(no subject)
I feel as if it's been years since I've been here. And not just years since I've posted an entry in my livejournal, but years since I've been in this state of mind. Since I've even had a moment to comtemplate, reflect, and actually think about things.
It is a nice feeling I must say, though somewhat scary. Things only build up when you neglect them for too long. Why is common sense so easy to ignore?
I feel like going to a rooftop, and--not screaming out my love for anyone--but just screaming out all of me. All of my secrets. Everything that goes on in the brain of Whitley that no one ever knows about. I feel like being stripped bare; like walking through the crowd emotionally naked for once. Like wearing my real heart on my sleeve...letting everyone see it, poke it, run from it, or smack it to the ground. Some people do all of that anyway, so why bother with all the layers? They'll get there eventually. And when they do, your life will never be the same. Don't ever fall in love, if you can help it. It makes you feel too much. And when you feel so much, it's really difficult to ignore reality. Forget the notion of trying to be numb or even just calm and collected. You feel it all. And in such high doses that you can't contain all of it. It's in those moments that rooftops begin to look appealing.
When I realize that I can't do that...I'm struck by the urge to drink coffee and learn to play the acoustic guitar. I have one afterall; why should I let it collect dust in a corner? Maybe my feelings can fuel the strings. If I could write melodies, my brain might slow down and my heart rate regulate. I need to purge the poeticness. Where's the bitch? Every rose has its thorns...don't I know mine all too well. As I'm sure you do too. They aren't exactly hidden. But can't I smell lovely when I want to? I'm just scared that if I were like that all the time, you'd forget what I smelled like. And you wouldn't even bother to look at my color. So, I've got to give you the black and white. Sometimes grey. Or how will you even be able to recognize red?
Ah. The element of surprise.
Don't I wish?
Why yes, yes I do. I wish quite frequently, and not always on stars.
Sometimes I just wish that someone would wish on me.
Wish for me.
Or maybe just to see my heart?
Does anyone even care?
I'm not sure I want to know.
It is a nice feeling I must say, though somewhat scary. Things only build up when you neglect them for too long. Why is common sense so easy to ignore?
I feel like going to a rooftop, and--not screaming out my love for anyone--but just screaming out all of me. All of my secrets. Everything that goes on in the brain of Whitley that no one ever knows about. I feel like being stripped bare; like walking through the crowd emotionally naked for once. Like wearing my real heart on my sleeve...letting everyone see it, poke it, run from it, or smack it to the ground. Some people do all of that anyway, so why bother with all the layers? They'll get there eventually. And when they do, your life will never be the same. Don't ever fall in love, if you can help it. It makes you feel too much. And when you feel so much, it's really difficult to ignore reality. Forget the notion of trying to be numb or even just calm and collected. You feel it all. And in such high doses that you can't contain all of it. It's in those moments that rooftops begin to look appealing.
When I realize that I can't do that...I'm struck by the urge to drink coffee and learn to play the acoustic guitar. I have one afterall; why should I let it collect dust in a corner? Maybe my feelings can fuel the strings. If I could write melodies, my brain might slow down and my heart rate regulate. I need to purge the poeticness. Where's the bitch? Every rose has its thorns...don't I know mine all too well. As I'm sure you do too. They aren't exactly hidden. But can't I smell lovely when I want to? I'm just scared that if I were like that all the time, you'd forget what I smelled like. And you wouldn't even bother to look at my color. So, I've got to give you the black and white. Sometimes grey. Or how will you even be able to recognize red?
Ah. The element of surprise.
Don't I wish?
Why yes, yes I do. I wish quite frequently, and not always on stars.
Sometimes I just wish that someone would wish on me.
Wish for me.
Or maybe just to see my heart?
Does anyone even care?
I'm not sure I want to know.