We mumble loudly, wear our shame so proudly. Wore our blank expressions, trying to look interesting.
Every time I try to update my LJ my mother calls me down to do some meaningless task for her. It's quite agrivating.
I rode my bike up to the library this morning. It felt really good to just go somewhere by myself and not worry about being there then and what not. I got an iced chai at Java, hoping to see Tom but he wasn't there. Down town is so nice early in the morning. So much calmer and serene. I saw Elsbeth at the library. She was looking for Braums third symphony.
I am shielded from the darkness outside by a veil that the man made light of my cell casts over my windows. But I have the power to turn it away and become a child of the night. Do I dare sneak across the tar and down the side of the chimney simply to strole among the shadows? Do I dare risk being consumed by a monster of midnight just to enjoy partaking in something I know my father would dissaprove of? If I were in Victorian England I am sure I would never get a husband if I were to do something so rash. Do I care for today though? I think not. For I wish for a man who will risk crossing his own roof and mine to pull me from my window sill with his sweet, aluring words. The perfect boy would never do such a thing. Far to proper for that. The angry boy might, if he could ever stop being angry long enough to show the love that, I know, hides somewhere inside of him. The silent boy might, if he could ever muster up the courage to speak those alluring words to me. I know for a fact that he has no fear of roofs. Women, on the other hand, seem to be as foreign to him as proper grammar is to George Bush. There is no doubt in my mind that the silly boy would do something like that.
I rode my bike up to the library this morning. It felt really good to just go somewhere by myself and not worry about being there then and what not. I got an iced chai at Java, hoping to see Tom but he wasn't there. Down town is so nice early in the morning. So much calmer and serene. I saw Elsbeth at the library. She was looking for Braums third symphony.
I am shielded from the darkness outside by a veil that the man made light of my cell casts over my windows. But I have the power to turn it away and become a child of the night. Do I dare sneak across the tar and down the side of the chimney simply to strole among the shadows? Do I dare risk being consumed by a monster of midnight just to enjoy partaking in something I know my father would dissaprove of? If I were in Victorian England I am sure I would never get a husband if I were to do something so rash. Do I care for today though? I think not. For I wish for a man who will risk crossing his own roof and mine to pull me from my window sill with his sweet, aluring words. The perfect boy would never do such a thing. Far to proper for that. The angry boy might, if he could ever stop being angry long enough to show the love that, I know, hides somewhere inside of him. The silent boy might, if he could ever muster up the courage to speak those alluring words to me. I know for a fact that he has no fear of roofs. Women, on the other hand, seem to be as foreign to him as proper grammar is to George Bush. There is no doubt in my mind that the silly boy would do something like that.