I prepare myself for cold water hitting me, however I never prepare myself emotionally for other things hitting me in my life.  I wish that being prepared spanned more of my life.  Instead it just covers cold water in my shower.  How stupid.  Goodnight.  =(

A symphony of words release themselves from my vocal cords, heart felt, but misguided; confused, but still true.  I’m finding myself in a place where I remember the past, a place where I see troubles in the beginning and I screen them out.  I feel a more contemplative me who is more interested in what the situation was composed of rather than how the situation ended.  My heart is filled with so many things, mailbox presents, blindfolded cupcake dates and kenituars.  Outstanding moments are just that, outstanding.  I want moments that aren’t outliers.  I want every embrace, every smile, every joke and every tear to be as incredible as the last.  It’s a lot to ask but there have been surprisingly few let downs.

My life is good.  My life is new.  My life is dynamic.  My life is… mine.

That felt really good to type.

“I am prepared for amazing things to happen.  I can handle it.”

Here we are, drifting off, each to our separate dreams even though we’re as close as ever. How beautiful! My dreams’ll come true, your dreams’ll come true, we’ll live them side-by-side though we may be miles, weeks, years, lifetimes apart. This love, this friendship, this understanding transcends all of that existential fluff. I could be eighty and you twenty-five. You could be on your death bed and I a young boy playing in your yard. With or without communication, with or without sheets in-between us, we are. At this point, does anything else matter for us? I think not.

You’ve helped me find my confidence and now it’s mine. No one can take it from me, not even you.

The best part is that you would never try to.

Friend, lover, hero, stranger, girl, no one.

Passion sweeps me away, friendship brings be back.

I saw a rainbow and I saw crushed walnut shells on the street that the parade had swiftly passed through. Looking at the ground now it was obvious that something happened but the mood of the event could not be determined from the remains. The consciousness that was once in this air has changed, and morphed into a completely new one.

Maybe it was the crushing of the walnuts. Maybe it was the movement of the crowd. Maybe it was the sickening, but delicious smell wafting through the air that the diesel powered floats left behind them, like manure left by horses.

Something has changed and a finger cannot be placed on what. Let’s hope it is for the good, otherwise this will be the last parade that will rush down this street. This will be the last bit of smoke released from the lungs of this emaciated alcoholic.

Dammit.  Why must sake bottles always be overly attached to their lids.  I like that little metal bit there, it reminds me of when I was in high school, I would drink Mountain Dew^tm and I would play with that little plastic bit in-between the lid and the bottle.  I would use that piece to distract me from engaging in real conversations.  That little piece of plastic saved me so many useless conversations with my peers, conversations that they thought I heard and thought I listened to.

I have nothing to distract me now.  I hear everything that everyone says, almost to a fault.  Sometimes I hear things that people didn’t say but things that people probably meant to say.

I heard your wisper, but ignored it.  I felt your love, but rejected it.  I heard your voice, but I said the tone was too low.  I heard the movement of you, cleaning my floor, but I just walked over you.  If I am going to  be this oblivious to the world around me, I’d might as well not enter into it.  I love you, I hate you, I miss you, I despise you.  Part of you has helped me smelt the most important part of me and I don’t know where I stand anymore.  Though other people have hurt me, much much more….  You are the one who has taught me about love.  You were the one who broke the hound who was running out of line.  I wish you luck, with this history, you are going to need it.

I’m sorry if things are strange, I guess I forgot that after a shower I’m supposed to walk out of the bathroom with a towel on.  That is what I get for living alone.

Thank you.  They are completely empty.

Jonah was her name, it was really beautiful but he always thought of it more as a guy’s name. They spent weekends together climbing mountains and during the week when they both worked they liked to see midnight films and afterward catch up with the interesting people who hung out in neighboring diners. The time they spent together was pure gold and the time they spent apart was the same. Unfortunately it was too normal for both of them, so they stopped talking.

While I’m off chasing my own dreams,
Sailing around the world,
Please know that I’m yours to keep,
My beautiful girl.

And when you cry a piece of my heart dies,
Knowing that I may have been the cause,
If you were to leave, fulfill someone else’s dreams,
I think I might totally be lost.

But you don’t ask for no diamond rings,
No delicate string of pearls,
That’s why I wrote this song to sing,
My beautiful girl”
– City and Colour – The Girl

damaged on the left.

fallen from the tree.

very near to death.

hole in the heart, just like me.
.
sorry about your “blood pressure”

ps: hi

It was a lovely night. The moon was out though it could hardly be seen through the dense mist and city lights. City lights that obscured everything. There was a couple leaning against a car, whispering to one another and occasionally kissing (”Oh how happy we are”). There was a drunk man walking around mumbling things which could not be understood by anyone, maybe not even him. He held his arms out and beckoned for something, who knows what (”Oh how sad I am”). There was a beautiful girl, walking down the street with eyes made of solid granite and clothes which fit her perfectly looking up at a loft high above. She was observing the furniture and interior of the loft, astonished by the decadence and style of the layout (”Oh how lucky they are”). There was a young boy walking down the street, listening to his music, eyes glued to the ground; contemplating. He counted every step he took and fiddled with something of a square shape in his pocket (”Oh how distracted I am”). There was an older gentleman sitting under an umbrella in front of a cafe which had been closed for hours, sipping occasionally on a cup of tea and reading a book by an obscure author. Casually he would look at these people and think to himself, “Oh how wonderful we are.”

Pity that no one could offer an answer.