Everyone has their vices

Go ahead without me. I'm tired.

Crystal

"Fairytales do it all for me.
I'll climb aboard, let them carry me out to sea."

Sometimes I look around me and think, why do I have to judge everything? When did I learn to squint my eyes, and distort the inevitable beauty in everyone? I have so much sorrow and weariness that I don't think there's any explanation besides being an old soul. Yet I derive the most primal, pervasive delight from the simplest things: laying on a bed with sunlight folding warmly over me, kissing my prince charming (the black cat), and driving with the windows down. My rational self is constantly at odds with the romantic within, and in all honesty I really think I'm just a tiny little bottle full of contradictions.

Hold me up to the window; perhaps I will catch the light and throw out rainbows and the full range of the visible light spectrum on your handsome, dimpled cheeks. If only, if only, I could be that light and fold myself over and all around you like a sunny star.

You know when you see two fictional characters kiss in a movie or something and it's absolutely perfect?
Well, you know the person you always think of when you think of a perfect kiss?
I wish I would do something. Like get him.

Go on

Go on
little stick girls
with your cherry blond hair
and powder-cheeked smiles.
Go on living
little brittle lives
in darkness and silence
and kohl-lined sad eyes.
Go on, go on
I can too
I'll go on with my old soul
and my figure 'full'
I'll smile and catch that wicked glint
in a cat's smug grin.
Go on,
in the end,
I'm the descendant of the fae
with more dark wood blood
in my little toe.

I've had an epiphany. You're absolutely right, you know. I stopped acknowledging your feelings for a moment. I chose to, in lieu of choosing to acknowledge my own. By God, does that make me selfish? I love being selfish so much, if it means taking five minutes to survey my own feelings or sorrow to try and stop and correct it. I can't leave us in an awkward silence for the next twenty years or so. You don't even look at me anymore, I don't think. Did you ever? Did you ever look at me and think of anyone besides yourself, and your feelings? Did you ever stop to look at all the things that were wounding me, instead of the things I did which you perceived as threats or attacks? It wasn't about you. It was about me, and as I should have expected, you took it and turned it back like a mirror that makes everything so much bigger. I guess we're both screaming at our own reflections., with nothing but silver and glass to keep us apart. Who knew they could be so strong?

Not at the table, Carlos!

I was sitting in English today reading A Doll's House (Henrik Ibsen)
listening to two high school boys read someone's hard work
(And supposed literary masterpiece)
in ridiculous accents and halting stutters
and I found myself thinking,
maybe for the billionth time,
that I could be anywhere at that moment.
I could be in San Diego, San Francisco,
Bangladesh, Romania.
I felt so tired, with the knowledge of this freedom
A freedom I still can't touch.
But I will.
I walked outside and sat down on the stairs,
shivering, not rebelling,
simply studying the mountains on the horizon
with the passion of a prisoner in a cage looking at the keys.
I could walk into the hills
and maybe someone would think I was dead
or kidnapped,
and it would be very selfish,
but sometimes a person needs to be selfish to find themselves.
Just not yet.
Christ, the future's so sweet on my tongue.
I can already taste it, but it's still so far.

Ahhh

Madly busy with school and swim; sorry guys.
Check back this weekend, I promise I'll make it up to you!
(Being a mermaid is tiring!)