Cold, But I'm Still Here

He got me to start reading these books, an epic fantasy series eleven books long. In one of the books the two main characters, who at this point are deeply in love with each other, are forced into a situation. The problem is this; the girl, a level headed rational woman, believes that the man must do something so against his beliefs, in order to save his life. This thing she believes the man must is so horrific that he actually perceives her asking as a betrayal, as her not loving him anymore.
Driving home today the leaves on the trees were gorgeous, it was sunny and relatively warm, and the sight was so true to what I love about fall. But I didn't see any of it. My vision was fogged over, the details in the leaves all blurring together, the sun like a fine mist covering everything as opposed to a sharp column. Driving home today I realized that fiction is only fiction because it hasn't happened to us. So what does it mean when fictions turns to fact?

Will We Sink Or Will We Swim?

The rain was pouring off the roof of the apartment building in sheets, like one foggy pane of liquid glass. The smoke from my cigarette didn't even penetrate it it was so thick, so impassable. I stood there, slowly killing myself, and all I could think was that I wanted so bad to step out into the downpour and drench myself, wash myself in the rain, if only I could get past the gate that the was in front of me. As a test I took my hand and slowly pushed it past the wall of water, soaking my sleeve as I did so. My hand dripped as I pulled it back in, and it turned out the wall wasn't so impassible after all. So why couldn't I force myself through it?

Call Me a Sinner

You know that feeling that you get when you are on a roller-coaster, that split second before the big drop, and it almost crosses your mind that something could go terribly wrong just then, an awesome spectacle of twisted iron and bright blue flames? But then the cars drop, and your stomach is left behind without a clue where the rest of you went, and you scream with the thrill and the terror of it all, getting off the ride with shaky knees. You get in line again, anticipation building with every slow step you take, and the whole time you're thinking you are crazy to want to torture yourself like this. So I ask this; is it wrong, is it sinful, is it masochistic to need that sense of doom only because it is the only thing that gives you the bliss of adrenaline and shaky knees?

Because You Love Me, You Love Me, Let Me Go

Last winter I was sleeping in my sister's room. I couldn't sleep in my room, still don't know why. Anyways, when the trees are all bare, and the sky behind them is gray with the snow clouds the branches look like silhouettes against it. Over winter break, when Justin left, I would lie in my sister's room and stare at the trees. Everything felt so cold. From the one window the way the branches laid against each other, I could see a woman's face in them. She seemed so sad, like the trees themselves were holding her down, keeping her there. And when the wind blew it looked like she was trying to escape. But she never could. I would lie there for hours staring at her, staring at the blank gray spaces that were her eyes. The sky is that same gray color, a white that's not really white, but there are leaves still. Makes me wonder if she's still there, or if the trees grew and she finally got out.

Through the Fire and Flames

A wise man once said that we have to experience great pains in order to experience great joys. I am still not sure if I agree with this, but I have no decent argument against it either. While I would like to think that one could be happy without pain nor discomfort, do we really deserve such happiness without the blood that precedes it? Further more, do we really deserve the pain we get in the first place? What is it that I have done to deserve this? Who have I wronged so greatly to deserve these burns? I am starting to truly believe that I do deserve it, if not by something I’ve done, then by simply being who I am. There are good people and there are bad and I popped out the later of the two.

Do You Believe You're Missing Out?

It’s a strange feeling, looking back. Sitting here now, in the park right by the water, feeling the slight breeze, the sun, the shade, the stones, even the mist if I try hard enough, that thought occurred to me. Strange describes it perfectly. Strange to think I once thought I was better. Strange how easily that illusion was shattered, falling down like a house of glass cards, crumbling into a million different pieces too far gone to even offer the slightest bit of hope. Strange to picture this time one year ago. Just strange.

So I’m sitting here, the absurdness of it all coming down on me hard, and there is this goose that keeps floating back and forth in front of me. I seem to be taking in all the little meaningless detail and missing the big picture. Wish I could see it. Filter out the static and see from a distance. But my eyes are like magnifying lenses and all I can focus on are the little things, everything else is blurred and upside-down. Wish I could see clearly as well. See the whole you, not just the details I’m left with to piece together like some fucked up, gothic version of a Picasso.

Miss You

The familiar song almost made me jump, the blurred lyrics coming from my phone which was sitting on the blue sheets next to me. I didn’t hesitate to answer, I never did when it was that song that meant she was calling. Her voice sounded sure, strong even, at first. But when I asked if everything was all right, and that same voice cracked, I could almost see the tears that fell so easily for her.
Of course you can come over
I’ll see you soon, drive safe
I had to work hard to keep my own voice strong. For her. The only person that really matters. I had to keep my own tears from falling; so close they were to the surface at that point. Had to keep the worry, the pain, from reaching her ears. I couldn’t let her know that she made my heart race, my breath come short. Couldn’t let her find out that my entire body was shaking with the sound of her weeping. Because if she knew what she did to me, she may not find comfort in my arms. She might not come to me in the middle of the night when all other doors are locked. She might not call.