Im not quite the writer that you are but, I got something to say.hitch_hiker5January 13 2005, 12:51:59 UTC
As it went / Be that as it may
It’s funny how a name is just a bunch of letters thrown together to form a word but that upon hearing a name one can feel completely overwhelmed. I’ve thrown up because I heard someone’s name. A person’s name triggers every emotion, every memory, every feeling and every thought related with that person to fly to your head. Names are reactionary.
The monster, as he calls himself, is alive. He is more powerful than anything I have ever met. So many have fallen because of him. I know that I am not the first to cry over him. Male and Female both cry because they miss him. Because they can’t be with him. Some are luckier than others. Some have seen him lately. Others, like me, have not seen him since pre-teen. Now I am nothing but an 18 on the brink of disaster or adulthood or whatever you want to call it. I’m not even sure if I love him. I just know that he consumes. If I breathe deeply, my chest hurts and I know it’s because of him somehow. When I sleep I feel lonely and I know that he is the only one who could fix that. At least I think so. I have no way of knowing.
I can’t remember if we were friends or not. I mean originally. I don’t know our history. All I remember about the monster was that one night we sat on the trampoline and we talked. I don’t remember what we said. I don’t remember if it was deep or important. I don’t remember if the monster and I flirted. I remember he touched my feet. I thought it was incredible at the time. Now I would be self conscious. I’m ashamed that I’m ashamed of myself now. Because now if he touched my feet I would not think it was incredible. I would think my feet weren’t just right and I would panic and think a million stupid things. And I would miss the moment. It would pass. It would be gone. It may never happen again. Sitting here alone in a big empty room the colour of olive green, beige and burnt pink I wish I was somewhere far away, across the seas, under the stars, lying on a trampoline, talking to the monster. But now that moment is too hard to recreate. For the monster lives in Florida and I, a mere girl, I live in Australia. Thank God that when I was on that trampoline I was still young and too naive to care whether or not my toes were aligned correctly, smelling lovely and feeling smooth to the touch. No matter how hard I pretend like I don’t give a damn now I am too vain. Thank God that I wasn’t distracted from the raw reality of that moment. Now, that’s all I remember of the monster. Maybe there was more.
It’s funny how a name is just a bunch of letters thrown together to form a word but that upon hearing a name one can feel completely overwhelmed. I’ve thrown up because I heard someone’s name. A person’s name triggers every emotion, every memory, every feeling and every thought related with that person to fly to your head. Names are reactionary.
The monster, as he calls himself, is alive. He is more powerful than anything I have ever met. So many have fallen because of him. I know that I am not the first to cry over him. Male and Female both cry because they miss him. Because they can’t be with him. Some are luckier than others. Some have seen him lately. Others, like me, have not seen him since pre-teen. Now I am nothing but an 18 on the brink of disaster or adulthood or whatever you want to call it. I’m not even sure if I love him. I just know that he consumes. If I breathe deeply, my chest hurts and I know it’s because of him somehow. When I sleep I feel lonely and I know that he is the only one who could fix that. At least I think so. I have no way of knowing.
I can’t remember if we were friends or not. I mean originally. I don’t know our history. All I remember about the monster was that one night we sat on the trampoline and we talked. I don’t remember what we said. I don’t remember if it was deep or important. I don’t remember if the monster and I flirted. I remember he touched my feet. I thought it was incredible at the time. Now I would be self conscious. I’m ashamed that I’m ashamed of myself now. Because now if he touched my feet I would not think it was incredible. I would think my feet weren’t just right and I would panic and think a million stupid things. And I would miss the moment. It would pass. It would be gone. It may never happen again. Sitting here alone in a big empty room the colour of olive green, beige and burnt pink I wish I was somewhere far away, across the seas, under the stars, lying on a trampoline, talking to the monster. But now that moment is too hard to recreate. For the monster lives in Florida and I, a mere girl, I live in Australia. Thank God that when I was on that trampoline I was still young and too naive to care whether or not my toes were aligned correctly, smelling lovely and feeling smooth to the touch. No matter how hard I pretend like I don’t give a damn now I am too vain. Thank God that I wasn’t distracted from the raw reality of that moment. Now, that’s all I remember of the monster. Maybe there was more.
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