I didnt say im a freak
and you arent either
its everyone else that is
the ones that can hide it
and ones that do things to others
those are the real freaks

She stood on the porch watching the fireflies

She felt a hand on her shoulder

He dropped his hand in desperation
Not having known what else to do

He tried a few words.
None worked for what he wanted to say

She walked a few steps and turned

He pursued her.

Alas, I am free from the first semester of college.

Virtual human development game



www.human-age.com

This has been playing up some of my time.

Now the semester is ending

Next semester promises three less credits and color!

Ah college. Robbing me of free time. Alas, I shall make a vivid return.... one of these days.

College is time consuming.

I fiddle with things now.

things that bother me

Tan underwear
Pastel colors
Yellow tiling in bathrooms
The word "goody"
Twitter
Men in V -necks

http://www.aquiziam.com/strange-places-people-live.html

college in under a week

Maldives.

I can't speak German! This was a bad idea from the start, why did I think I would enjoy this? Did I think I would enjoy this?
Here I am, alone. I'm standing in the Frankfurt train station, part of Frankfurt airport. My cell phone plan has decided it does not want to co-operate. I tried using the pay phone and managed to dial Canada.
I am looking for my stop on the chart, I cannot find it. Wurzburg. The stops are listed in German, starting destination, ending destination. No stops. I cannot find where I am supposed to go.
Finally, I work up the courage to ask a stranger for help. He speaks English!
He got me my train ticket, I thanked him and he was gone, already a memory. Part of a reality I was not believing. The whirr of clashing cultures and sounds and people, it was too much to take in, at least in the state I was in.
I was told to go to the long distance trains. I did. Staring at the vast chart of arrivals and departures, I again failed to locate where I was to go. I asked a man helplessly for direction. He sent me to the short distance trains, where a disinterested woman told me she did not think I was in the right area. No one seemed to know where I was to go. People were amused at the lost expression on my face. I was both terrified and embarrassed.
Finally I venture back to the help desk and a new guard is on duty. He is warmer than the previous guard. Alas, I find terminal 4; my original location was the correct one. All the venturing between terminals had been in vain.
Waiting for the train to come, I shiver while I look at the arched ceiling. It reminds me how insignificant I am, how alone I am. My train comes. After compulsively rechecking that I was boarding the right train, and asking a passenger to validate it, I collapse in a chair. As soon as I get to my senses, or at least part of them, I notice the business man listening to American female pop singers. A smile crawls onto my face as I realize that there is always a sense of amusement lurking.
The scenery whizzes by as I speed my way to phase two of my challenge. I sit staring at the window, too afraid to focus on what it shows me. I knew the trip was insane. What was I doing in the country my father tried so hard to forget? He knew it couldn’t be done, if he erased his past he erased himself. So here I was keeping his memory alive. I served as a reminder of his past.
He did not seem to accept who he was. I guess I too was trying to come to terms with who I was, to find an identity in a world so immersed in pop culture. I guess you have to get lost in order to find yourself.
I'm headed to a destination among many. I haven't eaten all day. I'm scared. I'm exhausted. I started off in Philadelphia and then landed in Frankfurt. I'm headed to Wurzburg only to find my cousin so she can take me to the ending point, Waldbuttelbrunn. This is the village where my grandmother grew up. This is the village she left and never returned to.
In essence, I have to go to a town I can barely pronounce, to find a woman I hardly know. I haven't seen her in fifteen years. I don't know her age or what she looks like. Why did I agree to this disaster in the making?
Getting off the train, I realize that I never was told where to meet my cousin. Was I to go into the terminal or remain on the platform? I walk down to inside the station, where a woman approaches me and speaks to me in German, of course. I shrug, feeling helpless again and utter the word “American.” She smiles, at once switching to English.
Pointing back up to the opposite platform, she says “A woman up there is looking for you.” Great, I love lugging my suitcase up stairs. What does my cousin look like? Is she tall? Old? Suddenly, I hear someone call my name, my cousin.
It is over now. I am home, back in a country I can navigate with ease. The experience I had overseas made me appreciate willpower. If you want to accomplish something, you can. It all hinges on whether or not you are willing to put all you have into it. It is an approach I am learning to apply to most aspects of my life, whether it be preparing myself for college or pacing my time to get a project done.
The future no one can be sure of, but I am grateful for my capability to handle stress and unclear situations. It is rare to have the ambiguity I faced in June, but I handled it. I realized this means I can handle other situations with a calmer demeanor, because in the end, you can not have complete control. You just have to work with what you have and that is all anyone can do.

I'm the thought that never crossed my mind.

I wander and never find.

Art is the thoughts in my mind that are too abstract to put into words.

At the end of the day we are merely a sum of our parts.

With the glowing screen keeping me company.

And I fingered the worn photo she looked at me with a sad smile. "Her name was Melanie."

The feeling of her lips against his bare shoulder.

His nose buried in the smell of her hair.

His arm sticking to her waist. Humidity.

The furtive glances and sheepish smiles that follow.

The innocence of sleep.

Brushing the hair from her face.

Numb arms.

Readjusting positions.

Love.

I'm curious about the moral implications of recreational sex.

A lesson in love and defeat

To love the defeat
to find love in defeat
to defeat love
to love in defeat

He was in love with her. That was his secret. That was why he could not forgive himself- he never told her.

It was his lack of control of her reponse that crippled him in the end. It left him empty.

She left him standing there at the edge of the road with bitter tears in his eyes. That was how he remembered her.

He had hated himself ever since. Maybe he was too harsh on himself. But that day crushed any faith he had in his future. Maybe that's why he stayed.

It was the way her skirt moved as she stood in the creek and the way the light shone off her hair. That was what he remembered about her.

Six years had passed since that summer.

She had since moved to Manhattan. He stayed in the quiet town. The memories fueled him, the safety. The shadows the willow trees cast on the streets.

But she was returning. Her father was ill. She was leaving her urban life to come home. Home to the town with the shady trees and hazy skies.

He knew she had changed. The city life robbed her of her free spirit. He didn't know how she could be happy in such a cramped places, full of smell and traffic.

But she had kept in contact with him all those years and that was what mattered.

It is officially mid April. What have I to show for it? A desire to sleep and nothing else.

Tell me the river and the grass and the trees
Tell me why you had to leave

Tell me the wind and the stars and the sky
And tell me why you made me cry

reflections of the day

No AP exams for me. 80 dollars I don't wish to have spent. Is it education?

The art of love. But I feel nothing compared to how he loves me. Am I to stay with him? A fool I adore who is so unworldly according to my own definition. But is my definition jaded?

Today the relationship achieves a new level. He feels significance. Will I?

He is simply a boy, I feel. Innocent and shy. Perhaps he is not innocent. But he accounts for himself, and that's why I like him. He in uneducated but adorable in his ignorance. Is it enough I continue to wonder...

The lost art of thought.

But he adores me I say.

But he makes me happy I say.

But is it worth it I wonder.

FML.

I love him.

I miss your scent and the shape of your shoulders.

There was once a girl who was in love with a boy. He never knew she existed thought she tried and tried to show herself. One day he noticed her but it was too late.

Boy. You're so smart you're stupid. Boy. You sit and you think and you learn. But you don't live. Boy. You know every word and how to spell it, but when was the last time nature left an impression on you?

Boy. Brains are good but what do you do when you reach the top?

Boy. Get out boy. Go see the world before it's too late.

wanton

I like my soup cruel and sexually promiscuous.

Help. That's what people seem to want to give you when you tell them a sad story, your sad story. But sometimes you don't want help. You simply want someone else to hear your story.

My uncle was molested in the first grade. By his principal. Skeletons in the closet.

And now he's dead.

I think everyone has a back story. They have to have one. I guess it's whether or not you're real, if you've toyed with life and it's bitten you back. Sometimes I think people haven't experienced the pain I have. Maybe I'm just being selfish.

Sometimes you just want physical pain, because your emotion is long gone. Or maybe it was never there to start.


The best stories told are the true ones.


Pain. Sometimes people turn it into hatred. Hatred on others. Hatred on themselves. It all depends on strength of character. Sometimes they don't even know the pain is there, all the worse.

I have this very vivid memory. I’m eight years old standing in the hallway of a hospital. There is a nurses station of some sort with all these life monitors. The kind with the green line that goes up and down. Sharp lines, piercing the screen. And I’m there, watching, captivated. And the monitors, a few of them, the lines are barely moving, some of them stop completely. And I'm just standing there, standing, feeling like, I don’t know, powerless. People are dying and I’m standing there, just a kid.

There was a time when I was five. Rocking my heels on the step outside my house. Listening to my neighbor after her only child had ended his life. All I remember was the screaming.


….


Maybe I do more than I think. Maybe I don't. I often wonder if other people are worth the time. Then again, I'm usually so lonely I bother with them anyway. If you can get a person to laugh, it kind of disarms them. Then you get to see they are as fragile as you. Maybe.

I seem surer of things than I am it seems. Some people think I'm smart. It's possible but I don't see it because of all the other people out there smarter than me.

My grandmother used to press her ring finger into the base of my spine to get me to stand up straight. I was always hunched over, muddling over the idea of making a mistake. Apparently, mistakes aren't allowed. Without mistakes, how does one learn?

........

I wonder if everyone cared would that solve things? What if people sat around and wondered what the ant they just killed for ignorant household invasion thought before he was slain. Would it make a difference?

Imagine a world with no obligations, would people become entirely self absorbed?
....

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my uncle's death.

I think about the impact he left on our lives.

It was one of pain. He was in pain, but he didn't fall gracefully when he died like his father did.
My grandfather. The nurses at the hospital were crying after he died. People he never met came to his funeral. He was an unsung hero, touching the lives of so many people. He would always say "personality is half your life." He lives by those words. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. Newspaper articles, news stories. Everybody talked to him. He was such a great influence but I feel like it was wasted on my youth.
He killed someone once. He had too. Murder isn't murder if it's war. Does that still make him a hero?

What is the measure of a man?

I'm not here to define that. I doubt anyone has the right too. Some people feel they have enough degrees to have earned the right.

......

Sometimes you meet someone who takes your mind off things for awhile. A yin to your yang. And then you learn their story. You lock eyes and a moment is shared that can't be expressed in words.

Drain Bramage.

Life is a cycle of school work, sleep, and worry.

The future awaits.

The power of words.

Hello sister, where is your soul today? Come take a walk with me by the riverside and we can go have a talk with Nature.

There are principles that seem nearly universal.

Overweight mothers, airy in character, with big black purses that hold everything but the meaning of life.