Chicago, Jesus, and a warehouse

It was Saturday, the eleventh of August. The ominous clouds were crying and a needed misspent night was ahead. They told her parents that they were going to church, which was a plausible scene for them at this point in their lives. That was their home for almost two years now, it was the one place they could go other than her car that allowed them to think freely, not be judged by the people surrounding them, and that welcomed them for as long as they wanted to stay- so they thought. They had grown weak in will, weak in faith, and weak in accountability. They had thought for the last year and half that they could do something great, they thought they had great people surrounding them, and they thought that a relationship with a prophet made things worth it- at least for a good amount of time. It was truly lamentable, watching their lives spiral down to the depths of the trenches. As their relationship grew stronger, their relationship with God was drowning and for some reason they were okay with it. When the last October came around they both realized the forsaken realities of life, when January came around they tried to reduce the pains through acts unlike their true selves, and when August came around there was no turning back. He was her partner in crime and she knew him better than he knew himself, she could read his mind, she always knew what he was feeling, and he could never figure her out-she liked it that way. He was from Chicago, had a white smile that could light up a dark room, he was about six feet tall, had brown hair, crystal blue eyes, an awful taste in music, a family that was just as bad as hers, an annoying obliviousness, a heart that could hold all the love in the universe, a never ending appetite, a completely undeveloped frontal lobe, a contagious laugh, and a killer Boston accent that could make her laugh until the sun peaked in the morning. She would literally do anything for him and that night's 'anything' was taking him to see his girl of the week. She hated it with every fiber in her body to see him reach for the door handle, get out of her car and kiss the stretched faced girl in the back roads of who knows where, but she just loved to see him happy for a moment. She never had a relationship like this before, it wasn't even a friendship- they were simply doing life together. It was never of importance if they had feelings for each other, if they were going to be together it would have to wait because none of them would speak up. She loved him with every ounce of blood in her body, she treated him fairly, she taxied them around, she scolded him when he did foolish things, she watched him cry twice, she was so opposite of him but their relationship worked in unimaginable ways, she didn't care for anyone else. They approached each other with otherwise offensive names as terms of endearment and laughed about it. Both lived for each other, the world that they had once loved had become numb. They saw the world the same way but acted differently. They fought and fooled like lovers, talked and trusted like brothers, but thought and sought like strangers. She had a car, and they had each other- that's all they ever needed despite their differences. After the rendezvous with the stretched face girl they knew without speaking that church was the last of places they would be that night.

Her: Where are we off to? You know this area better than I do- still one toned from the kiss she just watched
Him: I don't know, just drive. We'll find somewhere to go.
Her: Whatever you say.

She gripped the grafts in the steering wheel of the mustang, put her headlights on, and headed to nowhere. It was a usual occurrence and one they particularly enjoyed. In those moments they were free; free from having to think, free from having to worry, free from the pains. They had come to a point in their relationship where silence was comfortable, they could still hear what each other was thinking- or at least she could.

Him: There's an abandoned warehouse down not too far from my house, we could go there and just chill.

She was up for anything so he showed her the way to the old metal shack and she pulled into the small lot, hearing the asphalt crunch beneath her tires. She parked, expecting a usual night of lust to fill the voids that drowned them. Lust, ha, he hated that word because he didn't think it seemed fit but it was nothing more and nothing less of that. They were still silent, listening to the song that explained their lives. The sky was angry and every few seconds, it looked as if it was daylight. Timely flashes in front of their eyes. They sat there naively trying to capture the lightning just as it struck the open field that lie before them. Laughing when she caught the moment twice in a row and he was still unsuccessful, they continued this sort of fun. Fun: they forgot what that truly was. He reclined back into a familiar position that most times indicated what the plans for the night would be- they had a silent sexual relationship as well, for that's the way it simply was. This time differed however. She reclined her seat in sync with him, took off the belt across her chest, and put her feet up on the black dashboard. There were a few times in the past in which they had deep, intellectual conversations but this night opened new worlds for them. The two started the conversation in usual anger about their fathers, which then would lead to some repetitive comments about sports and school, which would then lead to the topic of people. People they loved, people that they were indifferent towards, people like them. He told stories of the girl from Tennessee that stole his heart and never quite gave it back, she told stories of boys she would always return to no matter the circumstances, and they each told stories of the lusts they engaged in that had no significant meaning. While he was an unintentional open book, she hated opening up to people, especially those who stayed close. She never liked people getting too close and for some reason he slid through the standards and became an exception. Her demons hid there, inside her.. If people got too close she knew they would take over. Granted, he knew nearly nothing about her but that's the way their relationship worked- as she would say it. There were brief moments of silence and many moments of soft, contemplated chatter. She had him ask her questions and she promised to answer truthfully. She always told him the truth- she could lie to anyone in the world and make them believe the most ridiculous stories but with him she found that he was worthy of the truth, he needed truth to stay grounded, to take a glance at reality. She was his truth teller. Indie music was playing in the background, they had compiled a group of songs that explained their lives.

Him: What's your biggest fear?
Nervous laughter.. Her: Besides sharks and tornadoes? Death. I know that's completely irrational because when death is present, you are not, but it scares me that this life we claim to be living is just our brains at work to keep us from going insane.

There was a burst of a blue and silver can, my God they needed help. They had brought up their mutual fear of dying before but this time was more intimate. On the verge of tears, they continued.

Her: I mean, we've been spending the last year and a half at Unleashed. What if our minds just made up the idea of life as an illusion because we're so scared to die and so that we can think we can be saved from something. What if it's all a lie? What if nothing is real? What if we're wasting our time trying to be perfect when we could be out enjoying the world and being happy. We're both not happy, we haven't been for a long time now.
Him: I know but that doesn't really make sense. Too many coincidences, too many things that just can't be explained. Who would of made up the bad things then? I get scared a lot, I hate thinking about this. I want to do right but I want to live just in case there's nothing. That's what I'm afraid of, nothing. We grew up too fast ya know?
Her: We never had a chance to make it out innocently.

They kept this going for awhile until reaching the conclusion that they would try and take life for what it's worth. It was humorous because they knew they would be back to wishful thinking on the next adventure. They sat in her car, which was now rather steamy and time was running short. It was nice, this time. Just having a conversation about life, about love, about running away together to Chicago. They could make it on their own and they knew it. They always talked about leaving home, buying a trailer until they made enough money to get out of here. They would never have the guts to do so but it could have worked. They closed their conversations, deciding it was time to leave the warehouse and make his curfew, as always. As she drove, her mind was spinning at an unfathomable speed, trying to process everything she just heard and said. He was talking about something but her attention was not directed towards him. She realized that this was the life of men- ending up at the most random of places with the most unexpected people trying to process this illusion. Everybody ended up at an abandoned warehouse at some point in their life with little knowledge of anything. Lightning flashes were the quick ups and downs and represented that darkness was almost always present despite the quick lights in life. It's the way their relationship worked- as she would say it. Men were slaves to the ground of which they walked, slaves to the mind of which they thought, and slaves of the warehouse in which they were brought.

Perhaps, perhaps

The weather was confused in all ways, the sun was piercing, the clouds were swirling, drops were falling, and the trees were shaking. There she was, propped up against the lively oak, sitting on some odd arrangement in the undisturbed parking lot. She was reading The Last Lecture by Pausch trying to find someone or something to relate to. For the last three days and nights she say there- either writing, reading, or simply but never simply thinking. It was a new place of a peaceful sort, she was still getting used to the idea of actually having to go there. The buildings were painted an odd shade of powder blue and had some character, twelve apartments assigned to each. A few barking dogs here and there, some dropping acorns, and a loud Spanish family was all the noise there was. She was once again wearing the over-sized, grey hooded jacket that was a useful companion in more than shoving the cold away. Fall had invited itself in, night would soon be approaching, and she was cold without a key. She truly didn't mind being outside, she in fact preferred it and her father worked constantly- or so he says, so she had all the freedom in the world.. at least every other weekend. She wasn't a fan of staying inside alone, she thought there were greater things to be seen, greater things to be felt. She had the deepest eyes you ever would see if she let you look long enough, and she watched a mixture of strangers pass by without a word. There was one who wasn't much of a stranger that always made a point to acknowledge her- she appreciated that much and thought he would be a well suited person to hold a conversation with- he had a sum of stories to tell. She wished that people actually stopped and had a conversation with her- perhaps sat with her, she loved talking about anything, she loved hearing about the lives she didn't have the chance to live, about the mistakes she hadn't made yet, and about the people she had met over the years- that type of communication was lost not too long ago in a besieging sea of detachment. She never minded putting down a book or a pen to talk with people, she wished there was a more poetical way to say that they just didn't care. Sure, the phone goes both ways but it wasn't the same concept, maybe a double standard but still differing. She was a lonely soul with so much to give, who enjoyed the simple things like sitting on a splinter bound stump with large nails poking out and throwing acorns across a lot. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps someone would come along and just sit.

A king's way

I drove down that old avenue last night and parked in that spot under the lonely tree. I looked around at the clay and fences surrounding us and looked back at our first time. The first time we opened our minds, forgot our words, forgot our feelings, threw our morals out the window, and only thought with our hands and mouths. It was the icebreaker of all things to come, it was the beginning of our end.

Someone to tell

"The sad truth is the truth is sad." Daniel Handler
Let's go back in time, say a year or two.

It's been 20 days of absolute hell and now it's time.

Pain was growing, in all aspects. Not a day passed now that she didn't feel it, and it was a different kind of hurt. She didn't think that it would come back, not now. Not October. Everything had come full circle from last October. Though she had events in her life that brought about mental weakness, she was now physically weakening, yet again. Everyday the pain was at least a 5 on a 10 scale, nobody knew because she would never tell and would surely never show. The grafts were coming back, she would soon have to hide those too. Her desire to eat was diminishing along with her immune system. By choice before, she now only wore shirts with collars up to her neck to hide where the central line was going to be, yet again. They said she would start back up again every two weeks for the next six months unless it stopped before then. She was particularly glad that it came back during fall/winter though, it made things a little easier, she didn't have to miss out on the things she really loved. If there was a girl who had a terrible a series of unfortunate events in her life but still loved to live, it was her. The select few that knew, were falling to pieces for her, she didn't see the point in fretting the uncontrollable. Sleep was a rare activity but she was always tired. Her eyes looked sunken and dark most days, especially in the mornings. She had to write to stay distracted, she even wrote this to keep her mind off of it. Though she was already broken and at an irreversible place both physically and mentally, she started to enjoy the small things. She could now sit outside for hours at a time, feeling the wind pass through and watching strangers pass by. She would drive to the beach for the next few months every other weekend to sit with the other grains of sand and take in her most valued place. She never knew when the last time she would be able to do that would happen, it was inevitable though. They said they caught it early this time and with the advancements, it would leave again soon. She could only hope. She was never the type to ask for much but she desperately wanted two things: for this she begged to leave and she wanted to sit and talk about life with someone- she had someone in particular that she hoped noticed but she wasn't picky. It was a process one could never get used to, and in her case, she was still strong, thankfully. Her muscles somehow held true through all of it and for now, she could still play the sport she loved. She was thankful for at least that much. Living to die, it was the sad truth. She had gotten past the fact that it was forever part of her and that eventually she wouldn't be here. She was scared beyond words but it was also beyond her control. People always asked if she was okay on a daily basis without knowing anything but she really only gave off one flat line emotion and said that she was fine even though absolutely nothing was fine. She hoped that one day someone would ask that and she would be able to spill her truths, her loves, her losses, her forced smiles, her burned bridges and that they would do the same. She just wanted to sit down with one person, someone with experience and trenches to tell their story. She didn't care about her own tears anymore, she had become numb to those kinds of things. Perhaps someone else who loved and lost, someone else who was living to die, someone else who loved to write, who loved to actually think and talk about the crazy thoughts sprinting through the folds of their mind, someone who would also listen, someone that would cry with her, for her, and let her cry for them, someone new, someone older, someone who wouldn't tell, just someone who could be real for a moment, for a turn of the hourglass. Maybe the next time someone asked, she would have enough strength to say she no longer had the strength. She didn't care if it was at a Starbucks at 3 in the morning, in the parking lot in the afternoon, or at school at the crack of dawn. There had to be one.

Send me

Piles of the pasts withered ashes lie lowly, waiting apprehensively to be carried by the wind as she remembered. They had been laying in the uncut grass of the field for some time now. The few stratus clouds above were still, the shed behind them was hallow and whistling, and the daffodils were now screaming at the sun. It was an odd atmosphere but one they particularly enjoyed. He brought his favorite book of poems with him and began to read to her, I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain- With his back flat on the blades of green and her head on his chest, they were still, taking in the October peace. Their ages were irrelevant with their feelings and in that there was not a sliver of doubt. -and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. They were used to the monotonous city life with cacophonous car horns, easily irritated people, and the nonstop rush. She was wearing a yellow sundress with white paisley patterns drowning in the color and some backed sandals that were the newest fad. Her hair was as the light color wood floor in her apartment and was sandwiched between her head and his pecs. Her eyes were dark and focused but glistening by the rays of the sun. He bared a gray Walk the Moon shirt on his back with complementing jeans and Vans. His hair was starting to become rustled by the earth and his eyes were closed, just enjoying the intimacy that came ever so often. I have passed by the watchmen on his beat and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. Sometimes repetition got the best of their time and left an empty space in which necessary nonsense of relationships belong. The shed continued to whistle at them, inviting them in. It was a fifteen by ten foot shack of a sort with a water rusted hue. The couple was feeling adventurous that day, the sun was beating harder, and they both wanted the mood to be kept so the shed's offer was accepted. No words were spoken now, only kept thoughts. He put the book in corner on a random shelf and headed back towards the girl in a strut that made her laugh and her dark eyes glisten without the sun. If there was a moment they would remember, it would be this one. Their skin was gradually becoming more bare as their clothes were slid off one another and tossed to another corner, staring at each other now, without discomfort. She saw her initials residing on the left side of his chest and he traced the words that read Here am I, Send me inked over her right side. Soon her hands were trying to grip the flat floor than lie beneath them, her shoulder rested in his trembling mouth as he was hovering over her, and humidity in the shed was becoming greater. It was a perfect time, a perfect place, a perfect storm. Nobody around to know, nobody around to care, nobody around to bother. It was the last time, it was the best time, it was the saddest time. Had she known, she would have wept then and done it a thousand times over. It was lamentable, it was lustful, it was what they called love. Their irresistible desires to be irresistibly desired had been fulfilled and their need to love and be loved had been met. They lie there naturally, still upon each other, catching their breaths. He was the first to get up, he only retrieved his gray briefs and tossed her his shirt to hold them for the moment. As she slipped her arms and head through the sleeves and collar of the shirt he grabbed his book of poems and returned to her side. They regressed back to their former position with her head on his chest and his back pressing on the floor. In the softest of voices, he began again, Your skin like dawn, mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other , the end of a sure beginning. The ashes were lifting now, the wind startled the flakes, and the past tried to cling for time to stay.

The birch

The tree had swayed to the left, it was no longer a straighter darker tree, its branches were bending. It had reached a point in which it could no longer right itself. The ice storms had come. She sat alone at the third table amongst the commotion. There were noises of clanging in the background, loud chatter between strangers lingered, the familiar sound of lead on card stock was present, and the swishing of textbook pages was about. She sat sipping a fresh, sweetened Black Tea Lemonade with her spiral sprawled across the mahogany turned to a blank page. She began to write, as she did everyday. Her mind was full, this time with thoughts of emptiness and a sense of a void. Reflecting now, she realized that life was never as bad as she made it out to be, most make their trials more treacherous than necessary. Sure she had lost the love of her life, sure her family had fallen to pieces, sure she lost her faith, sure tears fell from her face many nights, but everything she ever wanted was given to her with a silver spoon, she had experienced love, she had money, she had opportunity, she had seen the world, she was free. What was missing? How could one miss that which one does not know? Would she ever know? Would the void ever fill? The room was quieter now and the sun was starting to fall. She realized that most days she put on a smile, a forced one. Most days she said she was fine, she was damaged at best. Most days she did nothing but fulfill the wishes of others, a hard days' work. Most days she did not speak, a loud choice. She wanted to give the commodities a rain check, maybe that was it. Maybe she needed to get away. Maybe she was really affected by the truths and tragedies. She had tried to find happiness, whatever that means, in every place possible. She traveled to the other side of the earth, she tried religion and it worked for awhile, she tried optimism, she tried sarcasm, she tried painting, she tried sports, she tried friends, she tried lust, she tried family, she tried love again, she tried music and it only numbed her, she tried work, she tried it all. She tried it all at the same time, only to create mass confusion. The birch, was completely bent now. It searched for the answer, the answer to set itself straight again, the answer to give it life again, the answer to fight the rain and wind. The birch like the flowers lay lodged.

Lost will

She was wearing a worn gray hoodie, white shoes that were gradually turning the color of the dirt beneath her, and jeans she had evenly rolled up just below her calves. They were at some old fair that required their obligatory annual attendance. Her father stopped her and said, "Hey come here for a minute", she replied, "Humor me". He ran his fingers through his hair as he did whenever she talked to him like that and said, "Next week things are going to change, everything will be official", with his permanently creased forehead and black eyes. She chuckled in amusement, things had been changing for the last 2 years as quickly as a baby's diaper needs to swapped. Change, my God she hated it. It never stopped and it was always drastic, at least in her life. Everything was always ripped out from under her like a surfboard after failing to catch a wave. It was never good, she longed for that day.. The day change would be good. First her best friend, next her love, then her family, and finally her faith. Gone, never to return. She dealt with them in various ways, some more harming than others. She tried filling voids that would never be filled and she was always let down. She learned to keep her expectations low and to never promise anything, for they were always broken. She was broken, like a tree whose branch had been freshly cut. It was like God took a sharply edged saw and said "Today, I will cut another branch from your tree and you will just have to move on". That was the way things worked and if things were good for just a moment, she knew that hope would be ripped from under her like everything else. They say hope is dangerous because it is the only thing stronger than fear and I have to agree.. Hope has that uncanny ability to bend your mind, your reality. It tells you that it is here for you and you believe it for just that moment. It tells you that your life will be better, that your love will return, that your mind will be clear, it is indeed dangerous. Hope is not patient, it is not kind. It does envy, it does boast, and it is proud. It dishonors others, it is self-seeking, it is easily angered, and it keeps record of wrongs. Hope delights in evil and devises with the truth. It never protects, is never trustworthy, always lies, and always perseveres. That is hope, it is not love but tries to imitate. She never hoped anymore, she tried to love, she never believed, she just tried to live.

17

I hope you read all 2074 words.

She had summer skin, brown hair with lighter spots in some places, she could throw a ball, if she let you look long enough you could see her soul, she was the best liar, she was quiet, she was cunning, she had the capacity to love like no other, she bit the inside of her cheek when she was thinking, she had a killer English accent that only a few had ever heard, she loved a good cup of coffee, she loved to wear shorts, she always craved Swedish fish, she played hard to get even if you already stole her, she could beat you in a game of flip cup, she loved to say the word cacophonous, she would read until she fell asleep, she liked to blend in, she liked to talk, she lived by the sun and felt by the moon, she collected quotes, she would sit on her board and let the waves do as they pleased, she would listen to music and get goosebumps, she had a thing for clocks, she was selfless, she loved anchors, she could catch a fish with her bare hands, she was vulnerable, she walked gracefully, she would move in with you if you asked her, she'd ask you about your story and would never judge, she could imagine six impossible things before breakfast, she could tell a joke that you would never forget, she liked the dark, she liked to take pictures because she knew she could never get that moment back, she liked being alone but wanted someone's presence, she loved to cook, her personality was who she was and her attitude depended on who you were, she was on a road less traveled and much less even thought of, she hated cliches, she could make you feel like a king, she liked strawberries and bananas but not the two together, she was old in the mind and young in the heart, she loved to have deep conversations, she was broken, she was lost, she would please anyone and everyone except herself, she didn't know if she believed in anything anymore, she put the song 100 Suns on replay, she could swim fast, her hands were always clean, I-235 held a few of her memories, she walked around the house in black socks, she was different, she would peel her clothes off in front of you without a thought, she was that girl you wish you said something to on the park bench, she read and listened to everything you had to say, she wrote letters, she wanted to go to Greece, she would compare her hand size to yours, she loved gondolas, she wrote songs, she could row up and down the Amsterdam Canal forever, she loved a tall, brown hair, blue eyed boy, she could kill you with her eyes, she was the type of girl who you would marry, she liked silver, she knew a lot, she loved roller coasters, she could double knot cherry stems with her tongue, she would eat a tub of frozen yogurt if you let her, she hated conflict, she wanted to love and be loved, she wished there was an easy way out, her patience was great, she could run forever, she would draw when she couldn't put a feeling into words, she had a few dreams, her favorite numbers were 0, 14, 21, and 56, she lived in the past, she was sad most of the time, she loved tattoos, she had a collection of Nike's, nobody cared, she could hold her drinks, she never carried a purse, she had a flat monopoly wallet, she loved the windows down, she drove a pretty, red Mustang, she loved the color blue, she could hear a roach pee on cotton, she was a Leo, she could feel your presence, she only wore shirts that had collars up to her neck, she was a peaceful being, she loved the sky, she loved the sea, she loved the wind, she loved the earth, she loved making fires, she looked like she was playing the piano on the side of her leg when she was in a good mood, she had a keen nose, she hated the cold, she had light summer freckles, she wanted you, she was born in the wrong generation, she was an old soul, she cared too much, she saved people from taking their lives because it had saved her too, she looked for people like her, she wasn't thin but she was fit, she thought she was strong, she liked vintage works, she hated high-waisted shorts, she had a favorite pair of jeans, she loved the sound of turning pages, a boy tattooed her initials on him, she did the wrong things for the right reasons and the right things for the wrong reasons, she made mistakes, she was sarcastic, she was feisty, she was beautiful, she could make balloon animals, she always wore her hair up, August was her favorite month, she didn't like being the center of attention, when she put on a little bit of makeup the boys would go crazy, she had a best friend who wasn't much of a friend, she saved him too, she used to believe in God, I think she still does, she loved to paint, she loved Hugh Laurie, she loved a mystery, she could make you think until your brain melted, she was mysterious, she could play board games all night long, scrabble was her favorite, she got headaches from the sun, she loved to go to art galleries, she was self-conscious, she wore a size 9.5 shoe, she was a temptation, she had so much to give, she loved to laugh, her laugh was contagious and if you really made her laugh she would curl up in a ball next to you and shake silently, she had a story that would leave you in shock, she had a gift of massages, she had so many secrets, she had two weakness-love and love, she could climb a tree, she couldn't run fast but she could outsmart you, she was a little conceited at times, she lived a lot of lifetimes, she was inherently tired, she could make you cry, she had a way with words-when she wrote or talked, she would cry, nobody would have guessed, she was always scared but never showed it, she wore a whistle everywhere she went, she had a birthmark on her left rib, she loved hourglasses, she hated being told what to do, she loved mint chocolate chip ice cream, she hated the sound of people eating, she had a sticker that said 'do it' over her bed, she could make you paralyzed in bed, she didn't really liked to be touched, she liked being held, she was resistant, she loved it when you called her 'woman', if you touched her in the right spot she would jump, she wanted to be remembered, she was weird, she could bait a hook, when she used ellipses she only used two.., you stared at her yesterday, nobody could figure her out, she was an open book, she had a brother and a sister, she was Spanish, she loved adventure, she hated the police, she knew herself well, she would trace your figure while you were sleeping, she loved a man in briefs, nature was her best friend, she slept with one leg out of the covers, she was on a search, she could leave you speechless in all circumstances, she actually liked meeting new people, she gave every extra dollar she had to the man and the dog sitting outside of her favorite restaurant, she had a cup of ice water every night before bed, she could type fast, she could spell, she was lustful, she loved lips, her senses were always heightened, she never wore lipgloss or lipstick, she could watch movies all night long, she hated the color brown, she never wore pink, her teeth were straight, she grew up too fast, she could hold her breath for a long time, she could do handstands, she never thought she had a soul, she thought that she was a soul and she had a body, she was given everything but never cared for any of it, she wanted to find a man with a Jeep and red-line it down the highway, she loved Frost, she was interested in older guys, she sometimes wished she didn't know all the things she did,she liked to sit with her knees to her chest, her dad was a marine, her mom taught kids how to read, her brother was a car freak, and her sister was like her in so many ways and so different too, she was honest, she was brutal, she could never say no, she had a small writers' bump, she missed her old house, she could find out anything about anyone, she was falling for someone like her, she could make a fire from Cool Ranch Doritos, she hated sand in her sandals, her favorite time of the day was the time it was only her and the music in her car, she loved to sleep in blanket forts with you and loved to regret it in the morning, she loved slurpees, she pretended her hand was a kite flying out of the car window whenever she was driving in the interstate, she thought she didn't care what people thought, she was scared of two things-sharks and tornadoes, she could make you pass out with her thumb, she had a memory like an elephant, she loved to be silly, nobody ever knew that, she kept her expectations low, she read every book by Daniel Handler, she was always willing, she knew what she loved but didn't know what she wanted to do, she loved a good concert, she could secretly sing, she hated public speaking, she thought black and white pictures showed true feelings, she would never tell you everything she knew, she always lost track of time, she set her priorities as she pleased and not how society wanted them, she loved turtles, she loved to win, she could play a good hand of poker, she would slide down the hallway in socks when nobody was home, she took baths, she didn't like cheese or seafood, she loved puzzles, she hated the smell of the little corner store on 92, she never felt physical pain, she always felt it in the soul, she taught herself to be ambidextrous, she took notes in cursive, she didn't know why but dogs always loved her, she would lie bare skinned in the grass at night with you, she would look at the clouds and purposely tell you what absurd animal she thought they looked like just so you could disagree and you both could crack a smile, she always held back, she absolutely loved it when you had on that boyish smile, she was never physically tired, she could rock a backwards hat, she didn't care to dress up, she thought innuendos were hilarious, she liked realistic people, she could never turn down an Arnold Palmer, Jimmy Fallon could say anything and make her laugh, she didn't talk to you if you didn't have common sense, she never let go, she could be passive aggressive, she slept with one pillow, she loved the rain, she knew there was never any good news, she thought theology was interesting, she had a leopard gecko name Eli and a Beta fish named Sharky, she hated honeydew, she could win any argument, she didn't like admitting when she was wrong, she loved a worn pair of Chuck's, she could cut hair, she hated bugs, she loved to longboard, she wasn't a fan of mirrors, she loved Cali, she wished you knew she was talking about you, she got nervous easily, she hoped for a day when people would wake up, she had a cute bellybutton, she was a hard worker for the things she loved, she wasn't afraid to get dirty or break a sweat, she liked things clean but didn't mind a little clutter, she knew where everything was placed, she wore sliders under her dresses, she would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it, she didn't like talking about herself but one day she found all the right words, and the best part was.. she was 17.

Wake

Who knows how long I've been awake now,
the shadows on my wall don't sleep
I keep beckoning, beckoning
The anchor above the tree commands me not to sink
the walls aren't peeling, but mine are
these forsaken nights have gone too far
I stare at the crow resting on the bushes
the cacophonous call rings through
The sand is falling in the glass shape
It is black like the crow
how long have I been awake
The bookshelves are throwing pages
they are cutting my mind
Maybe it is a dream, maybe it is a sign
Of what, my falling, my restless brain
Two years now make one more than insane
The shutters are flapping
they are shooting off splinters
my skin is pierced now
how long have I been awake
The rose has been wilting
for a time without measure
She seeks something greater, far beyond pleasure
The guitars are strumming
trying to save a the muse
Oh, but it is not possible
her thoughts will never be few
Shoe laces are chasing my neck
How I wish they would take hold
how long have I been awake

Static

I was in love or at least I thought, I had that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach and my fingers started tingling, every time we kissed. I remember the times we spent together, all those drives, we had a million questions all about our lives. I remember the days we spent together, were not enough, it used to feel like dreaming but we always woke up. I remember the time you told me about when you were eight and all the things you said that night that just couldn't wait. I remember the car I last saw you in and the games we would play, all the times we spilt our coffees and stayed out way too late. I remember the time you sat and told me about your Jesus and how not to look back, even if no one believed us. Tonight I've fallen and I can't get up, I need your loving hands to come and pick me up, every night I miss you, I can just look up, and know the stars are holding you.

Love like woe

They were exhausted. They had been at it all night, rustling the sheets. Her black dress and heels were laying on top of his button-up and his jeans. Her hair was a wreck, in all tangled sorts, but that was of no importance. It was one in the morning, he smelled of bourbon and she smelled of something fruity. Their bare skins were touching each other, they both knew each others bodies quite well. He knew that she had a dark freckle on the left side of her chest and she knew that he had a birthmark on his back shaped like a 'K'. How can this be any more perfect, they both thought. They had only known each other for two months now, but it felt right. Everything. He was over 6' tall, with brown hair and blue eyes, she was tall for a girl, they saw the world the same way. This happened often, they would love until they passed out, until the black of black, until the sun would rise. She left a residue on his body, the sheets and pillows would mark their bodies, leaving creases and red marks when lifted. He hated this though, because every morning he would wake up from this dream to only start his day with nostalgic thinking until the next sleep. It was a love like woe, she existed but he had to look a little harder.

I don't remember

He was on a search for many years now, a man of questions but not many answers. He had always been a quiet boy with a loud soul and was always tempted with adventure. There was this girl, she had a free spirit, they had a silent relationship when they were young. She would run through the woods with her best friend losing herself in a laugh so innocent while he would hide behind the trees accompanied by his vintage camera that he always brought along. He would watch her and she knew it, not in a weird way but a peaceful sort. Sitting in a coffee shop, 29 now, a caramel colored scruff growing around his face with a few grays peering through, trying to hide the boy he really was. The girl he used to watch in the woods never left his mind, even in his sleep. Is she still as innocent as I remember, was she still laughing? He hoped that Yeats was wrong and that the ceremony of innocence had not drowned, at least with her. At his seat, his mind was turning, ankles were crossed, elbows were propped up on the mahogany table, and his coffee in the little porcelain cup was cooling. It was mid-December, there were about seven other people in the coffee shop, and the trees were bare. The door to the shop opened and a little bell rang to note an entrance. A girl about his age entered, wearing brown boots with her dark jeans tucked in them, a mildly thick brown jacket, her brunette hair fell to her shoulders, and she only had on a hint of eye liner and mascara. She shook off the cold and looked to her right, she saw him. Without words, he invited her to sit with his eyes. She never had an aversion towards strangers. They sat for a brief moment in silence, which she broke:

Who are you?-her
I don't remember. Tell me about your first love-him
She takes the porcelain cup in front of him and sips, they stare at each other for yet another moment.
Why?-her
What was he like?-him
Giving in because she was intrigued she said, "I was 13, he was 11. He was a quiet and mysterious boy."
Tell me more-him
Tell me about your first love-her
I don't remember-him
He lived next door by the river. We never talked, I always saw him though. He was scrawny and clumsy with deep blue eyes-her
Did you ever kiss?-him
Once. I was sitting up in a tree and saw him in the oak across from me on the other side of the river, he was writing. I knew how our relationship worked by then. I plucked an acorn from the branch beside me and tossed it at him, I missed but he looked over. He already knew I was there. He closed his notebook and gracefully fell from the tree. I laughed, I used to laugh a lot. I jumped down from my tree as he was making his way across the log laying across the banks. He was wearing corduroy shorts just above his knees with a forest green shirt, I think he liked to blend in. We were both lengthy but he was still taller than me-her

He was writing down what she was saying and gave her a nod that signed to continue.

I'll never forget it, we were standing there in silence as usual, facing each other. We both knew what was coming. There was an overcast that day and the leaves were chasing each other. He picked me a small Sneezeweed and put it in my hair. We continued to gaze at each other and I started to lean in, as did he. Our innocent lips had met while our young eyes were closed, it was so simple, so blissful. It lasted about fifteen seconds and felt like an eternity-her
Was there anything else?-him. He was smiling.
He had this little camera he wore around his neck, he never used it-her

He relaxed in his chair, uncrossed his ankles, and now crossed his arms up against his chest. It looked as if he was laughing. He had been here before, it seemed like some falls ago but it was winter. She looked puzzled. He leaned across the table, as did she. His grin was bigger now, it seemed as if he had something to say, so she leaned closer.

Close your eyes-him
Why?-she whispered
I don't remember-him

Giving it again, her brown eyes disappeared. He pulled a flower from his coat pocket and put it in her hair, she laughed. She didn't know it but his eyes were closed too. Their lips met, it was so simple, so blissful. It lasted about fifteen seconds but felt like an eternity. In that moment they knew, and his search was over. She put her head down and  her hair covered her face. She then lifted up and she was laughing,so innocently, but a tear fell down past her cheek. She said that she would never forget, but she was wrong, she did forget. She forgot who she was, where she came from, and what that kiss felt like. She forgot what it was like to be free, how to love, how to be happy.

They left the coffee shop and ran to the train. The now man and woman got off at the station closest to their home town and they ran to the old river, or what was left of it. They sat on the dry, worn log that lie across the banks. They remembered.

Who am I

Perhaps I should start out with who I am.

I cannot answer that question to any great, meaningful extent. I can tell you my name, my age, where I live, and what I like to do, but I cannot tell you my purpose in being here, where I am headed, or how I am going to get there, I can only write while I am on this odyssey. Call me B, I am young but I have so much to give, I live in a world that tries to conform every individual soul, and I like to be different. I read all the time, quotes mostly, I play guitar, I surf, and I'm in the sunshine state. Change is the only constant, we all know that. Most people simply suck, we all know that. There are many outlets to deal with those two concepts, we all know that. Writing however, is mine. My posts will often refer to the earth, fire, water, or wind, I will write with every ounce of emotion that I claim I do not have, and I will tell you my truth- whatever that may be. I will put forth my greatest effort so that you can see into my mind and interpret as you please, I will fill these pages with stories, testimonies, successes, failures, and the realities of life. I will not beat around the bush, I will not make things up, and I will certainly not try to be better than I actually am. I will write until the tips of my fingers are worn, until the decline of the sun, and until I can write no more. I will tangent, I will bring surprise, I will fill this space with memories and my story will be told. I will write about every trench in life, every promise broken, and all the nothingness that surrounds us. I will take you back to my first love and tell you about how I love too deeply. I will take requests and comments, I will try to be humorous, and I will try my best to write with presentable grammar.

I should say that I hope you like what you read but truly I am indifferent.. so I'll say that I hope we can relate on some level.