My Sundown

Just listened to this Jimmy Eat World song for the first time, and it really hit hard. Really, really beautiful.

I see it around me
I see it in everything
I could be so much
More than this
I said my goodbye's
This is my sundown
I'm gonna be so much
More than this
With one hand high
You'll show them your progress
You'll take your time
But no one cares
No one cares
I need you to show me
The way from crazy
I wanna be so much
More than this
With one hand high
You'll show them your progress
You'll take your time
But no one cares
With one hand high
You'll show them your progress
You'll take your time
But no one cares
No one cares
I could be so much
More than this
No one cares
I wanna be so much
More than this
No one cares
I could be so much
More than this
No one cares
I wanna be so much
More than this
No one cares
I wanna be so much
More than this
No one cares
I wanna be so much
More than this
Good goodbye lovely time
Good goodbye tinsel shine
Good goodbye
I'll be fine
Good goodbye
Good goodnight

best friends mean...

I can't say that I have ever liked change. In fact, I've always hated it, a lot. I have to remind myself every single day, hey things can never stay how they used to be. You always said nothing would ever change. You always acted like it'd be the same forever. I actually thought I'd be the one to change and not you.
Does it hurt?
Yeah. It really does.
I've tried everything in my power to change too. I've tried to accept it. I've bent over backwards to please you. I've tried everything to make it go back.
I get shot down every single time though.
I guess that really proves what I thought all those months ago. That the thing that made us so much stronger, really was just what held us in that spot that we were.
Is it my fault?
I've always been the person to blame myself, so I can't help but think it was me that caused you to be this way. Be so short. Be so sharp. Be so changed.

I wish it was the way it was. I wish you could act like you do to everyone else.

Where'd I go wrong?

Well I know you like I know my family. I know you're gonna get mad at me for even writing this. You're mad I even think this.

Well can't you see?
Can't you see that its all changed?

I wish I could even be mad.

Maybe one day you'll see. One day it'll all be gone, and I hope you'll miss what was like I do.

Well I hope you can hear this. This plea for what once was. This plea for acceptance in the secret club. I'm sorry for what I did, I hope you know. I hope you know I stopped remembering what I apologize for.

Well I hope you can hear this.
Well if you were listening you would know. But I guess you never did want to do that now did you?

Just tell me when this change is over, because I don't like it anymore.

Music is my Love Song

Music is my Love Song

Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues (The Beach Boys)

For an entire summer I did not step out of my room except for meals, bathroom visits, and the occasional outing with my mom the grocery store. It is not that I was sick or held a hatred for the outside world. It was simply that within the four walls of my bedroom was a constant stream of sound that I could not live without. The outside world was blocked out by an intense volume coming from a small simple boom box. CD cases covered the floor of my bedroom and were scattered all around the boom box on my dresser. I would lie in bed and analyze the word coming out of the singer’s mouth, wondering who the songs were about and how I could relate the lyrics to my own life. It was the invention of the CD burner for computers that let me create a new sound everyday for my 24/7-commericial free-radio in my bedroom. “You’re going to go deaf,” my mother would say when she could hear the music clearly, blaring through my headphones during car rides. Music cannot make you deaf, I’d think. Music makes everything else clearer.

It was clear to me that summer that the intensity I was listening to music was having a strong impact on my emotions. Listening to lyrics such as, “Coming straight from off the water/ Sunburned face and drunken father/ Crying as she's carving in her flesh,” would make you think of horrible things as well. However, there was something in those words that inspired me. I was enjoying life, by being extremely depressed and upset with myself for no apparent reason. I would listen to breakup songs despite the fact that I had never even been in a relationship before. It was as if I wanted to be loved just to be let down. High school can be a hard time for anyone, but probably more so if you are forcing yourself into depression and sunshine deprivation.

August Rush: I believe in music the way some people believe in fairytales.

“Mom I can’t see,” I whined as we took our seats in the last row of the theatre. I was dressed up in a ridiculous flower patterned dress, with white stockings, and a suffocating coat. As a little girl I was quite the complainer and refused to see the positive in any kind of situation. My mother led me to my seat, which was directly behind a tall man.

“Broadway musicals are not about what you can see, it’s about what you can hear,” She was not scolding me; she was merely stating a fact to me. The fact that anyone could listen to the soundtrack of a musical and be told the entire story of the play was pure magic to me. I closed my eyes and listened to the von Trapp family sing to each other. I couldn’t see their silly Austrian outfits, but I could imagine the way they looked at each other, and I could picture myself hiding away from Nazis with them. I thought of how glamorous it would be to be 16 going on 17, and in love with a young soldier.

The music filling my ears inspired a strong desire to be something bigger. I was a young sheltered girl wanting to travel and see the world, to experience new things, to hear new things. I wanted to write stories, love stories, sad stories, and poems, based off of the music that filled my brain. I wanted people to sing my songs. My little world had a new a goal, new meanings. It was more than seeing, it was hearing.

Music is an incredibly powerful form of expression. It combines both words and sound to deliver a message. Certain songs that one hears on the radio can trigger specific memories in one's mind. There is no doubt; there is a strong connection between music and our feelings.-Dr. Matthew J. Bush (Psychologist)

In 1999 after the Columbine shootings, educators, parents, and the media put the blame on musicians like Marilyn Manson. They claimed that Manson’s music was hateful and inspired the teenage shooters to murder their fellow classmates. Manson said in the movie “Bowling for Columbine”, that he was not the cause of their actions because they perceived his music the wrong way, “When I was a kid growing up, music was the escape. That's the only thing that had no judgments. You know, you put on a record, and it's not going to yell at you for dressing the way you do. It’s going to make you feel better about it.”

The truth of the matter is that music affects us all differently. Where simple lyrics can change somebody’s life, they may mean nothing to the person sitting next to them. It is how we take the music in, what going on in our lives, what we are looking for through the music.

***

I've come to Your throne here so cold and alone
I'm calling on Your name
I lift my hands to the sky open wide and I cry Lord take me away
Take this heavy heart and this weary soul and set them free
Remove myself till there's nothing left but You alone in me (Casting Pearls)

My mother used to tell me that when I was little I used to dance in the aisles of the church when different songs came on. Being from an uptight, upper-class, predominantly devout-Catholic, town of Northern New Jersey, I am sure the members of the church did not appreciate my little antics. However, years later I sat in a different church by myself listening to the cantor finding myself connecting to the church through music once again. I had been told when I was younger that singing in church was another form of prayer, but unfortunately my singing voice is treacherous and I have a feeling even God would say, “Wow, please stop.” It was a new setting for me, and I barely knew anyone, it being the second week of the semester, and me being merely a freshman in a busy college campus. I felt alone and disconnected from everyone in the school, unlike when I forced a depression upon myself, it was being forced upon me.

A girl I recognized from one of my classes took to the stage, and began a soft, simple, yet beautiful song, “My voice is weak from calling to You both night and day. / How long will You be silent? / Why do You turn away? / Spirit, come and rest Your ear upon my heart; / Come and hear my wordless prayer, my silent plea and take them far away from me.” My heart was throbbing and the small church was dead silent, all listening. I looked up to the cross above the alter and began to feel a connection to myself and the faith that I had wanted for years. I looked down at my crossed arms, rolled up my sleeves and saw faded scars that had once possessed me so. I watched the girl sing so beautifully and looked down at my past every so often, tracing the lines with my fingertips with sighs of regret, and wishing that God had taken better care of me during that time.

I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness.-Jamie Tworkowski (Writer and founder of To Write Love on Her Arms)

There seemed to be a smile stapled onto my face, and would not go away. Adrenaline was surging through my body, like I had just run a 5K, or skydived. My voice was perpetually gone, but somehow I felt like I was still screaming. I couldn’t hear people chatting as we all were trying to shuffle out of the small venue. I could care less about their chatter. I had somehow, just managed to be right in the front to see my favorite band play. Did that just happen? Did I seriously get Jon Foreman’s sweat on me? And did I really not bring a camera to this at all?

Those are all true, even the last one, sadly. Of course my mom was right once again as we were leaving, that I should have brought something. I ran outside and my mom was outside the venue waiting for me. Yes I got ditched and had to bring my mom to the concert. No that is not lame. When I finally reached the Philly air, it was pouring and Mom was pulling her hood up. I ran into her arms like I had just won the world cup for my little league soccer team. “OH MY GOD! DID YOU SEE THAT?” She was laughing the entire time as she walked back to the car, with me at her side jumping and screaming to best of my ability. “When he came down to the audience? I WAS RIGHT THERE MOM!!!!”

She laughed at me some more and just said, “I know I saw you right up there in the back. I got into the car and did not want to stop jumping up and down and dancing. At one point she looked over at me, “I was surprised you weren’t going to get deaf that close to the speakers.” I heard every other word; the rest was just a piercing ringing sound that would pass in a day or so.

I laughed to myself, not about to put my headphones on for this car ride, still taking in every single aspect of the night. I looked over at her, still with a huge smile, “Yeah, well at least it’d be worth it.”

Beginning of the End

This is the beginning to a whole story...it's kind of like the prologue to what I hope to make a pretty long story...who knows if that ever works out.
-----------------------------------------------
Nineteen is far too young for someone to be in this condition, Dan found himself repeatedly thinking to himself. He sat in the waiting room, cold. These places are so cold and depressing, was another thought that ran through his head, I mean do they even want you to have a glimmer of happiness? He was going on roughly forty-five minutes of sleep withing the past forty-eight hours, and it showed. He had left his chair twice within those hours, both times to use the restroom. He was on a first-name basis with two of the nurses and had already memorized every single poster in the room. By now he had learned from various magazines the proper Heimlich maneuver techniques, the importance of CPR, Britney Spears' latest escapades, and that Jesus Christ resurrected himself in the form of a baby named Stanley. Dan read until his eyes began to burn and tear and he was not sure if he was really crying or not.

On both bathroom trips he refused to look into his own eyes and see what exactly his restlessness over the past two days had made him look like. He could tell from the questioning looks of the nurses, and the different mother's pulling their children away from his general direction, that his appearance must not be very good at all. His dirty blond hair was disheveled from the numerous amount of times he ran his fingers through it because of stress. His bloodshot green eyes would remind people of Christmas, they were that vibrant. He had the slightest bit of scruff from not shaving in a week. Add in paleness, chapped lips, bobbing off to sleep on a few random occasions, and the average person would think that Dan should be a patient instead of a visitor.

His eye lids were weighing down, his head was pounding like a drum, and he was not sure if he could last another hour. Dan began to stare off into the distance, finding himself in another place, another time. He heard a laugh, unmistakable, he felt arms around his neck, he could not help but smile, and in the distance it was a whisper Dan...He knew that voice anywhere, he smiled more, because he knew his name was being said with a smile. The arms around his neck were on his shoulder and shaking harder and harder, and his name was no longer being said with a whisper and a smile, "Dan!!" He blinked and the tears from keeping his eyes open from that long. "Are you okay? Do you need help?" He looked next to him and saw another tired face, another man going on no sleep, but without even looking at himself, Dan knew the other man looked better than he did.
"Hey..." He rubbed his eyes to wake himself up even more.
"You alright, you weren't even answering for five minutes," Ryan still had his hand on Dan's shoulder . Ryan had short dark black hair, that was sticking up in all sort of directions at this point. His piercing green eyes were staring Dan down in a worrisome look.
"Yeah man, I'm just fine," Dan moved back forcing Ryan to take his hand off of him. Dan sighed a little as he rubbed his eyes once more. "Have you heard anything yet?" Ryan shook his head and sighed as well, leaning back in his seat.
"I talked to one of the nurses and she said the doctors are going to get back to us within the hour," Ryan wasn't looking at Dan, just off into a daze like Dan had just been a few minutes ago. When Ryan finally looked back at Dan he saw that he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. "Go on home, take a nap and relax," He put his hand back on Dan's shoulder but Dan just moved it off.
"I just need some fresh air," Dan sat up and found himself wobbling a little and the room spinning. Ryan jumped up to help but Dan put a hand up, "I just need air, that's all."

The air immediately outside the hospital automatic doors hit Dan like a brick to the face. It was cold, but he was already so numb that he did not regret not bringing his jacket outside. The wind to his face made his eyes tear even more, but it was clearing them out as well so he didn't mind the least bit. The New York City winter air was refreshing compared to the bleak inside of the hospital. He was taking deep breaths just so he could see his own breath in the night sky. He loved this city with all his heart, he loved looking up on clear nights being able to catch a glimpse at some stars, right above the towering buildings. However, he always hated how small he could feel with just one look at his surroundings. Just by walking down a street he could go from feeling on top of the world, to realizing he was completely insignificant in this world. That feeling usually haunted him on normal nights, but tonight was not normal. It was a night where he did not want to feel insignificant to anyone, he wanted the world to know his problems and make them go away. He did not want this pain anymore, and he wanted all of New York City to know. It's not fair, ran through his head over and over again and nothing was changing his mind. It's not fair. It's not fair.

Dan walked off the property of the hospital to the end of their driveway to a busy city street. New Yorkers were passing by indifferent to the world around them. That's how he usually was, but he wanted to grab them and beg them to listen to him. He wanted to be cared for by one of them, anybody. He was normally not like this, he did not like this desperation and wanted it to go away. He normally was not this whiny about his life, he never would have if it weren't for one event to change it all. He found himself leaning against a wall of the outside of the hospital looking at the people passing him by, eventually sitting on the cold cement. He heard bells and a group a little ways down the block singing some Christmas songs, and a soft smile crept to his face. People were looking into the windows of shops and all bundled up in coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. Then there was him sitting in jeans and white, worn in t-shirt. He breathed in the fresh December air as he closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall. He looked up and there he saw it, a tiny, white, flurry.
Seeing that little white spec made him smile even bigger. He looked down the street and saw a little girl pulling on her fathers coat and pointing up to the flurries in the light. People found themselves smiling and looking up at the street lights to see the flurries, in more abundance now, come down. An entire city block united for a whole five minutes before an ambulance raced into the hospitals drive way to interrupt the entire joyous moment. His white shirt was flashing red and blue as he gazed down at his hands, but when he looked back up he saw something caught his eye.
A man was helping a woman out of a cab across the street. He was holding her hand and after she climbed her way out of the car he kissed her cheek. She smiled back at him and took his hand in hers and off they went. Dan's smile was wiped off his face and he looked down at his own hands. You're such a gentleman. He heard the same laugh that he heard in the hospital, echoing through his brain. He heard the whisper of his name again, and he looked back over at the ambulance, as a young girl was being taken out of the ambulance. He swallowed hard wondering if her eyes were open and she could see the snow falling, and if she could, if it made her smile, if it gave her more hope to be strong.
He wasn't as numb anymore and began to get extremely cold. The couple he was looking at across the street were already half way down the street, out of sight. He looked back up at the towering buildings, the feeling of insignificance overcoming him once again. Nineteen is far too young for someone to be in this condition. He closed his eyes and let the snow hit his face, the cold hitting him harder and harder with every snowflake. Nineteen is far too young for someone to be in this condition. He was so consumed with his own repetitive thoughts that he didn't feel the warm tear roll down his face. He looked back at the hospital automatic doors and felt helpless and insignificant again. Nineteen is far too young for someone to be in this condition. He saw the snow fall through the lights and all he wanted was a different snowy day, any day but tonight would be better. Nineteen is far too young for someone to be in this condition.

I wish I even could have something to lose...

God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'
In that instant it started to pour,
Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name...

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
Now you're outside me
You see all the beauty
Repent all your sin

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose
I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose
I'll write you a postcard
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love...

Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...
Live through this, and you won't look back...

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you
I'm not sorry it's over
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save...

The Things I Wish For:

The Things I wish For:

Live concerts.
Endless talks about nothing.
Staying in bed all morning long
Day dreaming the day away.
Holding a hand
At the end of a rough day.
Pages and pages of books.
Words to write
With worlds to escape to.
Freshly copied paper
Warm to my skin.
Love so strong
It never fades.
Pictures. Memories. Dreams.

the nonboyfriend

I’ve been singing you a song in my dreams,
You don’t know it’s for you yet but I wish you could.
Then you’d let me know if this is how I should feel,
Or whether or not this is even real.

See there’s this someone who graces my dreams,
There’s this someone who makes me feel
Me feel unlike any other.
But he’s not here tonight.

It’s kind of sad to admit it,
But the truth is he doesn’t even exist.
I’ve met him once or twice
In a recurring dream,
That comes to me every once in awhile.

See there’s this someone who graces my dreams,
There’s this someone who makes me feel
Me feel unlike any other.
But he’s not here tonight.

So I’ll keep singing you this song,
Wondering when you’ll hear
And you’ll hear and find your way to me.
If only this was the dream that came true.
If only the truth was fake and you were real.
But for now I’ll sing you this song…

Writer

My pen hit the paper and it glides across as if it were Michelle Kwan on the ice. I squeeze the pen harder and am so excited to get the words down that I think I'm skipping entire sentences. I don't remember the last time I made sense, but the excitement is building too much in me that I don't have time to reread. It doesn't matter though, because to me this ink splattered page makes sense. These are my emotion coming from places deep within. I like how it feels after I take it all out on a small, red, leather bound book. It's as if I just vented to friend for an hour, a very small friend, who can't talk back. My hand cramps up, my fingers ache like they were punching something. I travel to new worlds, and I like, with everything that's lived in my brain since I was five. There's everything here from romance and rebellion, to countries whose names I've only read on maps in the back of History class. This is my world, my place to vent, this is where I go when I just want to escape. My wrist aches as I let go of the pen, and my fingers feel as if they were growing callouses like I was climbing up a mountain or something. I hear two large cracks from my hands as I push them together, and I smile. I feel refreshed, content, and renewed as I look down. I don't read, just close the little book and put my own little universe back in it's home, hidden away from the rest of the world, the real world.

Acoustic Hot Days

So maybe I’ve got a lot to learn
Or maybe I’m just hanging on my words
Or maybe it’s not a big concern
But if I raised my hand
Would I understand why I’m better with you?

So maybe there’s not a lot to say
Or maybe I’m wrong doing things my way
Or maybe things will be okay
If I get it together
And do something clever
But make it better with you


So tell me where did I go wrong before you
Before you came along
Well, it seems like I was lost
You showed me how to do things right
Now I’m so glad that now you’re mine

So let me say it all again…

So maybe there’s not a lot to do
Or maybe I’m just making myself confused
Or maybe I’ve got nothing to lose
But if I get out of line,
Just tell me you’re mine,
And how I’m better with you


So use me, don’t let me screw it up
I believe you and I need your touch
Just a little spice of you
Could never be too much
I believe you and I need you now
To make it better some how
You make it better some how

discontent.

I love how I can be cranky about virtually anything, really. That's such a great talent to have...not.

I feel like I'm justified in this though.
It amazes how much people take others for granted. One day I'm practically dying, and you know...NEWSFLASH. That shock and fear does not wear off. I know this is selfish, but I thought after that whole almost dying thing people would maybe respect you more, not take you for granted...or hey even remember you're still there.
Instead I get like a few minutes of "Ah I'm so happy you're still alive" and then just over the fact that I was almost dead! Why do people have to be so "oh yeah...but I just don't want to spend time with you anyway"

I know this is all extremely selfish, and I really need to work on that, but I'm frustrated and I can't help it. Maybe I just wish I got over everything as fast as others can.

Skull Cap Boys

Taken from my journal today:

Well, I'm at this hippie festival at Bergen Community College- Teen Arts. Of course, right now I'm being exclusive because I think I'm cool like that. Enjoying the first day of June, beautiful day, being anti-social under a tree to keep cool in the grass. A tree which attracts these annoying little light green bugs whom, when you squish them, spurt out yellow goo. Because you really needed to know that.
A few hours ago I was not alone. I was with a group of random friends who decided they wanted to check out the Afro Peruvian Percussion seminar (which was awesome) because it sounded cool. So off we went to the cafeteria where there was a group of about 20 already starting. The guy running it all was a nice humble man who can play a bad ass congo. I scanned the room and there he was. Black skull cap, long hair spilling out from underneath, and a somewhat beard all on his jawline. I was in love. Of course it was obvious that I was staring at him, but we locked eyes about 5 times for more than just a second. Is he interested? Do I look okay today? My breath smells. This same exact process happens every time I see a cute guy, or hope to see a cute guy. It's really pathetic actually.

I separated myself from the group, which I always tend to do and I'm not positive whether that has to do with me just wanting to be alone, or wanting attention. Anyway, once I noticed that Skull Cap Boy left, I left a little bit after that. I found myself under this tree with the gooey bugs. In the 90 degree humid weather, it feels about 20 degrees cooler under this tree. I wrapped myself in Tara Leigh Cobble's book, "Here's to Hindsight". Throughout the pages she discusses her personal struggle to fit in with everyone and her desire to be "cool". Naturally, I was relating to this. This was me in a nutshell, exclusive and all. I was dying someone to notice me at that moment.
I could feel a presence by me and I almost hoped it was Jesus just to say "Hey you don't need to be noticed!". So I looked up and, shocker, it wasn't JC. It was Skull Cap Boy! I'm pretty sure I turned 5 shades of red and my smile was bigger than a little kid's on Christmas. "Hey I saw you at the drum thing right?"
"Yeah!" The irony of someone, especially him, noticing me at this moment was just too much to handle.
"Do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar!" Ah yes I'm that girl in your dreams. Marry me?
"Oh...yeah...I don't think so," It came out with more nervous laughter than I ever would intend. He took his skull cap off, as if I could recognize him better. His hair was dark brown and extremely curly.
"Ryan from Park Ridge?" He asked running a hand through his hair. His friend to the left of him, a cute hippie girl, stood back with a smile.
"I have one of the familiar faces," I said with a shrug and a smile. He was cute with his facial hair and gorgeous eyes, and his skateboard tucked under his arm.
"Maybe that's it, or I saw you at a show once," Marry me...He gave a little wave and smiled, walked back to the cement, and skated away.

So here I sit, under my shady trade, with the yellow goo bugs, and a big goofy smile on my face. In a way JC did tell me "Hey you don't need to be noticed, by any of these stupid cool kids," Ryan from Park Ridge was already all over that.

depressing

so i was in a good mood all day. bad news came. then i read my stupid friends bulletin and i'm bawling

"so, i was taking a shower early this morning and i had been thinking of the last time i saw joey....it made me think of how many other women have been in my position and how most people can not relate....
here it is...my words, my heart, my greatest loss. it may be jumbled but this is rawness.


it was the night i found out he had re-enlisted to the army after being in already for 3 years. he was almost done. i looked at him and asked him if he knew how hard it was for the "wives" of military men to watch them walk out the door. he replied with "baby, i know but i'll be back."
its not that simple.
we, as the women, know that there is a greater chance that when he leaves for work, he wont come back. he isnt just gone a few hours a day. its months at a time where we lie in bed praying for just another morning and another night for his life to keep on going. each person endures risk of fatality just walking out the door and anyone can die at any given moment, but when its like this....
....its just not the same.
we cherish the 10 minute phone calls we get maybe once a week from over seas. we weep every night as we clutch his latest letter to our heart. his picture beside the bed, we look to him every night and say sweet dreams, because somehow we know, wherever he is stationed....he would do the exact same thing.
tomorrow is never a guarantee.

anyway, as i hugged him and kissed him before he turned to leave, i knew in my heart that i would never see him again. a little less than a year from this night we were to be married. i held him and said "im proud of you for fighting for me and the rest of this country."
and then a grown man cried.
he always said he felt this is what he needed to do.
i never quite understood.
but he wasnt fighting just to fight. he was fighting for my future and our kid's future.

so many wives get to curl up with their husbands every night. they fight over stupid things, but in the end....they have him. right there. in front of their faces.
i have a picture.
so many people take for granted what they have. so many people complain about their jobs and how tired they are. i tell them to try and walk a mile in a military man's shoes. these men leave behind their whole lives to fight for you and me. they barely sleep. they havent had a home cooked meal in forever. and yet, something keeps them going.

i knew one day that phone call might come.
but when it came, i wasnt prepared.
joey was gone.
every night i look up at the sky and wonder where he is that moment, if he's watching me. i mean, i know he is. but i just hope he knows, i wasn't really mad at him for re-enlisting. yeah, it changed my life upsdie down and he isnt here anymore....
....but it helped me realize that life and the people we love should not be taken for granted.
ever.

my whole heart broke.
its been a long time picking up the pieces.

july is almost here.
i wont be married....

but this is the life of being a military "wife"


i will marry one day and have children, and i will let them know about a hero that once lived.

this is what these men are,
heroes.
nothing more.
nothing less.




~rest in peace~"


i hate crying

the sad boy.

Doctor's offices always suck. They especially suck when they keep on telling you you're dying, pretty sweet. I saw a little kid the other day with cancer in a doctor's office, and the keep telling him he's dying. Of course, they don't really tell him that. They say things like "You're really sick buddy." or "You just keep staying strong". But, I think, he knows. I think this, because he's always scared. He sees the way his mom always cries after going to the doctor. The way people keep treating him differently. He can tell somethings wrong, and just by seeing his scared little face, I can tell he knows its him.
So hearing going to the doctor for him must really suck.
Blue probably used to be one of his favorite colors, ever little boy is forced into liking blue since their born, but the doctor's office is blue, so I bet he doesn't like it that much anymore. In the waiting room they have really nice chairs, but he looks really uncomfortable in them. The trucks are all lined up for him to play with and crash crash crash into each other, but his mom looks unhappy and he knows the noise might make her not smile. So he sits there, looking all around at all the big people, and he's scared. All the big people are looking at him too, but they know what's wrong, they feel bad for him, they want to cry for him.
And all he wants to do is for everyone to smile, and for him not to be scared anymore.
He can't do that though, because the nurse is about to say his name, and give that fake happy "you'll be just fine" smile, and he gets that everytime, and now he knows that he obviously won't be "just fine".

more smiles

my day started with a "high five!" as i had just avoided a cop pulling me over on a road that is 25 that i usually do 40. i don't know why i got so excited, but i just was. it's amazing how one little thing can get someone excited. it's like when i'm at work, going through the monotony of my day and there comes this old lady. she's quiet and polite, but when she gets the exact change or receives a coupon, this smile illuminates her face, and i can't help but smile to see how such a little thing, 50 cents in change can bring a smile to someone, who can no longer do the crazy things that some teenagers insist is the only way they can be happy.
then of course there's the little two year old who gets so happy by pushing the green button to allow their parents credit cards to process through the EFT machine. or the baby who gets to hold a little carton of gold fish, and that's what keeps them happy.
and then I look around myself, and it's so hard to find the happiness in the little things, or how I take for granted my life, and get upset over everything. maybe i should reverse my own standard, my own stupidity. get excited of the regular ordinary things/everything and get upset over practically nothing.
maybe if everyone did that there'd be more smiles in this world, and less bitter hatred towards teachers or things we can't control.


the example of a pleasant existence, a humble existence with nothing to prove, with no agenda but to exist with a smile throughout the week.-Zach Gehring

when writing meets the devil

So I'm in writer's workshop class and there's this teacher. She needs to know everything. I'm at this laptop, trying to write something, and BAM there she is hovering over my shoulder. We're supposed to have three things done by next Friday and it's a litle hard when she's hovering over my damn shoulder asking "who is the boy you're referring to there?" "what's that site you're on?" "how is your family doing after your cousin died?"
She believes in expressing yourself, and be inspired by everything. I get inspired by music, yet I can't listen to music in this class. She jots notes down and wants to know what we're doing and, I suppose, that's her job. Keep us all in line, know what we're doing. But isn't this class supposed to be expressing our thoughts in writing? I don't think my thoughts are the same ones as a 15 year old jack ass who is obsessed with politics and buffalo chicken wraps made by 80 year old cafeteria ladies.
That's what she wants.
And she likes talkingabout our feelings on depressing topics.
Take the VA Tech shooting:
She wanted to make us watch the gunman's confession on the computer. Maybe she doesn't realize that not all of us want to watch the depression with random people I barely know, and quite frankly don't want to share my opinions with 2 jocks, 1 hippy, 1 dumbass blonde, 3 freshman, 1 girl who wants to be popular, and 1 girl I can actually stand. A group that cares less about the fact 33 people died. Or the fact that the world does not revolve around lunch food, NCAA, or Geo-Physics.
Cool.

I'm not even in a bad mood. The class I used to stand is what is making my day just get a lot of angered fulled.
Oh and now she spies on our facebooks and shit. SWEET.

( )

Take my hand and let us travel away
Away from the spinning images that haunt
Haunt our dreams and sleepless nights
Nights I would rather be in your arms
Arms so strong they suffocate my my lungs
Lungs burning with desire and passion
Passion to be someone else and achieve more
More out there than this ordinary life
Life becomes harder than I thought
Thoughts of futures and pasts
Pasts become my present dreams
Dreams of you and me together
Together where we're safe
Safe from those that I could never trust
Trust in you to take
Take me away from this life...into the next

love & happiness & god

it is better to have loved and lossed than never have loved at all.

an age old saying that i can't bring myself to agree with at this certain time. i used to believe it. i used to believe in everything: the power of laughter, god, friendship, and of course...love. i suppose it's the cynic in me that drove everything i have ever cared about down into this sinking hole. this world where nothing is real and nothing lasts. the optimist in me used to believe in doing anything that meant having fun. suddenly, as i look at the shootings at VA tech and death all around me...i see fun isn't the only thing. appreciating, and understanding play a big fact in all of that. the cynic in me is having a hard time with the fun part when all i can see is bitter unhappiness in everyone i am around.
i used to love god. saying that feels odd now. do i love Him? or do i even believe in Him? or does just believing someones out there = understanding. or me even questioning His existence does that = hate. or does that mean i'm just lost...trying to find myself back to the naive 10 year old me who believed in everything, laughed for hours, and had fun...because fun was all that matters.
the days where depression was cool came and swept that 10 year old away. then, she came back, and life was good.
but...as i said before, nothing really lasts does it?

so now here i am wondering whether god exists, whether love exists, whether fun can bring happiness or understanding does it. and it's kinda weird because i'm entering college in a matter of months, i'm supposed to be well educated, opionated and smart and all of that jazz...and myself at 10 years old in 5th grade was so much more smarter and wiser than me.


sucks.