So some time back, a bird couple decided to be lovely and lay a nest next to our door. Their eggs hatched earlier this week. I know you’re thinking, “aw yeah birds cute. etc.” but I swear if they sqUAWK ONE MORE FUCKING TIME IM GOING TO THROW A ROCK AT THAT DAMN TREE OH MY GOD IT’S 7 IN THE MORNING YOU INCONSIDERATE SELF-CENTERED ASSHOLES. I AM TRYING TO SLEEP, BIRDS
Why does it hurt so much? He never leaves. He’s there when I open my eyes and when I close them, painted beneath my eyelids. The shadows transform into his silhouette down to the last curve in his arm, but it’s the ones at night that seem the most real. They move during the day and dart from corner to corner as if calling me to follow them. Why does it hurt so much? I’ve grown to be so accustomed, the life previously has faded from my memory. Why is no longer the question; why has become the answer. I’ve kept my mouth silent, but my eyes spell it out with ease don’t they? I chase him, but I’m just so tired. My mind has come to reality and my heart continues the chase, but nothing good will come of a freely running heart if it has no where to run to.
I’m sarcastic and offensive. I get confused easily and I’m extremely perverse for someone my age. I’m not one person that always tries to separate the good from the bad and only focus on that. I can be very narrow-minded and extremely self-centered. I’m a plethora of different people. I’m not intelectual at all; I just know how to pick up a dictionary and an occasional thesaurus. People aren’t fascinated with writing, they’re fascinated with the words that people choose. Writing is just lying in a very intimate way. I guess this just makes me a liar.
The zombies in the dark are searching for my heart.
Whilst my older brother graduates from UC Irvine and my younger brother enters high school, I go into my senior year. That deserves some type of recognition, yes? Junior year was pretty difficult with PSATs, EAP, other acronyms for tests that make my head spin, finals, chemistry’s wonderful workload, and on top of that I’ve taken six college courses, so sprinkle on a few more exams, midterms, and finals. Senior year I don’t expect to relax just yet, or at all, but I just find it frightening how it seems as though yesterday I was just learning my multiplication tables and that it is not nice to call people stupid.
I think love is when you can cry an infinite amount of times over a person, but are still able to forgive them without hesitation.
Story of my first kiss:
Back a couple years ago, for my fifteenth birthday, my parents decided to send me off to Spain by myself hoping that immersing me in a completely different culture would expand my views of the world. I can definitely say it did. People are extremely comfortable with each other from the first meeting. We greet each other with indirect kisses on both cheeks, regardless of age or sex. My aunt and uncle whom I was living with during my stay there thought it would be nice to send me off to school (which was more of babysitting during the workweek but oh well). It only lasted a month, but one of the four weeks we would go off camping isolated from the city. If I do say so myself, it was quite beautiful. On the way there I witnessed some breathtaking architecture. However, the bus ride was a little bit hectic. I was known as “California Girl” and the new shiny toy to play with. Most of the girls around my age were eager to practice their English skills with me and the boys just asked me questions about my life back in the United States. Two boys in particular did stay by my side most of the time that I spent at school. So on the last night of this camping trip we were able to stay up later than usual and sit by the campfire. I sat on a log in between the two boys. One of them gave me a kiss… (plot twist) because I let him drink out of my water bottle.
Ever been kidnapped
by a writer
if I were a writer
I’d kidnap you
tether you in my words
and lace you to my sentences
I’d paint pictures in your mind
with words that don’t need to be seen
I’d stash you in my journal
scented with perfume
or sprinkle you in quotations
I’d pick the stars out of the night sky
and place them in your eyes
I’d sling a rope around the moon
and place it in your tiny hands
I’d capture the sunlight in a box
then wrap it as your gift
or lather you in metaphors
I’d keep your secrets
(that you wanted to be said
but did not want heard)
between my parenthesis
I’d hug you closely
like periods that hang
at the end of a sentence.
I may even hide you
between the spaces
of my words
because you’d fit so nicely
I’d kiss you with adjectives
lure you with simplicity
serenade you with prose
anything to win you
I’d show you off to everyone
but only keep you to myself
yeah if I were a writer
I’d kidnap you
Aw, that’s so lovely of you to say. Thank you so much. (◠ ◠✿)
You can fall in love with someone by watching how they act with others. The sunlight reflects in their round glossy eyes and their eyes transfigure to upward moon crescents. Their smile casts a spell on you that you can’t break from and their skin enigmatically glows with stardust from the benevolence that they radiate. But then reason comes to fruition; they are your sun and they are your moon; they are your fire and they are your water. You are so intrigued that you cannot turn a cheek because of the life they bring that surges through your veins.
