Pen in Mouth.
Bring me snow angels.
Tonight I penned a script, but my curiosity could not help but write you into it. Fairytales and Galadriel's. Excalibur's and Cockleburs. Harlequins and Hand Grenades. Tonight I penned a script and left you in despite my best intentions and endless reservations. I saw that dagger in my heart. I saw my blood on the altar. I saw my hair fall across my face, full of sweat and frustration as I lay there dying in the cold embrace of marble arms. Tonight I penned a script that has been swimming in my head for some time, and in doing so realized how ridiculous of a story it actually was... And now I sit, here in front of a blank page, waiting for inspiration in some form or another. Waiting... waiting for that spark to strike me... Waiting... waiting to lose my breath... Just waiting...
I used to be someone different in this place. I lead a different life here once, and it seems that life may have passed on... Oh, but things still seem so familiar! The tastes and the smells and the sights and the sounds are the same, but somehow I'm... different... And perhaps this is to be expected, but I'm not sure if I'm content with who I am and who others think I am... If appearances are deceiving, then consider me a master of deception because I'm starting to confuse myself...
We had a guest speaker today in class. His name was Mitch and he was 11 years old. Mitch suffers from Fabry Disease, a Mucopolysaccharidosis Disease. His condition leads to severe stiffening of his joints, to the point where he is pained to move and requires monthly enzyme-replacement therapies to loosen his contorted limbs. Mitch is an inspiration, a child so full of spirit and vigor that it is very easy to lose sight of his incapacitating disability. He openly shared his story with such eloquence that we could not believe our ears, let alone the fact that an 11-year old was so knowledgeable about complex biochemical pathways. Mitch's life is a daily struggle to compete for his place in this world... and here I sit, afforded all the opportunities in the world, and it makes me feel like I'm taking them all for granted... like I'm not making the most of this education I have been granted... like I'm not taking advantage of all that I have every day... because I know that if Mitch was afforded these same opportunities, in this same pair of shoes at this very instant, that he would treasure them and never let a moment evade him in wasted form...
And so you must ask yourself... Is every day a chance at a new beginning? Am I presented with a blank canvas upon waking up? Does the back story matter, or can you wind a new tale in the middle of an old one?
"You were upstairs in the kitchen with your head against the sink. Trying to cool down. Trying to cool down."
Tonight I penned a script, but my curiosity could not help but write you into it. Fairytales and Galadriel's. Excalibur's and Cockleburs. Harlequins and Hand Grenades. Tonight I penned a script and left you in despite my best intentions and endless reservations. I saw that dagger in my heart. I saw my blood on the altar. I saw my hair fall across my face, full of sweat and frustration as I lay there dying in the cold embrace of marble arms. Tonight I penned a script that has been swimming in my head for some time, and in doing so realized how ridiculous of a story it actually was... And now I sit, here in front of a blank page, waiting for inspiration in some form or another. Waiting... waiting for that spark to strike me... Waiting... waiting to lose my breath... Just waiting...
I used to be someone different in this place. I lead a different life here once, and it seems that life may have passed on... Oh, but things still seem so familiar! The tastes and the smells and the sights and the sounds are the same, but somehow I'm... different... And perhaps this is to be expected, but I'm not sure if I'm content with who I am and who others think I am... If appearances are deceiving, then consider me a master of deception because I'm starting to confuse myself...
We had a guest speaker today in class. His name was Mitch and he was 11 years old. Mitch suffers from Fabry Disease, a Mucopolysaccharidosis Disease. His condition leads to severe stiffening of his joints, to the point where he is pained to move and requires monthly enzyme-replacement therapies to loosen his contorted limbs. Mitch is an inspiration, a child so full of spirit and vigor that it is very easy to lose sight of his incapacitating disability. He openly shared his story with such eloquence that we could not believe our ears, let alone the fact that an 11-year old was so knowledgeable about complex biochemical pathways. Mitch's life is a daily struggle to compete for his place in this world... and here I sit, afforded all the opportunities in the world, and it makes me feel like I'm taking them all for granted... like I'm not making the most of this education I have been granted... like I'm not taking advantage of all that I have every day... because I know that if Mitch was afforded these same opportunities, in this same pair of shoes at this very instant, that he would treasure them and never let a moment evade him in wasted form...
And so you must ask yourself... Is every day a chance at a new beginning? Am I presented with a blank canvas upon waking up? Does the back story matter, or can you wind a new tale in the middle of an old one?
"You were upstairs in the kitchen with your head against the sink. Trying to cool down. Trying to cool down."