Writing
I wrote most of these a long time ago, but last night I edited them and typed them. I felt like sharing. Here they are:
I let the days go by. The power to stop time has not been scientifically discovered, but when I’m with you, I’m absolutely certain that we are the only ones moving. When you’re gone, I simply let life go on, the days playing on fast forward. I could slow down and live, but the days are nothing without you.
If you throw something in the air, it’s only a matter of time before gravity pulls it down. Sometimes I get my hopes up, but they always fall back down. It’s only a matter of catching them.
Don’t write about love in pencil. Imperfections shouldn’t be erased… they are what makes love perfectly permanent.
Love is kind of a funny thing. Sometimes it can be the first page of a brand new notebook, waiting for you to fill its empty pages with your feelings. There is a certain beauty to the empty page, and you’re almost afraid to mar its pristine surface with a blemish from your pen. Yet, the page seems to call out to you. It wants to hear your story, no matter what the outcome may be. Love will listen, and more importantly, it won’t reprimand you. It will be there to console you for hours, or take in your bliss for a mere moment.
Everyone has the ability to pen something truly moving on Love’s pages, but we don’t always realize it. Sometimes the only thing we see is written in another language, and we have no one to translate for us. We get impatient. We get discouraged. Eventually, the jumbled phrases begin to make sense. Then, love isn’t just words… it’s poetry.
Right now, our images are clear. The vivid colors of our souls emanate from our pictures, No hazy outlines surround our bodies. We are so certain of ourselves that we paint our lives in neon green, not a dull gray. The light shines on our faces, brightening our lives.
As the years roll slowly on, our edges begin to smudge. The once bold colors have become faded, dulled and bleached by the light that once illuminated our youth. Certainty fades into a mere memory.
Now we are shadows.
Hope is an unsheathed blade. Once you remove it, the gleam from the metal inhibits your senses, mesmerizing you with its alluring beauty. The euphoric state of mind that envelops you changes your perceptive. Surely, a knife like that would not cut you…
But Hope slices you. It cuts deep into your skin and destroys you. Then you sheath the blade and become afraid to believe in anything.
I’ve looked at the face of Ugliness my entire life. Ugliness has teeth that are decaying, jagged, and sharp, to cut me when I make a wrong move. His yellow eyes are dixed deep in the bloody sockets, watching, waiting to scrutinize my actions. Ugliness has had like ropes, to hang me from the rafters when I am wrong.
I want to see something pretty.
Sometimes it feels like my heart is a gargantuan block of ice. It chills the rest of my body so that my thoughts are cold, my words are frost, and my actions are as visibly cold as my breath on a winter day. It feels like someone is hacking away at my soul with an ice pick, chipping off pieces of me.
To make me melt, what you really need is a fire.
I want you to know that I’ll miss you. When I leave this place, it will be the hardest thing I have ever done. I’ll be leaving my entire life behind, just like I’m changing my clothes. Sometimes I think that I’ll say goodbye to everyone, but part of me wants to just take off now. It will be hard to see you, because part of me wonders if you will even miss me.
I’ll miss you. I want you to know that you’re more than an old sweater to me.
As you grow older you feel your innocence slowly drift away, like a boat lost at see. The current of life sweeps you suddenly away from the mainland, and you realize that you can’t even swim. Once you board the S.S. Immoral, you are sailing for life, since you cannot escape.
The captain was your Conscience, but you just pitched him overboard.
What is love? Love is a feeling-perhaps a state of being-that baffles us all. Having never been in love, I can’t describe to you what it feels like… even if I had loved, the feeling would still probably remain inexplicable. We all spend so much time dwelling on this, searching for it that we lost it somewhere in the process.
Love is something that you find when you stop looking.
Fear is beginning to creep into my mind. It edges in, frightening Rationality, causing Stability to cower in terror. My thoughts become paralyzed, unable to reflect upon anything but Fear. Every single thing that made sense before has suddenly become a bunch of foreign jargon.
Fear did not break in. I gave Fear the key.
Time is money, they say. It’s free, yet worth everything in the world to us. No matter how many pennies you pinch, you can’t save your time. The more you try to keep it, the more you lose. There are no banks for time… just your own memory.
I know I’ve invested my time wisely… I spent it with you.
I want you to know that I will always be your friend. Though the years and miles may separate us, we will almost always be side-by-side in an emotional state. Though my shoulder may not be there for you to cry on I’ll build a dam to stop the tears. When you’re feeling small, I’ll lift you up so you can stare down at Life. If your life gets dark, I will light a candle for you. If that candle goes out, I’ll hold your hand and lead you to the light.
This family is a motor vehicle. We’re cruising through life as though it were a bumpy road and we simply pretend there are no potholes. We’re not a BMW or a Cadillac as we like others to believe. What we really are is a Pinto… if someone hits us from behind, we’ll explode. Nothing works properly, so we roll down the windows instead of cranking the AC.
We’ve driving in the dark with no headlights.
I let the days go by. The power to stop time has not been scientifically discovered, but when I’m with you, I’m absolutely certain that we are the only ones moving. When you’re gone, I simply let life go on, the days playing on fast forward. I could slow down and live, but the days are nothing without you.
If you throw something in the air, it’s only a matter of time before gravity pulls it down. Sometimes I get my hopes up, but they always fall back down. It’s only a matter of catching them.
Don’t write about love in pencil. Imperfections shouldn’t be erased… they are what makes love perfectly permanent.
Love is kind of a funny thing. Sometimes it can be the first page of a brand new notebook, waiting for you to fill its empty pages with your feelings. There is a certain beauty to the empty page, and you’re almost afraid to mar its pristine surface with a blemish from your pen. Yet, the page seems to call out to you. It wants to hear your story, no matter what the outcome may be. Love will listen, and more importantly, it won’t reprimand you. It will be there to console you for hours, or take in your bliss for a mere moment.
Everyone has the ability to pen something truly moving on Love’s pages, but we don’t always realize it. Sometimes the only thing we see is written in another language, and we have no one to translate for us. We get impatient. We get discouraged. Eventually, the jumbled phrases begin to make sense. Then, love isn’t just words… it’s poetry.
Right now, our images are clear. The vivid colors of our souls emanate from our pictures, No hazy outlines surround our bodies. We are so certain of ourselves that we paint our lives in neon green, not a dull gray. The light shines on our faces, brightening our lives.
As the years roll slowly on, our edges begin to smudge. The once bold colors have become faded, dulled and bleached by the light that once illuminated our youth. Certainty fades into a mere memory.
Now we are shadows.
Hope is an unsheathed blade. Once you remove it, the gleam from the metal inhibits your senses, mesmerizing you with its alluring beauty. The euphoric state of mind that envelops you changes your perceptive. Surely, a knife like that would not cut you…
But Hope slices you. It cuts deep into your skin and destroys you. Then you sheath the blade and become afraid to believe in anything.
I’ve looked at the face of Ugliness my entire life. Ugliness has teeth that are decaying, jagged, and sharp, to cut me when I make a wrong move. His yellow eyes are dixed deep in the bloody sockets, watching, waiting to scrutinize my actions. Ugliness has had like ropes, to hang me from the rafters when I am wrong.
I want to see something pretty.
Sometimes it feels like my heart is a gargantuan block of ice. It chills the rest of my body so that my thoughts are cold, my words are frost, and my actions are as visibly cold as my breath on a winter day. It feels like someone is hacking away at my soul with an ice pick, chipping off pieces of me.
To make me melt, what you really need is a fire.
I want you to know that I’ll miss you. When I leave this place, it will be the hardest thing I have ever done. I’ll be leaving my entire life behind, just like I’m changing my clothes. Sometimes I think that I’ll say goodbye to everyone, but part of me wants to just take off now. It will be hard to see you, because part of me wonders if you will even miss me.
I’ll miss you. I want you to know that you’re more than an old sweater to me.
As you grow older you feel your innocence slowly drift away, like a boat lost at see. The current of life sweeps you suddenly away from the mainland, and you realize that you can’t even swim. Once you board the S.S. Immoral, you are sailing for life, since you cannot escape.
The captain was your Conscience, but you just pitched him overboard.
What is love? Love is a feeling-perhaps a state of being-that baffles us all. Having never been in love, I can’t describe to you what it feels like… even if I had loved, the feeling would still probably remain inexplicable. We all spend so much time dwelling on this, searching for it that we lost it somewhere in the process.
Love is something that you find when you stop looking.
Fear is beginning to creep into my mind. It edges in, frightening Rationality, causing Stability to cower in terror. My thoughts become paralyzed, unable to reflect upon anything but Fear. Every single thing that made sense before has suddenly become a bunch of foreign jargon.
Fear did not break in. I gave Fear the key.
Time is money, they say. It’s free, yet worth everything in the world to us. No matter how many pennies you pinch, you can’t save your time. The more you try to keep it, the more you lose. There are no banks for time… just your own memory.
I know I’ve invested my time wisely… I spent it with you.
I want you to know that I will always be your friend. Though the years and miles may separate us, we will almost always be side-by-side in an emotional state. Though my shoulder may not be there for you to cry on I’ll build a dam to stop the tears. When you’re feeling small, I’ll lift you up so you can stare down at Life. If your life gets dark, I will light a candle for you. If that candle goes out, I’ll hold your hand and lead you to the light.
This family is a motor vehicle. We’re cruising through life as though it were a bumpy road and we simply pretend there are no potholes. We’re not a BMW or a Cadillac as we like others to believe. What we really are is a Pinto… if someone hits us from behind, we’ll explode. Nothing works properly, so we roll down the windows instead of cranking the AC.
We’ve driving in the dark with no headlights.