RANDOM

You can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girl.

I've felt it before and the opposite. Wherever I go, there seems to be too much of me that isn't right, that doesn't fit. I'm a little too islander; I'm dressed for the city; I would've been a great hit if only I were somewhere else. It's like some perverse part of my subconscious manifests itself in my manner and dress to show a place I miss.

It's silly, really, because it's not that I am most definitely a "city girl" or an "islander". I never really held to either of the strong stereotypes of those labels. It's always been something that I would just nod to, saying "yeah, well, I live here, so I guess that's what I am." And it's always changed. The places have ingrained themselves upon me, but not so much that I was definitely one and not the other.

It feels like I'm 60% "city girl" and 60% "islander." It just doesn't fit.

RANDOM

"This is not what I love. How can I stand to do this for the rest of my life?"

"Look at me. This isn't my dream job either."

I've heard the statistic that an overwhelming amount of people don't work in their major. I've also heard that many never work their dream jobs, but simply ones that help them survive. I've heard these things, but I didn't want them to apply to me.

However, I'm coming to realize that many people end up not doing something they love but simply something they can stand and sometimes hate. It just seems so sad, so defeated. I don't want to be stuck in a rut like that. I want to be free to do what I love.

But then the world comes knocking on one's door demanding rent, bill payments, and taxes...

It's rare to work in something you love because so rarely is it that what we love makes money--a necessity for survival. It is a cold, hard truth, but I hope to never lose what I love.

RANDOM - Sunbathers

I've always found sunbathers to be curious things. They seem so very unnecessary. Why take the time and energy to go all the way to a beach just to plop down and flip over every so often? Why can't you do that at home? Why can't you tan while you exercise? It's just so superfluous.

And when they come to choose their spots, it is as if they are islands unto themselves. Where they lay out their towels, they are kings and queens. No one dares intrude upon their lazy royalties. How assuming! What is that makes these simple people become so high and mighty? Is it something about the ocean that makes them feel powerful? Or is it simply the sun going to their heads? In this way, sunbathers have always fascinated me.

RANDOM - LLG

Black fishnet stockings embellish more than they hide on the woman's legs. The tiny little peep holes of flesh glare accusingly in the stage lights. The creamy two inches of flesh between stocking and skirt grows to become miles in men's minds. The skin tight top serves no more purpose than a paint. The shape is exact, but the color is different. Her bare arms pose themselves about her painted face. She is most certainly beautiful, and all those men wonder how she ended up here.

"Hello, boys," she says in a sultry voice, "missed me?"

The audience becomes a cacophony of hoots and cheers. A loud whistle draws her attention, and she winks. How powerful she is! She bet that all of those fancy diplomats' wives didn't ever enjoy something as heady as this. Yes, those ladies could lord over their husbands and countries, but here she had countries bowing to her. Who knew? She probably had their husbands in this very audience. Who could say she was powerless now?

RANDOM

There are times when I wonder if there is some essence of forgetfulness surrounding me. It's that aura or lack of aura that causes a person's eyes to just slip past something. They'll always forget it or call it someone else. It is not special enough to be thought of as separate but always lumped in with the others. She's similar in height to her but no where near her skill level. She is one of the girls, but she's left out of the circle. She's always mistaken for someone else or not remembered at all.

RANDOM - Distance

If only a plane ride were instantaneous! It is not that I long to be there or need to be here. The packing and saying goodbyes just draws the pain out. I would be alright if all it took was a here to there, but then I guess that's the law of distance. My wish is contradictory to it. I do not care where I am, so long as I can return quickly and painlessly. Obviously, that would mean staying close to home where I am not.

I had never really thought of it that way until now. Distance means space. Distance means time. Distance means a matter of convenience. It is not simply a lower statistic of ever seeing one, but it is also a wall. The wall can be crossed, knocked down, or carved into a door, but all take time. It is not a simple picket fence. Things are harder from a distance.

RANDOM - Far from Normal

Why do I hold such a fascination for these silly everyday stories? Many I know brush them off as immature, gossip, or trivial. I see where they're coming from. It's a lot of nonsense, but in all of that there is something more. There is the everyday life of the everyday person.

Whenever someone asks me to describe a typical day, I often find myself at a loss for an answer. In my mind, everyday is distinctly different. Yes, days run together, but there is no schedule that repeats day in and day out. I over think too many details for that to be so.

I can't say that casually running into that familiar stranger was nothing. It was something. It was a difference. It was profound in some way.

Which is completely ludicrous.

I suppose this is why my writing isn't quite on the same level. I don't run on the same length as everyone else. I can't write about everyday occurrences as everyday occurrences because they aren't to me. So everything gets blown out of proportion, and no one can relate.

RANDOM

Why do you do this? You push everyone away just to cry about being alone. It isn't logical. It isn't healthy. You know you do this, yet you still practice the bad habit. Just what in the world is wrong with you?

Perhaps it is nothing. You just want to delude the world into yourself being self sufficient when there is nothing farther from the truth. It is all a facade that you have set up. In other words, your fault.

Well, it would always be your own fault. It's not like there's some phantom that hides in your closet to keep you there. No, it's all you.

Work is your only companion. You hide in your works to disguise the emptiness. It's a sad, common story, actually. There's nothing original to your angst. Yet, you cling to it like it is something vital to your identity! Are you really so pathetic that you are made of nothing but secrets and loneliness?

...Maybe you are. I don't know. You are the hardest person to know.

who are you talking about?

I can keep of a couple, including me.....

"The hardest person to know is yourself."

Yes, I enjoy talking about myself in third person. xD It allows me to be far more critical and condescending in my criticism.

RANDOM - Walking Novels

You hear it said that people are stories, but you don't truly realize it until you read it in written format. Novels are walking around us everyday, and we don't notice it. Read someone's journal. Go through their past. Novels are not all spectacular. Many are about people--people being stupid, people loving, people hating, people just being ordinary people.

I love sitting at the table and just listening to people talk. I hear a story unfold every time. Perhaps I read it before, but no matter. Each time one rereads a story he notices something different.

People are the writers. Few ever take the time to read. I, however, find myself so busy reading that I forget to write to others, and so as consequence only write of myself. My novel is relatively self contained unless you count the fact that I write that I have read so many others.

Reflection

I miss my old writing style. Well, not that it ever went away, but it clearly evolved in this thread. Previously my drabbles were more of short stories, snippets, or scenes. Now they're more of me babbling with no facade or pretense. They are more honest, but it takes away the subtlety. There's is no longer the question of which character portrays her or do they even portray her at all. It is simply me--all laid out for the world to see.

I have found that I simply no longer have the time to construct these subtleties and lies. It scares me because it makes me wonder if it makes for that much less of an interesting person. Yes, to be twisted to be interesting is hardly something to aspire to, but it is who I am.

But I don't have time to lie anymore. I don't have time to twist and weave these stories. All I do is work and work, and it feels as if I shall forever slave away in this manner. I now understand what they meant when they said creativity would be sucked out of us. It is not truly creativity--they do not take the mind--they take everything else.

RANDOM

And I end the day ready to fall into bed and fall apart.

I thought things were getting better. What happened? It feels like I've built nothing--done nothing. I have barely survived. And why is it that I've tried and been mistaken so often lately? And why do these mistakes suddenly matter so much to me?

That's the problem. The reason why I could survive last year and can't cope this one. I feel again. That was what I did back in high school. Oh, I'm not saying I don't run without the basic emotions, but there was this inside part of me that could never be touched because I just didn't care. However, I've found that one can't produce amazing without caring. Amazing is homework. I've found myself inspired to care.

However, now that I do, I can't just brush things off. I feel them. And I care.

...but I like being able to care.

Caring is important, but at some point, we all need to understand that it is not something worth caring about anymore. But yes since being back, it has been like that with me more and more.

As of now, I am scrapping my old drabble list, since I never really followed it anywho. There's a new one on the front page. Hopefully, this list will turn out more polished pieces.

...ready, set, go!

you stole my drabble topics. reguardless of you writing them, they were for me!

83. Stuck in my head

It's not just a song; it's not simply a lyric repeated; it's more than a melody. Yes, the tune is mesmerizing. I hum it as I walk back from the train station. I find myself thinking about it when I have nothing to else to think about. When my mind is empty it floats out of the ether and overtakes me. I do not resist because I do not mind it so much.

It's not quite an obsession. You see, I never meant to think so often of it. I never meant to think so often of the minor fall or the major lift; I never meant to think so often about the tone of your voice; I never meant to think so often of the angle of your face; I never meant to think so often of the way the red and blue stage lights play upon your skin.

But you are like a song. Your melody enchants and disarms. It enraptures and haunts. It won't leave me be.

You're stuck in my head.

@d2hiriyuu
I did not steal them from you. I wrote them while thinking of you for only certain topics. I thought of myself for others. Therefore, they are mine. Hah. xD

13. Locket

Let me lock you away in my heart--my cold metal heart. There is a clasp that can only be undone by a key. That key is long gone. Let me lock you away there.

Don't you want to stay? Stay close to me. Hang around my neck and be nestled close to my heart. Only I can see you. The world will not know of you until my heart is broken and laid open for all to see. You will be mine and mine alone.

Come, come. Let me put you in my locket.

77. Learning to Fall

Oh failure! How you all lament about me! You pour out your sympathy and pity upon me when you do not realize what I am doing.

You would like my life to be in the spot light, glamorous, and fulfilled. You want me to be happy. You are afraid of me falling and never getting back up.

What you do not realize is that things go wrong. Contrary to your beliefs, I do have high points in my life. You simply never see many of them--or perhaps it is that you see so much more of me that they seem few and far between.

But you don't know the important part. Do not worry. For as surely as I will learn to fly, I must learn to fall. The greatest fighters learn this first. They can learn to thrust and parry, but if one cannot fall without crashing completely, he won't be able to get back up. And so if I throw the greatest punch but get knocked down immediately after, it wouldn't matter.

What am I doing, you ask me. I'm learning to fall. Don't worry about me.

29. Half in love

"But aren't you even curious?"

"Oh, I am half in love with you, Damien. Do not tempt me!" Chi exclaimed in a tone that Damien didn't know to take as sarcastic or serious. From Chi's nature he would assume sarcasm. However, from the look on her face, he figured serious. She looked as if she were about to fall apart at her seams. She looked like she wanted to hit him or fling herself into his arms and cry. If something didn't give, she would.

And so Damien decided to simply clarify things. "You are?"

Chi exhaled a great breath as if she had been holding it in ever since she met him. "Yes. Half in love and half mad. I do not know why."

"So what about the other half?"

She whirled upon him. "The other half," she hissed vehemently, "is wondering why I put up to you when you cause me trouble to no end."

"Oh, yes, that would make sense..." Damien said quietly.

Chi glared at him and stalked away to seethe farther away from him. Damien watched her with a strange expression in his eyes. He watched her shoulders slowly, slowly untense. He listened to her ragged breathing slow. It was a long time before he spoke.

"But isn't love all or nothing? From what I understand, it's a leap. You can't take half a leap. Doing so is just pretending. You either hate me utterly or are head over heels in denial."

"Don't do this to me, Damien." Her voice was but a whisper and his answer was no louder but a softly spoken in her ear. She jumped. She hadn't noticed him come up behind her.

"I'm not the one who's doing this. Think about it, Chi."

And with those words, she felt him slipping away like a ghost. She longed to call him back but couldn't. She was still only half in love with him.

It is the emotion when I hear the chords of a guitar. It is the feeling when the notes from the piano. It is what gets me when a particularly good looking stranger catches my eye.

There is so much potential there but not enough. I am half in love with he whom plays the pretty song. The song makes me feel as if I'm in love when I'm not. But it it so beautiful that I wish I were. I can't help it. I seem to always almost fall for him whom makes sweet melodies or paints a pretty picture.

I cannot fall in love again with Art for I am already hers. Instead, I see her chosen one. I see he whom she has gifted so wonderfully, and perhaps through him I can love her.

33. Connotations

What do you mean by your words? Were they simply ill chosen or a carefully chosen selection? Stranger, I do not know you. I cannot say if you are in love with subtlety or simply blunt with no tact.

If we were from an era not so long ago, words would have meant more. However, we live in present day where words are careless. One doesn't think about what he says, and so the listener simply gives the speaker the benefit of he doubt. We aren't supposed to think twice about the connotations.

But then there are the rarities. There are those misplaced Romantics from an age ago. There are those over analyzers that always exist. There are those that take things too seriously and play the word game.

It is an art--this subtlety.

46. First things first

"First things first, my dear. We need to talk."

"But wouldn't you rather jump to the part where everything is solved and we make up?" she offered hopefully.

He shot her a withering look. She sighed, and her hopeful air deflated. "Fine, talk away." She waved him on with her hand.

"We need to define what it is between you and I," he began.

"Tosh! What's there to know? You find me fascinatin'." She grinned at him wickedly.

"Be serious, woman." His voice was deadpan. He stared at her darkly, and she defiantly glared right back. The tension stretched in the air and seemed to go on forever. He thought of many things while he stared into her beautiful but cold eyes. In his peripheral, he could see her lips--how beautifully shaped they were--how they were slightly parted as if waiting to be kissed.

And then the mood was broken by the high pitched beeping of a cell phone. He sighed as she broke the gaze to fiddle around with her purse. She never once glanced up at him as she read the message and informed him she would have to go.

He didn't answer her but simply stood there when she nonchalantly walked up to him and kissed him full on the mouth. She smiled at him and left.

He wiped his mouth and sighed. "So much for first things first."

32. Soft hearted

Miss Veres chatted with the gentlemen. One of the gentlemen made a joke and she laughed charmingly. She smiled and leaned closer to listen, but was careful to only go so far as the very limit of proper.

The gentlemen loved Miss Veres. The ladies adored her as well. She was sweet, and all found her to be kind.

Sellah used to be of the same opinion. When she had first met Miss Veres something had felt wrong about her. However, she decided that she had perhaps overreacted and analysied the woman with a prejudice. She didn't mention the strange vibe to anyone after Missy had put her off.

But then there was the bird. A baby bird had fallen from its nest and had been injured beyond repair. The crowd of ladies all gasped and cried. All had to be ushered away by the gentlemen whom hushed the soft hearted girls. But Miss Vertes didn't cry or gasp. Her eyes were strangely calm and her voice level when she spoke.

"It is dead to us now, and even then only a bird. What have you to cry about?"

The man on her arm shushed her and muttered something about the poor dear being in shock, but Sellah's gaze never left Miss Vertes with her cold, cold look. For all the talk of her being a sweet, gentle lady, she certainly seemed to not be so soft hearted.

94. Eyes

They say that eyes are the window to the soul. They say that your true intentions can be unveiled in your eyes. Your facial expression can be carefully trained with the muscles schooled to betray nothing. However, it's the eyes that tell. Smiles don't always reach the eyes. That is something that they cannot train.

"Look into my eyes," they demand, as if they can see the truth there. And somehow, you betray yourself, saying everything with your eyes that you could not in words.

You don't mean to. Or perhaps you do. Perhaps you want to be found innocent there. The evidence in your eyes is clear, but many dismiss it, saying that the eyes are unreliable. It's an emotion, a feeling, and nothing else.

But oh, many things lie hidden in the eyes.