random thoughts by shauna.
I really think that the universe formed me wrong, and I was actually meant to be born as a gay man. I am very upset at this mistake of the fates. I hope they make it up to me in my next reincarnation.
but truthfully, today was a whirl pool of emotions, and this summer may bring the end of me. Like the day it ends will finally cut the string of existence and I'll just fall between the cracks of what you remember, and what they tell you to. I will no longer be someone you know, but someone the homeroom chart says you are suppose to recall. The universe will steal my name from you and it will fade to the back of your mind as you recall your period one algebra class last year. 'It sounds familiar' you will say, but you will not be able to place it to an image of a human- because my face will have been farther gone than the days of your youth. It's strange- this faded feeling of autumnal wishes. Like the leaves are calling from months ahead of now- saying 'join us in our quest to cover the dirt, mixed with blood over years of torment.' and i will lay there like a spirit in the old halloween stories of girl scout camps of earth's younger days, beckoning you to stop as you crunch over the swollen ground 'remember what lay here once!' I will whisper across the dying greenery. You will stop for a moment as if you had heard the voice of an old friend, but will sigh and protest 'I'm sure it was just the wind..' but it never truly is, it never truly is. There is always a voice upon the air, whispering the secrets to your lost post-summer romances of old. If that is all I can convince you of, heed it well my friend: It is NEVER just the wind.
but truthfully, today was a whirl pool of emotions, and this summer may bring the end of me. Like the day it ends will finally cut the string of existence and I'll just fall between the cracks of what you remember, and what they tell you to. I will no longer be someone you know, but someone the homeroom chart says you are suppose to recall. The universe will steal my name from you and it will fade to the back of your mind as you recall your period one algebra class last year. 'It sounds familiar' you will say, but you will not be able to place it to an image of a human- because my face will have been farther gone than the days of your youth. It's strange- this faded feeling of autumnal wishes. Like the leaves are calling from months ahead of now- saying 'join us in our quest to cover the dirt, mixed with blood over years of torment.' and i will lay there like a spirit in the old halloween stories of girl scout camps of earth's younger days, beckoning you to stop as you crunch over the swollen ground 'remember what lay here once!' I will whisper across the dying greenery. You will stop for a moment as if you had heard the voice of an old friend, but will sigh and protest 'I'm sure it was just the wind..' but it never truly is, it never truly is. There is always a voice upon the air, whispering the secrets to your lost post-summer romances of old. If that is all I can convince you of, heed it well my friend: It is NEVER just the wind.