I’ll wait for you.

Specifically, a piano music day, because piano music doesn’t drown out the sound of the rain outside.

When bad things happen, I wonder what it is about music that distract me just enough for me to remain grounded. Otherwise, I might just float up and away. I’d lose myself again, even though I feel as if I’ve finally learned how to survive.

Not matter how hard I try to keep my cool, something has to happen to make me doubt myself again. It sucks. How bad is my self-control that I can’t even keep a grip on my emotions. I always thought I knew myself the best. Not just because it’s me, but because I could actually remain honest with myself, through thick and thin. I’d detach myself from emotions, inspect myself from a layer just beneath my skin. Still inside, still close enough to judge truthfully, but far enough to not hear the beating of my heart. Or something.

But then these things happen to throw everything out the window. Now everything’s piled up beneath my sill and it’s hard to reel things back in. I don’t even have the energy. I don’t have the energy to make my bed. To write something interesting. To study. I can’t even eat. I don’t want to eat. I want to just sleep, or just lie down and watch time physically move past me.

Time, just leave me behind will you? I’m trying to hold on to what I have left. Pick me up again when we reach somewhere interesting. Maybe when you know who I’m supposed to love, or when you find someone who will need me. Pick me up when you’ve found a place for me to actually belong. Sure it might not matter to you, but I’m a human being and I want to feel needed. You saw what happened. Leave me alone for now. Right now I’m feeling worthless.

I don’t know what I want from you or from myself. What I would like though, is something that will convince me I’m not the greatest idiot to ever walk this earth.

I don’t need pity. I don’t need your sympathy, or your guilt. Well, to be honest, I love it when you feel guilty. You should. I do too much for you and get nothing in return. But be a little more proactive in patching up what you’ve done. Admit you’ve done wrong and apologize implicitly. It’s not fair to say a vague apology because that’s what you think I want. I want you to know what you’ve done.

I’m waiting.

I feel like crying, but there’s no one here.

and the stars.

And when the stars began to fall like tear drops
as if they were dripping down a page
we held hands and pointed out the brightest ones to each other.

Once.

Last night, I was sitting on a wall waiting for my bus to come. It was cold and I was singing along to my song. Then a bus pulled up to the curb, with a little girl sitting in the high seat.
She looked at me, and I looked at her. And when I smiled at her, she smiled slowly, then waved at me.
I waved back and she laughed, for some reason really happy. And as her bus pulled away, she kept looking at me, and she gave me another wave to say goodbye.

It’s such a small thing, but for some reason I was inexplicably happy.

Every once in a while.

It occurred to me today, when my mother casually said “he comes home every once in a while” that perhaps I haven’t found my home yet.
My family is here so it’s a source of comfort, but my own home, my personal sanctuary, maybe it’s still out there somewhere. I find myself needing to believe that.
I’m always looking towards the future, expecting something wonderful and bright to be there. I already assume it will be there for me, so I’ve adopted the thinking that right now is just a movie. I’m just sitting back, trying to enjoy the show without disturbing anyone else, because I’m comforted by the idea that my happy ending is going to come.
As if it’s inevitable.

I think this is foolish.

I know it’s foolish, yet I can’t help it.

I’ve said it before; I’ve mentioned how terrible I am at getting into anything and how little things I’ve actually stuck to over the years. Still, no matter how much I realize I can take life into my own hands – and regardless of how many inspirational quotes I read – it’s just not going to happen.

I’m either stuck in the past – in which case, perhaps I have found my “home” – or I’m utterly, irrevocably, one hundred percent convinced that my happy ending will find me.

Maybe even if it doesn’t, I’ll still be content. I’m a content person at heart, just sad. Lonely. Tired.
They say life is something that occurs when you’re too busy making plans. That feels awfully true.

I’m making plans for a home. I’ll find someone I love, maybe have a kid, travel as much as possible. Essentially have no responsibilities because I lose interest in all jobs quickly, and die. Just like that. Is that the home I’m looking for? Sometimes I dream about my future and my heart aches with how perfect it would be. And meanwhile, life is still happening. What an inconvenient truth.

I spent this year as a ghost, and now I’m not sure where home is anymore.

I’m a voice on a phone that you rarely answer anymore
I came in here alone
Came in here alone
But that doesn’t scare me like it did seven months ago

I’m supposed to be at home now, but I find I don’t feel attached to where I am. I feel kind of lost, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not staying long. That just makes it more difficult to deal with. I’m with my family now, but I don’t feel totally at home.

And though I want to go back right now, I feel like there’s nothing waiting for me there either. I just think it’d be nice if I knew there was someone waiting for me to return.

I feel sick just thinking about it. I’m so little in anyone’s eyes, and I don’t want to be here much longer, where else is there to go? Am I running from something? I’m confused.

REM.

http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/invitation-only-rp/r-e-m/t.77255531/

“If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats.”

This, is never more true. 

Winter is the time for strawberries.

I think sometimes my mind gets carried away. Like today, for example, I was exploring again. And when I was on this one street, I stopped to take a photograph of a old woman and her cat. The cat was on this leash and the old woman was just patiently standing by while the cat sat there. I don’t know the purpose either, but that was adorable. And when I stood up to keep walking, purposelessly as usual, I fell right into step with a boy across the street.

I didn’t care at first, by I could see him from the corner of my eye.
He kept speeding up and slowing down, glancing over his shoulder for something. And that just makes me think things.

I’d like a love like that.

I start to imagine things, of a relationship that begins with a coincidence. I think the only thing I’ve learned from stories and movies is that real life will disappoint.
I can’t help it though. I’m still too enamored with the idea of a perfect relationship to even bother finding a starting one. As time goes by, I feel more and more like I’m lacking something.

Spring is the time for flowers.

My thoughts rise.

I was thinking about death recently.

Morbid? Perhaps. Inevitable? You know it.
I don’t know what it is about death that I find so romantic. It’s something too final for words, too finite and decisive for me to full wrap my head around.

At this point in time, I have plenty of miseries. There are always going to be things that I wish I could go back in time and change, and those regrets will quickly pile up as time goes on. But that’s just it. Even if I regret, there’s always going to be a voice of reason in the back of my head telling me that I do have time – that I can still make changes and make amends.

And death is the bane of that voice. How quaint. I don’t really believe in reincarnation. I’m not against the thought and I think it’d be amazing if that were true, but the voice of reason in my head at least has decided that when Jaylen dies, she’s not coming back. I would like to call myself a realist, but labels never stick well. They’re often times very definite and I’m often very vague.

I wonder if I’ll be vague in death. I love eloquence and leaving things open-ended. If this vagueness of mine will make it easy on those I leave behind, then by all means, please hide my body and let dreams whisk me away. If not though, I’d like to do what I can to make it easier.

My mom’s a spiritual type. I’m sure she loves the idea of reincarnation. And though she might not like the idea of comeuppance, she’s probably into that too. I posted a poem yesterday about death. Death is the greatest end. But that’d be nice if I didn’t die. If I do not sleep.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.

Ahh, this post is all over the place. What did I tell you; I’m so vague. I don’t even use the word ‘vague’ correctly.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye