uninvited and toss you to the ground like a rag doll. The sheer conception of anything lit by a bright eminence and decorated by streamers and balloons is stupid. There is no need. It feels like a tired facade for it has been here all the while and no one dared mention it to their neighbor. This then brings my great disillusionment with all things trite and unoriginal. It then makes me think how incredibly scary it is to hold one's ignorance dear to you. But why? Why are we striving for things we do not know. Why is it that the thoughts already thunk by greater thinkers are revolving around our heads, but when grasped upon it is like a sense of an epiphany, but it is not. It is a reaffirmation of stupidity. I don't know anymore. I wish for humility and acceptance for myself and friends, but the concept is so silly and so vast. It's hard to find a point to it all and I know bad feelings go away, but why is nothing retained? Why is it all lost and replaced with such superficial and selfish ideas? It's times like these I feel very ashamed of the human race. Cynicism is something rooted in me and I shun it so often for hopes of my character to be more pleasing instead. But why? I wonder and am left baffled. So what's the point of even going on?

On The Brain

Do you ever see a picture of someone and immediately think, "I would like them."? Sometimes I feel like I want so much out of life, but I forget how much I want from what's so simply around me. A good conversation always gets my senses tingling. A good movie will often do the same, provoke a sort of notion and let you slip mindlessly into some broken idea of what better company or better circumstances are like. I don't mean anything by this. I don't mean there can be anything better, I mean there's something I've got that I can actually fulfill every so often. However, it's this insecurity that drives me. I know there's a vast, infinite, grand, astronomical, insert every other word in the english dictionary that means great amount of things that make this world. The places, the species, the plants, the culture, the weather, the sounds, the feelings. Oh I don't know what's happened here, there's no chance of being bored because there is just so much...depth to it all. I swear, in the most minute, tiniest, insignificant, microscopic, insert every other word in the english dictionary that means little things there's a story of it's beginnings, doings, purpose, and endings. And that's not to mention it's trials, trivialities, embarassments, discoveries, accomplishments and the like. I don't know. There was a woman I came upon one time. She smiled and I thought, "I want to have a conversation with her." But I didn't. So it made me sad that this piece of the world that was offered to me just carelessly slipped by and I'll surely never get to understand it. This then sparks another thing to mind. The word that immediately comes to mind is ashamed. However, this is not not not not not not true. I've been so honestly given an idea of what should be by my dad for so long growing up, that what actually had become is not the case. Sex, drugs and alcohol have indeed been so much of who I've been before and no doubt who I'll be. But it's who I am that day. Although the negative connotation plagues these things, I can only appreciate what's been a result from them. And that is me. And that is not to say I solely owe myself to these things, that would be tragic. No such thing can exist only because there's so much that can fuel a person. I'd like to think therein lies the story that is so intriguing. I don't know....Take me into the thick mist that is your story and I'll take you into mine. It's only fair.

This Is Silly

Garble, gufaw, chortle. There is a beat to follow... Listen to life chime. My coffee is done. Ding! The toast is done. Spring! Good morning text. Ring! There is a something written. It lies between the things I do. I take a shower. Clean! I put on clothes. Seamed! I walk outside. Green! I hum along, this beat is getting phat. It sounds something like: Lah lah lah lah ooh oh ooh. It's something written in the mundane. I see it something plain. I want to get on a plane. Far far far far far away from here. Here I go, away from here. Escape the plain by plane. But when I get there, I'll hum along to: Lah lah lah lah ooh oh ooh. It's always the same this thing I thought was plain. Why'd I waste money on that plane? It's here and now, the things that are happening. These things are bright and ring around me. They tease and taunt and keep me. They keep me sane. Garble, gufaw, chortle. I smile at the noises. I smile at the people. I smile at your smile. It's all I wanted, anyways. It's gonna be alright, there's no reason not to. What I can tell you, however, is good advice is often hard to follow. Things happen. I can't stop it. It is what is. That's what I've been told before, and I believe it. People are different. People are so much the same sometimes, but people are different. I appreciate this. I appreciate what's been said to me. It's helped make me. Besides from the point...I can't stop this beat. It's not my favorite song, but it's always in my head. Garble, gufaw, chortle.

Loosely Based On A Sort Of Reality

Although overcast showed eminent signs of rain, Marie looked down from the second story building window at friends enjoying their midday cigarettes. Her arms were crossed, wrapped tightly around her torso. She wondered if she should pick up smoking. Greg sat with her in the empty office room and it was almost quiet except Greg’s frantic typing echoed into the halls. One would come upon them and sense a sort of urgency in the room, but this was not true. Although both had much to do, Marie tussled a rubber band between her wrists, and stretched it out as if to aim at the fat pimple on Greg’s chin. Just then she felt the hurricane brewing in her belly and released a boisterous burp.

“Gross,” Greg said.

“Sorry Greg, my breakfast just wanted to say hello to you.”

“Well I like my air breathing space ‘Marie-Breakfast-Food’ free.”

She laughed and spun around a couple times in her chair. Unfinished assignments scattered the table before her and would probably be left untouched. She wore a big green sweater, tugged on the sleeves past her knuckles and pulled the collar up over her nose. It felt colder in the empty office room today. They live where there is an unexplainable sense of winter. It became a new place recognized by a characteristic taste of cool and a characteristic gray sky. She pit-patted a kind of beat on her thighs to ruin the silence. Greg was tentatively working behind his computer but looked up over the screen to smile at the noises she was making,

“If you fall I will catch you I will be waiting! Time after time….time after time…time after time.” She wasn’t trying to sing. She sounded awful.

“Oh encore! Encore!”, Greg praised and pantomimed wiping tears from his eyes. She took a bow and basked in the silly moment, but quickly lost her tug of war with Greg’s homework. His back was erect and tense as he furiously typed away on the computer. An analysis on A Brave New World wasn’t going to write itself. She then noticed what Greg was wearing. He always pressed his shirts. Today was no different except he put a pressed red vest on top of his pressed shirt.

“What do you want, Greg?”

“I want love and marriage.” Marie scoffed at his outlandish reply. She meant from the vending machine. Intrigued, however, she pursued the conversation,

“Ok, who do you want to love and marry?”

“Someone like Lenina Crowne.”

“Someone like who?”

“Well, someone a little unorthodox and sexy.”

“I’m unorthodox and sexy. How come no one wants to marry me?”

Greg just smiled and didn’t answer the question. This only bothered Marie a little bit. It had only been something she said in hopes of making him smile…and she did so she figured there was no need for anything else.

Marie spun around more and stared at the stucco ceiling above her. Certain figures made themselves present and she pointed them out to Greg. He did his “mm-hms” from behind the computer but showed no real interest in what she was talking about. Marie knew this and wanted to talk so she brought up a topic of greater interest than stucco,

“So whatever happened to Bethany?”

“Um, I don’t know. I like her but she’s different. ”

“Did you fuck her?”

They craned necks into each opened room and corridor as if to be certainly positive the answer to follow this question would only be heard between them two,

“Yes,” he replied in a short and thick voice. With that they spiraled into uncontrollable laughter.

She made him tell her every detail, and although he protested like he didn’t want to, he only hesitated two minutes before he had her dying of laughter,

“I mean, after we…did it…she might as well have been my dog, you know?”

He said it jokingly but she heard a different kind of despondent tone in his voice. There was something this girl did that had an affect on him. Most girls didn’t seem like they bothered Greg after very long because a loss of interest was eventual. Greg and Marie are what are known as avid daters. They have a friend who has said they are different because normal people like to be in relationships, but neither of them have ever been in one. When this friend asked what’s wrong with them, they both replied on top of each others’ words ,

“I’m picky. Jinx! You owe me a coke!”

Well it was this knowledge of her kindred friendship with Greg that made Marie hate Bethany. In spite of certain anger growing inside her, she wondered if Greg was okay and grimaced a little at her unresponsive friend. What Marie didn’t realize yet was she was not okay. A certain void was filled with the comfort of having a friend like Greg. They were beneficiaries, but that was a taboo between the two of them. No, they don’t hold each other and kiss, but what they had to benefit from the other was that sense of comfort. That sense was beginning to lose itself and Marie blamed that Bethany bitch.

“Well my paper isn’t done but class started five minutes ago. I’m blaming you because I don’t want to blame myself. That’s okay with you, right my love?”

“I love you, too,” Marie said in a pass.

“What?”

“I mean…go to class,” Marie said trying to recover.

“Well, where’s my hug?”

They embraced and her stomach turned a little the way it did when she was a freshman in high school and first hugged the senior quarterback of the school’s football team. Greg told her how much he loved her perfume and darted off shouting he’d call her later that night. She was alone for a good while in the office and had actually finished most of her homework for lack of better things to do. A couple hours passed before her friend Jeff came into the office. Jeff was someone she’d fooled around with before but could never feel comfortable around. In other words, he gave her the right drinks and got lucky.

“Have you had dinner yet? Want to grab a quick bite with me?”

She hated when people asked two questions in a row assuming the answer to the first question. She didn’t eat dinner yet but since the question thing irritated her, she said she did. Jeff lingered around in the office, so she decided it was time for her to go home. It had barely began to sprinkle outside and the scent of rain tingled her senses. She laughed because Greg told her one time that the scent of rain makes girls horny.

She drove to her parents’ house and ate that meal she lied about earlier. She wandered around aimlessly, poking at the fish in their tank every now and then. After some time, she turned on the computer and signed on to her Facebook account to discover a very confusing update,

“Greg is now in a relationship”

She stared at the screen a moment. Her hand gently shook on the mouse and it slowly elevated up to her lips. She chewed on her nails. She tightly squeezed her eyes shut and filled her entire body with air and let out an exasperated exhale. She longed for a “dislike” button. She signed off and felt an urge to pace, so she did. She paced the floor of her parents guest-slash-computer room and muttered inaudible phrases about what she had left to do today and how she’d never get them done if she let this bother her and how furthermore it shouldn’t even bother her in the first place. It did though and the rest of the day became a blur. She woke in the morning completely unprepared and unwilling to do anything, but halfway made it out of the house in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“God damn Bethany and her long shiny hair. I shouldn’t have cut my hair.” This was predominantly on Marie’s mind on her drive to school. Greg had told her once he liked her long hair better. She was beating herself up over it and debating calling a hairstylist. Extensions might work, but would she come off as superficial? She then remembered the committee meeting she had to attend today, and this created a domino affect…There was a physiology test on Tuesday, she had a presentation in her public speaking class Wednesday, the club she attended was bothering her to collect donations from local businesses, she had to figure out the library hours for studying in between her shifts at work this week…Oh, and she couldn’t forget her uncle was coming to town on Thursday night. Her mom had asked she make sure to…

“Hey babe.”

She’d become so distracted by her thoughts and tunnel vision, she didn’t realize she nearly trampled over Anthony. Anthony is her boy who is a friend because he said he didn’t want to be in a relationship. Anthony was her something complicated. She didn’t mind it too much because she at least knew they cared about each other. She didn’t even mind sometimes when he was needy and needed her like a girlfriend. She would be that for him in spite of the specifications on what they really were. It was no matter though because she liked his style. Anthony wore v-necks and tight pants, had a beard, played in a band, made her laugh and could kiss. In other words, an A plus in Marie’s book.

“Oh jeez, hey you!”

“You feeling alright?” Anthony asked.

“Me? Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m fine. It was a hectic night. Know how it is…”

“I guess, so what are you up to tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow I’ve got class from nine to three and work from four to ten. Why?”

He kind of sighed and she knew what he was going to say so she said it for him,

“I know I know, I do too much. I’ll be off on Saturday. Let’s catch up then?

“Yeah okay.”

They embraced and she told him how much she loved the cologne he wears and darted in the opposite direction shouting she’d text him later. She took her seat in Biology 221 and wondered where Greg was. He didn’t come to class and she felt very angry with him. She called his phone to cuss him out for being an irresponsible student, but she was mostly upset because she had so many questions that would still remain unanswered.

Some time had passed and Marie was in the library looking over her notes for class and decided to call it a day. She stuck her cell phone in her right pocket and put it up to the loudest volume for fear of missing Greg’s call. Even later still, she was having dinner with her silent phone just adjacent to her glass of milk. Even more time passed and she was in her pajamas in front of the computer.

“Greg has uploaded two new pictures,” Facebook said. They were of him and Bethany. Marie really wanted a “dislike” button. Then her phone rang!

“Call from Anthony,” her cell phone said. She answered and loved that she did. She really does care about him and appreciated the laughs he made her laugh. She crawled into bed and had soon fallen asleep for what seemed like weeks. She slept deep and long and woke not by the alarm clock, but by the sun peering in through her curtains. She smiled and felt good.

She made a scrambled egg and toast breakfast, read the newspaper and figured out four of the answers on the cross word puzzle. Her days went by and she would see Anthony and it would be a good day. Then her phone rang!

“Call from Greg,” her cell phone said. She answered and he was upset. He sounded on the verge of tears and told her how Bethany was moving to another state and broke it off with him,

“She said it wouldn’t be worth it to even try anymore. We’re nothing special that‘s worth headache.” Poor Greg, she thought. She wanted to say something a couple times, but he had so much more to say. She let him slur his feelings until he was weak. He was drunk on misery. Then silence came and she took her opportunity to calm him with calming advice,

“Just forget about her. You have no idea how much more you deserve.” She said this almost in vain. She wanted him to see what was right in front of him.

Then something stupid happened,

“I want to be with you,” Greg said.

She wondered what he meant by that for a moment and remained silent. She knew this is what she wanted, but also knew they loved each other for themselves. She ended the conversation with the request of meeting in their empty office. The time from the end of that phone call to the trip to their empty office proved plenty. Marie thought about Greg and wondered the best way to disclose her feelings. In the office already was Greg. She knew instantly he was a pathetic mess. She knew he needed her, but she could only be what she’d always been,

“No Greg, you don’t want to be with me. You’re vulnerable right now and want to fill that void with me, but it’s not me. I’m not for you and you’re not for me.”

“But Anthony can be such a jerk to you.”

“No he’s not. I like him and I like how we are so that’s none of your concern, right my love?”

“I love you, too.”

“Greg, shut up.”

La Optimista Vienó De Nuevo

I look for things that matter more and I’ve only ever been crossed with something truly beautiful and original a couple times. Today would not be that day I thought. I tossed my hair up, stuck a pen behind my ear and proceeded with my normal procession. The pace picked up and colors around me moved about faster. This fast monotony was overwhelming and I felt dizzy. Then a woman entered and brought a sense of destruction with her. It was not in her boldness for she was far from it. It was not in her rage for I don’t think she’s aware of such an emotion. It was simply with this weight she carried with her that made her so curious to me. She was a fragile thing that almost looked lost. Her presence seemed to turn everything into slow motion but I think I was the only one that noticed. She held her arms tight around her chest and squirmed through a crowd of people muttering,

“Con permiso.” She tucked her dark fallen hair behind her ear. It was thick and braided routinely it seemed. She wore a sweater she could swim in and jeans that were not frayed by their manufacturer. She kind of sighed a sigh of relief when she reached my counter. Atop it she flung the bag from her back filled with rolls of film. She lined them up in a row in front of me and said,

“May I have develop please?” I saw her and felt I could truly understand her in such a short moment. I felt that seeing her in that moment was important but I don’t know why. I was being judge-mental for a lack of better words and made her story in my head. I don’t know why, though. I don’t do that for every person I meet. She was this same person asking me to do the same something that every someone always asks for, but I had my idea of her.

I believed her to be someone who lives in a rural kind of way. She seemed like that sad homely and lonely type. I wondered this of her and wanted so much more for her. Indeed a curious person to me, but I remember not wondering what she thought of me.

“Doubles too please.” It was a shaky sort of accent escaping her lips. I helped her file her request and she bid me “adios”. As soon as she’d gone , I took the rolls of film and quickly broke into them. I thought why this envisioned person of mine would take so many pictures. I felt an obligation to see what she was hiding. For some reason this idea of her lingered and it became a game and a mystery. There’s something more to her. I need there to be.

I broke the plastic casings and rolled the film into the processing machine. It doesn’t take very long for negatives to process but I felt it took a lot longer than it should. I was being impatient. The negatives were spit out, I wiped them down, and now could see what was inside. I fed them through the printing machine in which there is a preview window for editing colors. It would be in here that I satisfy my curiosity.

I remember a bare house. You know, the kinds of pictures you’d take when you just bought a house. Before you put anything in your house you have those pictures that show what it looked like before all your things got put in. Then I remember pictures of Yosemite Park. I knew it was Yosemite because she had that picture of the billboard that “welcomes you…” to that place you’re at. I’d never been there before and it looked very pretty. I contrasted the colors in the sky for her. I wanted the pictures to come out nice. Then I found as I developed further pictures from Disneyland. I knew it was Disneyland because she took that kind of picture everyone does in front of the flowery garden display of Mickey Mouse’s face. She was with a big group of people. I think maybe it was her family and they were all smiling. I started to feel a little jealous. I haven’t been to Disneyland in forever.

Her pictures I began to print. They stacked high upon each other and I packed the first roll into its envelope. I still had quite a few more to develop. I hated reloading the damn printing machine with paper because it always confused me. I started to resent her because she was taking my time. Her next roll only pushed me even further into this feeling. It was beautiful.

There was a lake with a sunny sky above causing a shiny kind of glimmer on the water. It was hard to edit these photos but I tried for her because I didn’t want what she captured to be bleached out. There were several pictures of the lake, picnic tables completely smothered with picnic food, and little children running around like orange blurs because of the big fat floaties they wore on their arms.

Even more and more, I saw her pictures and I saw her life. I’d been developing pictures for over a year and I don’t recall anyone else having this kind of an affect on me. Why was she bothering me so much? I wondered why I cared and carried on with these feelings of unease. I really did almost hate her. I cut her negatives and placed them in their little baggies and packed them away for her. With each snip, I envisioned cutting her stupid hair off.

So many rolls of film had passed as well as the hours of my shift. I was tired and despondent. I didn’t want to do this anymore. It becomes a pretty ridiculous feeling watching the life of someone else through a tiny peephole for the matter of editing. Because of it I was wondering what I’ve done with my life and if the way I looked through pictures make people think of me in in the same way I thought of her. I wondered if people looked at me at all. This thought made me feel invisible. It’s a scary thought to be or do something you believe and go on in that way because it is deceiving.

It was lunch time and I ate a sandwich with tomato and turkey in it. It was quiet in the break room. There were old magazines with old celebrities with water stains on their faces. I felt weary. I just wanted to go home. I had no real reason to want that so much, though. There wasn’t much going on because I finished my homework, cleaned my room, and knew there was nothing on the television that night. Lunch was over and I went back to my project. I trudged back to my station and saw that I only had a couple rolls left to develop.

I would finish within the next hour. Here I went back into the peephole to see what she’d snapped that was so much more interesting than what I might have. And yes, it was. I saw pictures of an art museum, a simple day at an apartment complex pool, funny faces at the grocery store, and ostriches from the farm that’s out in the desert.

Then I came upon the last roll of film. It felt like it was the end of a movie, but not in a good way. I had that feeling of using my ticket stub as a gateway to the rest of the world. I love the feeling but hate it just as much because it makes me feel kind of phony. I just want to be and do so much like her, but it feels impossible. I decided I didn’t hate her after all and I felt like I needed to apologize to her, but I didn’t.

The simple fact that my preconceived notion of her was completely shattered in but a few moments made me respect her. I longed for that humility and understanding of things. Once the last roll of film had loaded, I noticed it had the same kind of photo in all its frames. All twenty-four exposures were of a new born baby girl. The woman I’d met before was cradling this child in her arms. Of all the photos before, she looked most like herself in these ones. There was one photo where her hair was messy and her face was shiny from sweat, but the child was in her arms and a smile was on her face that made her look so radiant.

It was at this moment I felt transcendent. How grounded can you be? There’s so much left to do and say in this world and I felt so happy for her. Her cup of life was filled to the brim and overflowing…I packed away the last few pictures and put all her rolls neatly together. My shift ended shortly after and I never saw her come pick them up. I still wonder what she must be living like now. I sometimes feel like when I see a quiet soul pass me by, it’s her. It never is though because I can’t remember what she looks like. It’s funny how forgetful I am.

What'll Come

If there is a worth while after all, don't keep it a secret. There's a sort of something lying in the sulci of the mind, but what is it? It gives me troubles and woes trying to grasp onto reality and this'll get me a scolding. I think I'm doing right, but there's a sense of wrong doing that creeps in the furnace. It turns on and feels cold at first and I wonder if it's even working since I've a set 72 degree temperature. The roar of its ignition is frightening and I know it's preparing only for something better for me. A sense of warmth, ease and comfort. Mmm, it's fantastic. Let it come. I want it around me and on me and I want to be smothered in it. But it's scares me. It pounds my forehead against the black surface of a coffee table, shouting to do and be and cut the shit out. I've also been told to man up...I don't what that means. I've also been told I don't like to be the leader. These he said she saids are all so overwhelming and it only takes a significant little moment in time to flip these notions I hold so dear upside down. These ideas are all so vivid among the masses. I know it's too much and too bold for too many. It keeps love out and love is too important. So I think I just want to stop. I really want to stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Topple over these thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts. I'm building them higher and higher in the cupboards like mother's pots. Pots. Pots. I smoke too much.

What Happened

People are funny. There's been a couple things that happened that just reaffirm this. She gave me this glare and those shifty eyes because of what I said, but I was just saying. My teacher agreed with me. My coherent thoughts are sometimes lost in a bumble of nothing important. I do have something to say though. It's not easy sometimes in cases where people's feelings can get hurt. That aside however, saying anything at all can be so frightening. I want something concrete to be handed over to my communicator, but this is rarely ever the case. The journey from mind to mouth is a long one. Oh the bullshit in between...the he said she saids, the ambiguity, the similes and metaphors...sometimes there's this overwhelming need to be deep, but it's trite. It's not necessary. There's so much of what's done these days that just isn't necessary. It's just planned and there to be done. Going back to this girl...she's funny. She just gets under my skin because she stands on her soap box all high and mighty like she truly can see the world for what it is. What she wrote though was so incoherent. It made me laugh. I wanted her to know that what she thought was completely the opposite of what was true. Oh the poor people of my day and the lies they believe. Not trying to exclude myself from any such elite group. I try to humble myself in these kind of situations and think 

"Oh well it's the same for anyone including yourself miss..." 

But not in this case. Just dumb things she thinks makes me laugh. 

Oh if...

What was said was reiterated in my mind so simply over and over and over and over and over. And over. I'm over it. I'm waiting for what is meant to burst into clarity. What is most magnificently and truly meant. I'm not talking about that in between the lines trendy bull shit. I do sense some kind of relief to an end. It's almost like an orgasmic peak, holding tight and my fingernails clenching to dirty fibers and filaments of a dark carpet around me, thrusting my entire body forward...Just leave me! Leave me with that overwhelming sense of warmth and security that is so characterstic of clarity. I want it so. I know a book that can be a topic of discussion. It will leave you flabberghasted and jaw dropped at the absurd nothings it says but the absolute truths in the index. The corner's of your eyes will become but white with dismay. A simply pure color indeed that will fog in a reflection of themselves. I inscribe nothing to you. Take it as it is. No such silly trivialities are needed. You are so silly. Turn your sense upon themselves and truly understand what it is you have done. No. Can you? I want you to. Oh how I always want. I want you to hold my hand across the street. Buy me a great big balloon. I want a swimming pool. Give me all your music and your time. I'll use it far more wisely. And I'll take care of it. Promise I will. I'll walk it everyday, wash it, feed it and love it like it should be. You wouldn't regret that. Don't be trite. Just be right. It's not as hard as I'd always thought it would be. It's just a matter of doing it. Actually doing something that is a matter of importance to anything. I just want a note to read something as this: Smile for the love you make is greater than anything you could ever hope to accomplish. Live in this and be proud.

I Don't Want To Stop

I feel as if I'm bursting at the seams. There's a hurricane in my belly and the storm's eye is a sort of deception I fall into. There's this massive sense of being undone that wants to tear me apart. It is what it does and I do not want it to. I want to do me. It's so important and I don't see a solution it seems like. I constantly feel like something pushes me the other way. Like when you rub against something soft but in the other direction it's harsh and hurts a little bit. I'm longing for that sensation of comfort and trust in myself. I know it's capable and isn't very difficult. I don't want to stop. But here I go.

Proceed...

My rough draft for life: distortion, manipulation, sheer mutilation. Carry this with me and take it to the baker down the street. Burn it. Feed it to no one but those with enough humility and understanding to taste its passion in between the crust. I want you to have this. Take it from me and enjoy it as it should. Give it to your kid neighbor Samuel and have him take it to the elementary school. He'll play a silly game of vulnerability with the other kids, smash it into the ground and let the bugs of the playground enjoy something they don't know is new but know as something to thrive off. Let's be like the bugs but let's not be like the bugs. I want you to thrive off of this but I want you to know why. I want to stuff it into every hole and crevice of your body and have that sense of fullness explode and illuminate out every single pore of your body. This to me is great and beautiful and only makes sense to further pursue this sense of beauty. Why doesn't it happen more often. I want to change things and have these things known to be something better because of what I did. But where do I begin? Do I even? Did I already? I break down... What now? How? Who? It must not matter. I want to see a grand procession of love with streamers and balloons and confetti...that whole nine. I want it to center around a concept of originality and antiqueness but with a certain flair only capable of brilliant minds of my age. If any... To be amazed is a wonderful thing. I want to do it more often.