RANDOM - Musings Part 18

I thought I was done. I thought it was over and gone. I was free...

But the smallest whisper can call me back to you. And the tiniest glance can make my world all that much brighter. It really shouldn't, but it does.

And the sad part is that you probably don't even mean it.

RANDOM - Musings Part 19

It's silly how very attuned to you I am. I can be gazing off into space, haunted by a million different thoughts--nothing but utter mayhem could break me from it. But then for no reason at all, I turn back and I see you signing on. It is utterly ridiculous because my volume is turned all the way down.

I know it means nothing, but it's stupidly ironic--too ironic to say nothing about.

RANDOM

And I have told myself a million times that I would be damned before I dressed for you. I wear what I want. My mood takes my fancy and that is all. If I happen to look pleasing on the day that I see you, it is of no consequence. I would have dressed this way anyways. ...not in the hope of running into you.

Of course, I tell myself this over and over, but it isn't quite true. There is some truth to the words, but there are times when they aren't. I dress as I always have. It isn't quite for you. I wear lower necklines because I can't stand the collar around my neck. That is all. It isn't for attention.

I suppose that the culture here is different. At home I would be modest--baring shoulders was a norm. Here there is winter. There is more reason for clothes than simply modesty. But I am tired of winter coats and three shirts. It's just so constricting.

I wear my clothes for comfort, simply because I always have. But then to have attention for it is slightly strange. It feels as if it is misplaced, yet at the same time it is strangely empowering. It's almost like an intoxication. It feels wrong but so wondrous. One feels strong--on top of the world.

It's silly, yes. It's not really true, yes. But I never knew that anyone--I--really did have this power.

RANDOM - Musings Part 20

I didn't mean to draw you. I really didn't. It just sort of happened. The sketch seemed to form of its own accord. Honestly, I hadn't been thinking of you then. Perhaps it is simply that I became used to drawing you.

But my drawings of you have become simpler--a boy with a hat--yes, your hat. I still have yet to be able to define a face with features that could be claimed undoubtedly your own, but everything else belongs to you--your hair, your jacket, your shirt. They are all truly yours.

So I in truth have been drawing just a boy in a hat--in your hat, skin, and clothes. It is almost you but perhaps not quite, yet you in essence.

RANDOM - Musings Part 21

The city is easy. The guitar is a bit obvious. But then who is the girl and what of the dramatic orange sky above her?

I am not entirely sure whom she is. She is a girl of your past--your dreams--your future; she is someone you once knew; she is someone that lives only in your mind; she doesn't exist at all but is a metaphor. She was simply put there to perfect the composition because you seemed lonely on such a wide, blank page.

Really, she is no one that I know.

I'm not entirely sure how in the world she ended up with my hair color when I had started with the very rigid rule that I would not put myself into this picture. It was not my place. And so I gave the girl long hair and an eyeless gaze--a soulless gaze; she could be connected to no one. I had intended the hair to simply be brown, but then I changed my mind halfway through and decided on blonde. And then I recalled my previous picture of the girl with the gown of color and the way her hair was tinged purple. I suppose that is how the purple came into play. I did not intend for the final color of dark hair tinged purple and streaked blonde. I did now intend to create my own hair color--something I usually can't draw even when I try.

RANDOM - Musings Part 22

They say that art is psychological. It's a way that the artist tries to communicate something. I don't even know what I drew. The something is a mystery to even me. I have some inkling of an idea, but it's something I would like to deny. I don't think anyone is quite ready for it to come to light.

I almost want to parade around with the piece in triumph--simply because that is what one does with work that one is proud of. Yet, I must check myself because I can't. Such a boast would lead to much more than simple praise of skill. There would be questions that I wouldn't be able to answer.

And so another part of my life is locked away.

RANDOM

She is inbetween this and that, and thusly does nothing.

Her heart is torn between the two. There is the constant, the first, the one who is there. And then there is a chance, the chance of something more but with no guarantees.

What is there to do? How can one choose? The former is safe, but will she die on the inside because she gave up and never knew? Could she stand to live life like that? But then the latter may tear her life to shreds. Could she stand to look back and say "I made my choice; I have learned and lived, and I do not regret"?

Both pictures are hard things to look back upon.

Or shall she simply sit here, while away the time and choose neither--do nothing. However, as sure as that is safe, it would be making the first choice, and thusly still choosing. It would paint the first picture. Could she stand to look back at such a picture?

She isn't sure. She wants to see how things play out, but then she doesn't. She wants to let things follow the grand plan, but she wants control. She doesn't know what she wants.

She wants to fall in love, but she's not sure how. Just somehow.

...She just doesn't know.

wow, I have no idea, but almost cried when I read this (which would be a bit odd for sitting on class.) Also very very emotional, I like it but it is a true statement we are all use to.

*hugs dragon* Thanks. It's nice to know when one's writing touches someone, and it's probably my first time--that I'm aware of--where my writing could bring someone--that's not me--close to tears. As much as the whole thing is eating at my heart, I feel like I've at least accomplished something.

*hugs again*

RANDOM

It's one thing or another / I don't even know why I bother.

If it's not here, it's there. But then again, it was never quite here. Well, it would be, but I didn't want to leave for one reason.

And now that I'm here, I wish I was there.

And we've got nothing but time on our hands...

We have no time. There is no time. It is only time apart and distance.

And the world is made of cities and the spaces between them. And cities are made of people and the spaces between them.

I realize this as I gaze upon the city lights from the air. Some lights are bright clusters, tight little cliques, ever zealous in their closeness. Some are expansive sprawls, generous in their taking. And others are so, so very far away...

And every night if it is clear, the two stars will come together, and the lovers will meet. But if it is rainy, they cannot cross the river but must wait another year.

It's still rainy.

Disclaimer:
Italics in above drabble are quotes from various songs and stories. The first one is Just Apathy by Tally Hall; second is Hallelujah by Paramore; third is from the webcomic Hero; the last is from the Japanese story behind the star weaver festival.

RANDOM - How to Save a Life Part 1
Disclaimer: This song is from Fray.

Step one.

She opens her eyes and checks the clock. She sighs and rolls out of bed. She brushes her teeth, gets dressed, and readies herself to face the world.

She grabs her keys and for half a moment, her eyes linger on a scrap of paper. On the paper is a number that was scrawled over three months ago. She doesn't need it anymore; the number has been entered in her cellphone and committed to memory. Yet, she keeps it anyways--it was the first thing he ever gave to her.

She shakes her head, disengaging the silly sentimental thoughts like a stranger. She turns away and walks out the door.

But it feels so wrong. She misses him. And as she walks to her car, a wave of horrible misery sweeps through her. It had been nice in the beginning. They met at a bookstore and hit it off right away. They exchanged numbers, and it was a classically beautiful relationship. Everything had been going fine.

But then it changed. She wasn't sure when it happened, but he suddenly stopped talking to her. He didn't ignore her, but their talks changed. They became inconsequential--things of necessity--they never meant more.

You say we need to talk.

She collapsed into the seat of her car and pulled out her phone and dialed the number she knew so well.

RANDOM - Reminded of You Part I

Hello, old friend.

I thought I had forgotten you. I thought that you had become buried amidst my memories and dreams. But things that we think we have forgotten seem to have the habit of simply putting on a new guise to parade right before our eyes. We do not see them again, but the memory is triggered, and we remember once again.

It is not such a bad thing to remember. It is simply that you had been out of sight and out of mind for so long. It's funny how you made such a mark on me, yet we never see each other, talk to each other, know each other. It was a fire for but a moment, and then darkness. The world was black. But then every so often, there is a spark, a kindling, and the memory of you is lit up.

I wonder if it's the same for you...

RANDOM - Reminded of You Part II

But who am I kidding? I'm probably just this silly girl buried in your memories who was too cowardly to change and too stubborn to do anything but argue. I really can't blame you for forgetting me. In fact, I would like you to. That was an old me--not me now. It's not something I would like to be remembered by.

Although I'm not entirely sure if I would want you to know me now. I'm not that different. Yes, there have been a few key changes, but I'm not yet the kind of person who could come back home and throw everything in your face and say "See what I have become!" ...but oh, how I would love to. It would be such an amusing picture.

But alas, that is something that will only happen in stories and my head--never reality.

RANDOM - Reminded of You Part III

But how I miss you, old friend. I did not truly know you, but in a way you have almost become a voice in my head--a muse perhaps.

I long to pick up a pen and paper and write you a true letter. Well, I suppose I could simply pick up old routes and use what I did before, but it's not the same. Letters--something tangible--can never be replaced.

And for everything that you have given me, knowingly or not, I wish I could thank you. And I wish I had not lost contact.

But then I had to. What choice did I have? I could not stay near you and think. You overwhelmed me with your simply stated arguments, your ease, your casualty. There was no structure to you that I could follow like my careful analyzations of literature. I needed to step back and be able to reread the page to grasp the full meaning.

Yes, this is partially me making up excuses to try to cover my tracks, but it is at least partially true.

Well, what is done is done. And, old friend, I will put you back to rest.

Drabble written on the plane:

3/23/08

And I have divided myself again.

Another part of me has been left behind yet again. I have found a new place—something good—something I love. However, I must leave it behind—again. It seems that as soon as I learn to love something, I must let it go.

They’re wonderful experiences but painful. I would not give them up to live in the bliss of ignorance. Yet, it hurts to leave something I love behind every single time. It seems like that is all I am doing, learning to love and then leaving.

Yes, I am returning to something I miss. I have missed it dearly. However, there is not so much the place but the people and what we have done in that city. Chicago holds importance not simply because of itself but because we were there—that is what makes all the difference.

Boulder, however, is a different case. Yes, there are the people, but it is not so much an individual group of people as it is the general attitude of everyone—the atmosphere. I fell in love with the place and the place’s people. It’s not so much a group of people that I want to return to but the mountains, blue skies, and crisp air.

I fell in love, yet I must leave again.

Drabble written on the plane:

3/23/08

It was such a strange melancholy feeling. It was familiar yet unexpected. As I walked through the airport, I felt as if I was in mourning, as if I was leaving something behind. It felt like that one night when I had left home for the second time—when I had finally realized how much I was giving up.

But that feeling was out of place. This wasn’t home. This was a visit—a vacation—nothing more.

Yet, somehow, this wormed its way into my heart and won a place there. It was not supposed to happen. I had not intended for it to happen. I would have been perfectly content to play the tourist and enjoy the brief respite by simply being in some place new; I did not intend to get to know the place—to understand it—to love it for it was and wasn’t. I was supposed to get the shallow view. I was not supposed to fall in love. I was never supposed to fall in love.

And I now understand the saying of “those who see the mountains can never leave them.” They are truly something spectacular. It’s a rare sight to behold something so huge and towering that isn’t some artificial skyscraper. This is nature. It’s real; it is mighty; it overwhelms. It is breathtaking.

And who can really blame one for not wanting to leave something like that? It is for those moments that we live for. To live in such a presence forever would be incredible, almost unimaginable.

However, I could never do that. Although I have fallen in love again, I have many lovers whom I miss dearly. I could never choose one and scorn the rest. And though I am sad to leave, another part of me is happy to return. Yet, the pain is so great that it nearly overtakes the relieved side. It is a dilemma. I’m not entirely sure which side will win.

RANDOM

Why are you special? What is it that makes you different? I tried to find that as an artist, and I failed. I can't capture that that makes you you on paper. I suppose it is something that I can only find as a person.

But that is a rather daunting task. To do so would take you off that golden pedestal that I have separated us by. As an artist, I detach and observe. You don't get personal with your subject. That's what it is--a subject--nothing more.

Yet, this subject seems to defy me. Just what is it that makes it so special that I can see it, and I can suddenly spin out a story?

It is certainly a muse.

RANDOM - Musings Part 23

Oh the world is silly, stupid, and wonderful!

I left you for a week and found out I could survive without you. I thought that this would be good--that you would simply forget about me and spend time with your girlfriend. You were supposed to focus upon her and fall deeper in love with her and forget me. And then I could bear it. I would be able to adjust and stand seeing you with her. At the point when I realized that I didn't want to see you with her, I knew I was in trouble, and so I made my plan.

Alas, my grand plan has failed.

I survived on my own and missed you, yes, but you missed me too. My silly musing of running up to you and hugging you at first sight was discarded as too obvious in my mind, but I was not expecting it to be carried out by you.

And then at every opportunity, there you are again. You are near me; you are touching me; you are here.

How could I bear to ignore that?

RANDOM - Musings Part 24

Did you even realize what you had picked up? Did you realize what you had read?

Of course not because I took the book from you and skirted around the subject.

Yes, I know that song and that band. I've heard of them only because I had seen the lyrics in your profile once. They were poetic, so I had to know more. It is a beautifully written song, and so I transcribed it into my piece. I had mused to myself how silly it would be if you had seen my notebook. I didn't expect it to happen.

But at least you didn't turn the page.

I was a page away from ruin--a page away from all the subtleties and hints becoming the blunt, ugly truth. For while I would like something more than this, it cannot happen now. I must lie a little longer. I will be patient. If it is meant to be, then it is. I know I could influence the future, but I don't particularly feel inclined to. I'm just not that sort of person.

The sad part is that I am a page away from ruin in all of my notebooks and sketchbooks. I really must stop drawing that boy with the hat easily mistaken for you.

RANDOM - A Phone Call

I dreamed of everything turning. People became vicious and too honest. I was found out. I was asked to stop. I could not deny her for it was her right. And it was heartbreaking. I awoke thinking it was real, and I almost cried. I dreamed I had broken down and called my parents because they should know something about how to deal with it. Calling them would be my very last result. I had caved.

But then I remembered it was just a dream. She had not actually called me and asked me. Really, it was just a phone call from my conscience.

I suppose it's only to be expected. After seeing you last night and realizing how very much I had missed you and how very close we were, I should feel guilty. It is no wonder that I got a phone call from my conscience.

The question is: will I listen to it?

do you want a hug? I know how scary that can be, i have had similar issues with everything that is on me.

Well, is that what explains the huge glompage when you saw me? xD

Thanks. ^^

welcome, although i was going to give normal hug but still, other reasons work too...i wanted to do it not jingling though.

RANDOM - Pride and the Ego

Pride is such a silly thing. I had thought it was something I lacked, but how I have been proven wrong. I used to be the one who just rode the wave; I'd turn slightly every so often, but I never caused the waves.

And suddenly I find myself in an ocean at war with a storm.

I did not think this part of me existed. I did not think that I would be so adamant on a point that I would leap out and defend it in an argument. Of course, it doesn't really sound like an argument because that is not our nature, but if you strip away all the obligated compliments and niceties that is what it is.

I wish I could simply do away with this pride and get it over with, but I can't. The artist in me won't allow that. There are some things worth fighting for, and I suppose that pride is not such a bad thing in those cases.