the days with you tend to carry a tune

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about people. How many I know, how many I don't know, how many I kind of know, how many I don't know exist, how many I will know. And how they're all different. And how every single person I know has allowed me a small role in their story. How comforting it is that these people I know have let me in to see how they work and who they are. How lovely it is that they've chosen to let me share in their moments, and memories, and decisions. Me, just another plain old human being. Them, just extraordinary creations that appear, from the outside, as just plain old human beings. I'm just so blessed, so grateful, for them all. If I know them, if I have known them, if I will know them. Anyone. They're all so beautifully complex, and bit by bit, day by day, I learn more about one of them here and there. They never really get old, people I mean. You never run out of people to meet or things to know about them. The curiousity sector of my life is thriving of depth and inspiration thanks to a certain handful of these lovely beings. Most of whom I've just met in the last year.
It's mind-blowing that all of these people's paths were meant to cross mine. God knows why I know them. It's a mystery to me, but truly don't mind at all.

You've all taught me everything I know about loving, breathing, driving, priorities, algebra 2, music, and which coffee shops have the best chai. Everything.

Thank you.

Eighteen and under.

Generation, I'd like to first tell you that I love you. We are all brothers and sisters. Saved, forgiven, and beloved.

Lord, we'd like to first tell you that we are hungry. Jesus, we're starving. For you, God. You are what we need. You are what we cannot go one day without.

Jesus,we'd like to ask you to let us be the generation to bring your peace within our hearts out into the world. Let us be the generation to not start a war. Let our generation, this generation, be humble enough to submit to your guidance completely, and to begin fixing the silly problems of this world. Lord, allow us to reflect you. Guide us in your ways, Father, so that we may guide each other.

Generation, think. Think of that day when we are all new bodies, righteous souls, pure hearts, and with our Jesus. With God. You and me and everyone we know all sitting around a table with the God of the universe. What will we say to each other? What will matter then? Generation, we will give Him something to be proud of. While we are on this earth, we will not be consumed of it. Generation, we will strive for His glory, until the day we receive our wings.

wearing thin

My home isn't mine anymore and my wonderwall is breaking and I'm walking blindly through darkness and I want to cry but it doesn't work anymore. There's nothing left.

Splendored.

The other night, in my blanket fort, I was reading the book of Psalms.
Out of nowhere, I realized why I'm here.
Why we all exist.

As a daughter of Christ, it is my duty to love people. To show love, speak love, express love for other people. Even if some of us don't believe it, we're all children of God. What father likes to see his kids fight and argue and persecute and hurt each other? What king enjoys watching his people destroy each other and tear each other apart?
By loving others we are loving Him.
It's simple.
Love each other.
Buy someone coffee when they only have two dollars on them. Let your friend borrow your red lipstick when she feels worthless. Carry ibuprofen, and don't be stingy with your t-shirts.
Just love people.
When I think of all the people I love, I see a messy, dishevled, long list of names.
Some of these people have always been there and reciprocated the love.
Some of them have broken my heart.
Some of them hate me.
Love the people that hate you.
It's really all you can do for them.
So often, someone comes to mind and they're literally full of hate. Stitched together with lies and overflowing with zeal to hurt other people.
Love them.
They're the ones that need it the most.
Love your mom, love your neighbor, love your sunday school teacher, love the creepy kid in your french class, love your lunch ladies, love your grandma, love your best friend's little brother, love yourself.
What better way is there to pass our time here on earth, than to simply love each other?

puddle-jumping

"I'm sorry."
My absolute least favourite combination of words of all time.
What the hell does that even mean?
The phrase is so overused and so abused, that it's value has become literally meaningless.
"I'm sorry." is what people say when they don't remotely care about your situation.
And "I'm sorry." is what people say when everything that's happened has left them utterly heartbroken and they want more than anything to be able to turn back time and make things better.
The thing about "I'm sorry." is half the time, people don't even mean it. They say "I'm sorry." when they weren't really listening at all but they could tell by your tone that you're sad so they think they're supposed to sympathize. No, people. No. That is not how it works. "I'm sorry." should be the most sincere thing we ever tell each other.

Someone answer this: When will we all begin to mean what say?

For you I will.

You knew I was sad. I'm not usually sad, but I was then, and you knew that. My grandma died. And my boyfriend didn't love me. And academics were gray. I came to you. You told me to lose my mind. To go crazy. Because, you said, I needed to. "Lose your mind. I'll help you find it again when you're ready." So I did. I didn't even realize that I did. It was a gradual thing, you know. Then one day I was officially a mess. I came to you. You told me what you know about me. I remember. Funny how best friends know me better than I know myself. Which is exactly how it should be. "Love you, Lex. Go be you."
Okay.
For you I will.

If the sun sets you free, you'll be free indeed.

Last night, I dreamt that someone told me the sun was bigger than the earth. I was shocked. Apparently, my subconscience doesn't believe that it's possible for anything to be bigger than the earth.
I woke up shocked that in my dream I was shocked.
Of course the sun is bigger than the earth.
That's common knowledge.

Which got me thinking:
It's really not common knowledge.
There are probably thousands of people that barely know the sun. They don't know that it's lightyears away from where they are. Or that it supplies vitamin D and causes skin cancer. They're completely unaware that it's simply a burning ball of fire.
All they know is that they see it everyday. It keeps them warm everyday. And it kind of hurts when they look at with their eyes opened all the way.

Ancient Egyptians used to worship the sun.
Sounds silly, yeah?
Not at all.
If you had never been taught any other forms of hope or faith, you would probably worship the sun as well.
The one thing that you see every single day.
The one thing that brings warmth and light to your life every single day.

What if the sun wasn't bigger than the earth?
What if it was smaller?
There would be no daylight. Or sunburn. Or sunglasses. Or growth.

The earth would be cold, dark, gray, and empty. Mostly cold.
We always take advantage of the sun.
Nowhere does it say, "Every day no matter what, the sun will rise."
But for some reason, we still believe that it will.

Put on my worried shoes.

Broken. A state, seemingly sad, but none the less inquisitive. How did I get here? Maybe on a sail boat called September. It's always treated me well before. Surely this time would be the same. Everything is new. The people I've heard about for years finally drift into view. They're from out of town. They're from where it is always snowing and always sunny. At the same time. The feelings, like something is missing. Because something is. The one who taught love has passed. So I take all that I know, and tuck it away. I can't forget. I must not forget anything. It rained once. Never enough. How dreary is it that there can never be enough? I worry. It's new. I've never really worried before. Never known how. It's one of those matters, similar to crying, that can't be taught or explained. It simply happens. Inspiration is overflowing, but the trouble seems to be in captivating it. All I can do is dream, and wait for the leaves to fall. I put on my worry shoes. They're yellow. Golden. Goldenrod. My worry shoes are goldenrod, like the crayon. Soon, I'll meet a monster and we'll fall in love and October will come and I'll be free again. As for now, I'll rest until my mind has settled. Only to wake up again and let it roam recklessly through memory and hope.

It's 12:01 am.

I'm laying in bed backwards, and I finally know what "feeling" means.
Flashbacks stampede and crush me. In the car. Singing. Coffee. No left turns. Cut through a parking lot. Dog in the back seat. It happened. Why didn't I care then?
The memories, they come in with the tears. Somehow, I've accidentally developed the habit of pulling my hair out. Sick, right? Sick. Cancer. Can. Cer. Intimidating. Not really. Forever, I've heard about it. It's ever-present.
"Maybe someday one of you will grow up and become a doctor and discover a cure for cancer."
"Age seven, and he's beating cancer."
Oh yeah, Cancer. That things they have on Grey's Anatomy. That thing they make lemonade stands for. That thing that killed Audrey Hepburn and Patrick Swayze, and is now killing her. That Cancer. The cancer that Andrew McMahon and Rick Payne defeated. It's puzzling. Cancer. I'm a cancer. Astrology. Being born on July 17th makes me a cancer. What the hell? Stop, Lex.
Another one. A phone call. She's happy. Lots to say. Both of us. Christmastime. All I wanted was for her to stop talking. What kind of grand-daughter am I? Now every word she speaks, I catalog into the pits of my heart. The "Her Last Words" file. The thing is, they don't tell me stuff. Nothing, really. So maybe she's not dying. Maybe she's going home soon. Maybe I'm being negative. Maybe. Maybe we'll beat this. Maybe nothing grey can stay.

Dear God

Speech therapist. Feeding tube. Out-patient. Soup. Oprah. Floor 14. Waiting room. IV. Beeps. Nurse. Pretty nurse. "I read anatomy books for fun." Seven gay men. Small. Thin. Weak. Nothing. Air. Panera. Gown. Shaky. Gone. Fading. Sad. Gray. Grey. Gray. Terror. Cold. Help. Helpless. "We don't know." Indiana. Gift baskets. Care. Flowers. God. Crying. Awful. God awful. How. Die. Dead. Death. Missing. Soon. Life. Small. Hope. Fear. Fearless. Fearful. Kay. Switch. Stress. Tears. Tears. Tears. Wash. Long. Far. When. How long. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why.

Make it stop.

love sweet love

Recently, I've decided to try this thing called learning.

I'm learning to love the things I hate.

It's exhausting.

But abosolutely nothing bad can come of it.

Which is rare.

There is no downside.

Right now, I'm learning to love lunch lines. Ridiculously long lunch lines that are never worth it that everyone hates.

And I'm learning to love sweating. It's healthy. Disgusting. But healthy.

I'm learning to love getting four hours of sleep, forgetting I have homework, teachers who doubt my mental capabilities, and wearing seatbelts.

Even frogs.

And food.

And Dave Matthews.

Because really, hate is a waste of time.

Break begin break begin break begin be.

Sometimes it takes a breakdown to realize what you have. And what you are. It takes one day of ridiculous teachers, vast daydreams, heartbreaking text messages, cancer crises, and being the Wind to realize that life is anything but consistent. And out of nowhere you realize, through the tears clouding your vision, that things are what they are. And they're not going to kill you. They'll push you, break you, tear you in half, and drown you in hollow, but then they'll die down. The world is going to notice how strong you are. It'll back off. You'll stand up. Brush the sad off your shoulder. Kick off your worry shoes. And you'll run until you find Okay. You get there and it's raining and there's coffee and you know you can't stay long, but it's here. You're here. It's now. You leave. Go through it all again. And after a few times, you come to find that wherever you are is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Roll the Credits

All the things that we said we'd do, that we never did, fade away. And at the end of the film, we can finally say we know what love is.

Savored with sound!

12 songs for the last 12 days of summer.
1. Lemonade Song- Mitch McVicker
2. Kickin' it With You- Jason Mraz
3. Forever- Holiday Parade
4. At The Beach- The Avett Brothers
5. Mountain and The Sea- Ingrid Michaelson
6. Video Killed the Radio Star- Presidents
7. Strawberry Swing- Coldplay
8. Just Like Heaven- The Cure
9. Crashin'- Jack's Mannequin
10. Ruby Blue- Roison Murphy
11. On The Radio- Regina Spektor
12. Breakfast at Tiffany's- Deep Blue Something

Peace. <3

Files and cabinets and checks and lists.

The good:
-TOMS tan.
-Rasberry lemonade.
-Disney movies.
-Starbucks dates.
-New friends.
-Band practice.
-Red lips.
-Raw worship.
-Best friends and crying hugs.
-Small discoveries.

The bad:
-Ten pages of Algebra 2 homework.
-Driving slowly.
-Dramatic ex-boyfriends.
-Best friends going to college.
-Expensive gas.
-Losing your favorite pen.
-Lack of four wheel drive.

The lovely:
-Catherine's pet lizard.
-Hilary's mix cd's.
-Long talks in the car with Aric.
-Old pictures in Brooklyn's closet.
-Kissing Devon when the rest of Mantra is distracted.
-Wet hair.
-Getaways.

After all the wonderwalls.

When you're fifteen, a year is an eternity. And when you're fifteen you think about everything that happened when you weren't and how you handled it all. When you're fifteen it's time to forgive yourself for the things that happened when you weren't fifteen. When you weren't fifteen, you had a best friend. You were their Wonderwall. They're one. The one person. Ever. That knew them. When you weren't fifteen, you had a best friend. A best friend that you were in love with that had lots of other best friends that they were in love with. And you didn't care. And they took advantage of that. When you weren't fifteen, you had a best friend. A best friend who loved you for being weird. Who called himself Batman. Who got mad at you a lot. And you loved him. And when you weren't fifteen, you lost them all. One you ran away from. One you got tired of. And one you still don't even know. Then with the first one things got better. Again. At last. And the second. The second is hopeless. Because even though you've forgiven yourself, they have yet to forgive you. The third. Always comes back around. But not this time. And you wish it could all be different with the third. But the third's always been a little stubborn.

Wind doesn't stay.
It's simple.
And awful.
And true.
When it doesn't seem right, The Wind leaves. Hesitation depends on how strong of a bond there is with the Wind and the subject being fled from.
That's how it works.
Simple. Awful. True.

Hideaway.

Journal--1.2//March/17/2010

"Everyone needs a hideaway, for just them with things that remind other people of them. A little place to start fires, and read stories, and pretend, with walls made of blankets and a ceiling made of dreams. A hideaway with the kind of lights that glow. Not the lights that shine, just the lights that glow. The ones that shine are too bright. Everyone needs a hideaway where they can just go, and think, and yell, and just bite on the end of their pen without anyone telling them to stop."

Lovely messy.

I should probably stand up.
And I should probably clean my room.
And I should probably start my summer homework.
And I should probably text people back.
But instead I'll sit here, writing.
Instead I'll listen to music in my bedroom.
Instead I'll think about how right everything feels these days.
Instead I will realize that I'm happy, and content, and at peace.
Because it's summer.
Because I'm a teenager.
And because it's raining.

All I want is you.

You know that teddy bear you had when you were a kid and how your heart will always be tied to it a little, just because it was the root of your childhood? Or that kid that teased you in fifth grade and fell in love with you in middle school? Our hearts are scattered onto objects stitched with memories, and people that change us. But out hearts are also tied to places. Whether it's a bedroom, a coffeeshop, or a city in Massachusetts. When you're there, you know that it's exactly where you're supposed to be. When you're there all you want is for it to last. Your heart becomes tied to that place. Then you leave, and it's all you can think about. The weird thing is you don't get to choose these places, you just come across them and know. Kind of like how you don't get to pick who you fall in love with. You don't get to pick which places your heart ties to. Your heart does.

Sunlight, midnight, moonlight, true life.

There's something about Summer at night. When you lay in the road and absorb the pure youth in heat, it stays. You go insde and you're warm for hours. Because of one single moment. One lovespark.

131st.

The world is a street at night. The followers of Christ, the only truth, are the streetlamp. The streetlamp that somehow always remains glowing in the darkest night. The streetlamp brings the doubt out of the shadows it casts. The entire world is one street, with one streetlamp. All light comes that single streetlamp. So shine brighter.

Welcome to the little town of Nothing Happens Here.

We strive for contentment, when all the while we're forgetting to live.

Mr. Blue

I've accepted that you won't understand. You'll never get it. You'll never truly believe me. You. Are brilliant. You know how to say things through text that other people don't even know how to feel. You're my best friend. Honestly. Seriously. You're a retarded douche bag and completely oblivious to yourself. Your words are gloriously tragic. I ve accepted that you'll never know or grasp how inspiring you are. You. Keep me sane. Undoubtedly. You tell me to be okay, and you're often the only reason I am so. I meant it. I mean it. I love you.

The white dove dies red.

Perfection is suicide.
Perfection is disgusting and impossible, so just don't even try.
Perfection is a state of numbness towards yourself and everyone else. No paint on your hands. No calloused fingers from guitar strings. No messy bed hair, or mascara from last night.
To be perfect you must drop everything that makes you you.
So don't.
Because simply being who you are is ultimately more right.

Have a good day.

You're looking for something you can't find.
If you give it up you'll lose your mind.

Abundance, abundance.

Remember when you were a little girl and you'd go outside to look for lady bugs? You'd be out there for hours searching and not finding any,then eventually you would fall asleep in the grass. A long time later you would wake up and you were covered in lady bugs.

Well, that's kind of what love is like.

Merci beaucoup, mon copains.

I'm already: Heartbroken. Confused. Sad. Angry. And jealous.


Let's just add hurt to the list as well.

Heaven.

Once upon a time there was a small family. The parents had an image of an amazing home in their minds. A home where their children would know no pain, or fear. However, before this home could be built, the family had to live in a small apartment for awhile. The children were very very happy at the apartment. The parents were happy there, but not too happy because they understood what more was ahead of them. The children did not. When it was time to move to the new home, the children did not want to go. To them, the apartment was home. They figured if they were already so happy at this home, why should they go anywhere else? To the children, the small apartment was the only place they ever wanted to live.

When the parents finally convinced the children that their new home would be much better and far more glorious and charming, they left the apartment. The kids walked into their new home, the exact home that the parents had invisioned, and all was perfect. This home.. it was beyond the boundaries of the children's imagination. It was safe and beautiful and full of life. The previous bickering between the children and their parents about homes had dissolved. The family lived in harmony in that glorious haven of a home, where they would never again know fear or pain.

Cool story, bro.

Don't let your life become too casual.

Coop.

You lie. To me, to everyone, to yourself. You admit that you lie. But you don't even care. You seem to care about very little besides yourself and what you want. You do everything you can to tear apart the good that others have going for them. I find it funny that one month ago you were begging me to take you back. Apologizing. Complimenting. Telling me how much you "love me" all the time. Haha. It was annoying, and ridiculous. You say I'm the only girl that can truly make you happy yet you text me about how stupid I am and how you and your friends are laughing at me. My friends and I don't laugh at you. We just feel bad for you. You don't deserve our pity, but you have it. Because you're so mean to everyone you love and you're the most hypocritical person I've ever known. I apologized for the minuscule damage I recently made to your heart. And I hoped that after that we could be done. But you had to keep telling me everything that you think is wrong with me. To you, I'm a bad Christian, I'm judgmental and hypocritical, but I'm the only girl who can make you happy. It seems that all you ever do is lie. You keep talking to me, and I honestly don't care. After everything you've put me through I just do not care. At all. I don't care what you think of me, say about me, or do to try and destroy my happiness as you previously have. Just stop.

More Text

I don't know what this is going to say. I don't know what words I'll use. But they'll come. They always do. I never run out of words. Here. I'll pour my heart out.

I think you're in love with me. That sounds egotistical and silly. But it what's I'm picking up. It's what I feel.

Sometimes it's hard to feel alive. When you tell everyone something you think is true and it turns out to be a lie. That kind of sucks a little of the life out of you.

I'm okay. Not good. Not bad. Not excellent or horrible. But I'm okay. Sure, I cry like everyday. But I still have everything I love.

Everyone keeps saying that they're sorry and I'm going mad. Just stop. I'm not sorry, and it's my life, so why should you be sorry? None of you caused it. The last thing I want is pity.

It still doesn't feel like summer. I sleep in, and don't go to school, and I wear dresses all the time, and Josh's is opened. So?

Something keeps pulling me back to the same place. It forgets that I'm the wind. I forget sometimes.

So, I make a blanket fort where I feel safe. And continue to sit and fade away.

I've learned a lot of things in the past fourteen years, one month, and twelve days and this is a list of some of some of those things.

1. Love isn't always instinct.
2. The person that's right for you is usually standing right behind the one you thiiink is right for you.
3. People that you would never have imagined in your life often become some of your best friends.
4. It's usually a good idea to always have bandaids with you.
5. If you spend time with someone you will inevitably develop their habits.
6. Nicknames lead to friendship.
7. Best friends are the people who know you better than you ever will.
8. Everyone loses who they are because no one know's who they are to begin with.
9. High school is fantastic.
10. When you hold hands with someone, and they don't fit together well, it matters.
11. Being in love is much easier than loving someone.
12. Coffee. Is good.
13. We're given a certain amount of time to decide who we want to be and many of us waste it on trying to be someone else.
14. Elephants cannot spoon.
15. Some of the best storms are slept through.
16. Every museum has a gift shop.
17. Getting lost can be difficult.
18. Wishes come true.
19. Being okay and completely content is beautifully rare.
20. Learn to love the things you hate and everything becomes much easier.

Torn.

Choose.

Hazy.

When there's so much goingon that you just don't know what to say. And everyone thinks they know what's best for you. Everyone's right. And plausible. And you love everyone. And you don't know what to do, and no one understands that you don't know what to do. And you forget who you are, and what you want, and right when you feel like you know what you're going to do someone says something that sets a fire of entirely new thoughts. And you don't know what your heart can handle or how strong you are. And the one thing you know is that nothing makes sense. And you have trust issues, and fall in love too easliy. And everyone loves you, but no one loves each other. And everything is hazy. And you're scared of reliving a nightmare, and you want to trust. And you over think absolutely everything. And you know you're going to be awake for hours. And you don't know how to feel but you know that when you're around them, you're happy. You're you. And everyone knows what you should feel except for you. And it's not fair. And you can't tell the difference between your head and your heart.

Bridges British Beanies Man.

It seems to me that people fall apart too easliy. We are all so cryptically similar.
She is.. lost. And she knows it. And he want's to fix her, though he's the reason she was broken. He has no idea who he is anymore. She does not want this again. She is beautifully struggling. We are all beautifully struggling. To decide. To find. To know. To be. We all want to be. The man with the beanie who I slid the fairytale book to at the coffee shop, he wants to be. The boy who should be british, he wants to be. The girl on the banana bridge with the bright pink rainboots wants to be. Okay. We all want to be okay, and content, and sure. But isn't that messy unsure feeling lovely? That messy unsure feeling paints my heart over and over again. And it is lovely. We all want to be okay. Find comfort. Tell stories. Go for a drive. Buy coffee. Run a stop sign. Be.

Truly.

Dear,
I do not know your name, nor your face. I do know, however, that I will someday love you with all of my heart. Though time separates us, it is growing weaker. Fate will arrive when your eyes meet mine. At that moment our hearts shall also know all they've ever wondered. We are beneath the same stars and one day they will see us together. The moment our lips touch under pouring wedding rain, is the moment every angel's eye shall meet a tear. Our God will shake the hand of our Love. You will be the last to sweep me off my feet. Each day I think of you. How you're out there. Waiting. My love, do not search, for I will only be discovered when our hearts are in the right places. You consume more of my thoughts than you will ever know. When I see You, the sun will grow brighter and love shall have a name. For now, you remain the center of my desires. Sweet dreams, my shooting star. <3

Classic disaster. Beautiful adventure.

A couple months ago I made a list of things to do. The plan was to do these things, and then suddenly, I'de be myself again. I'd be.. Lexie. I'd be the girl who.. what? Who am I? Does anyone know? Because I certainly don't. There are about three or four people in this whole world that actually understand me. I'm not one of them. I don't think I ever will be. I've done almost everything on my list. I made a timeline of my past year. I bought.. earrings. I... made a new friend. I don't feel any different. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like I'll just wake up one day and know who I am. That would be nice, though. I took every crappy song off of my iPod. I got rid of a distraction. I loved. I listed my priorities. How can I be myself again when I don't know who I was in the first place? I know that I like hats. And I know that I hate sports. Am I the only person who thinks about this? I think too much. About everything. It's like a disease. Maybe by the end of this post, I'll have my problem solved. Is it a problem? Is not knowing who you are a problem? Or is it just how it should be? How are people defined? Is it like..by their family? Or their favorite things? Or what makes them happy? Maybe I'm always myself, and I just change. Or maybe, I'm myself sometimes, but not all the time. Maybe whatever I am or do or think is who I am. I'm always myself? When I'm tired and mean am I still Lexie? Because when Davis is tired and quiet, I say "You're not Davis." But he's still Davis. He's just tired, quiet Davis. So.. moods. I guess.. everyone has different moods? But, why? Why can't we just be feeling one steady thing at all times? I guess life would be boring that way. But if life was that way, we wouldn't know any different. Therefore, we wouldn't know that it was boring. Therefore, we wouldn't be bored. Who cares if we're bored? I think I'm in love with words. I'd rather read about a picture than look at a picture. That's weird. Why am I like that? Why am I so weird? If no one's the same, then is everyone weird? Is weird the opposite of normal? I've never heard anyone say anyone else was normal. This is my thought train. I love Train. I know what I love, and what I hate, and what makes me happy, and who my favorite people are, but I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, or be. Because I'm The Wind. I'm.. I'm The Wind.

Sweet and divine.

I want to start over. With you. I want to..forget that you ever loved me. I want to forget my infatuation with love. With being in love. I want to learn who I am, before I let someone else learn who I am. I need.. time. I need to figure things out. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm like you in a sense that when I'm angry, I'm a bitch. When someone.. frustrates me, all my negative emotions break lose and pour out onto one person. It sucks. But. I'm not going to fight anymore. I can't. I can't fight anymore. Or argue, or cry, or.. stab things. It was good. A good run. I learned stuff, I guess. It seems like it was over, and that was hard. But the outskirts of the end are what really took a toll on me. In reality, it's not a big deal. It's such an infinetly small deal that I don't even know what I'm doing. I never do. I want to forget every bad thing, and every good thing that happened. I don't regret. Just forget. Then maybe in a month, or.. a year.. or two, it'll be alright. It'll be new. Again. Because I'm done.

Sand in my shoes.

I love being a teenager.

"Happy girls are the prettiest."-Audrey Hepburn

You know all of the planets have different orbits, but they're all still planets?
That's how me and my best friends are. Catherine, Jordan, Brooklyn, Lexie. It's like..if someone were to put all four of us together as one person, we'd be perfect. :)
Catherine is like the flowers. She makes everything beautiful. She's still there and still growing under the worst conditions.
Brooklyn is like the water. An ocean or something. She's graceful. She knows like..everything. Whenever life gets dry, the tide comes in. Brooklyn comes in and brings the life back.
Jordan is like the sun. She just..I don't know. She shines. She lights up the room. Being around here is like in Summer, when the sun is out all day and you just want it to stay there and never leave. She watches over the things she loves and warms them whenever they need it.
Me, I'm like the wind.
We complete each other.
And that keeps us together.





<3

Clicking Machines

Six hours, one room, forty-two ceiling tiles, twenty-seven cords, seven doctors,and nine clicking machines. It's hard to hate hospitals because they help so many people. But at the same time, they destory them. I was there for hardly anytime, but while I was I was so inspired.
Travis, the x-ray technician who quite obviously wore Axe, put me in a wheelchair and took me to the lab. I was fascinated. The hospital. It's so huge.
"Hospitals are really big." I told Travis when we left the ER wing.
"Pardon?" He didn't hear me. I mumble.
"The hospital. It's really big." I hate repeating myself.
"Hahaha." How was that funny? "Yeah. It's kind of a maze around here."
"Like highschool.." I said to myself. Travis didn't hear me.

Then, I went back to my room and the PA turned on some random TV channel.
This show about hoarders was on. I learned that a hoarder is someone who keeps stuff. Like, everything. EVERYTHING. Trash, take out boxes, wrapping paper, hangers, mail. Every. Thing. The hoarder lady was being interviewed about a plastic hanger. The interviewer asked what was important about it. "Well, I've never been one for crafts. I was thinking I could give it away. To someone who likes crafts. And they could crush it into little pieces and they could make something out of it. If I found someone, I'd crush it up myself for them. I would put it in a little box and everything and take it to them, myself. As long as they'd use it."
A hanger. Hoarding is considered a mental disability.
Anyways. It made me think. Some people are hoarders like..with their lives. They never let things go. They hold onto one trace of every memory, every emotion, every experience. They don't forgive. They don't forget.They just let every bad thing in their life pile up, and drown them. Don't be like that.
I can't stand being in a hospital room, with nurses outside that yell at you when you just get up and walk out. I did that. I was so confined, I just got up and left. Then they all got fierce and said I had to wait for them to take out my IV and some other crap that I didn't hear because I was mad. I am the WIND. Geez.
But when they did let me out, I went outside and looked up at the sky. There were no stars, because I was by so much city. The sky wasn't dark blue, it was like..brown. But somehow, it was still perfect. A blue-brown starless sky is so much better than forty-two ceiling tiles and nine clicking machines.

Don't you know?

I'm desperate for a beginning.

Open your eyes.

What is life, if not passionate?
It's nothing.
Everything done should be done with passion.
Everything loved should be loved passionately.
If you're passionate about nothing, what is there to live for?
Truly life is like...a forest. Umm. A tree for every passion. In the center, empty. The center is where you can go to lay on your back and watch the sun soak the sky. You stand and feel the wind wrap around you, encase you in thoughts and dreams, that's what the center's for. The center is to remind you that there is always room for more passion.
Everyday you should feel. Everyday should be felt.
People these days, they don't FEEL anymore. This fishbowl life is all they need. They say they want to go somewhere and be someone, but if they truly did the would.
Live with passion. Sleep with passion. Walk with passion. Laugh with passion. Love with passion. Know with passion. Dream, believe, hope, feel with passion.

Wonderland

How do you know that everything you imagine isn't real to someone else?

Sunrise Romances

I've always liked sunrises more than sunsets.
I think it's because sunsets come at the end of the day. They signify an ending.
But sunrises, are like a new start.
With the warmth of every purple, red, orange, yellow ray comes a second chance.
The most beautiful thing I've seen isn't the ocean, or the moutains, or the stars. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen is a 4am sunrise. I won't go into detail of why I was even awake at 4am, but I will say I was on a horse. Me, a horse, and one magnificent purple sky in which hung a bright ornament. The sun.
With each rise of the sun, comes a beginning.

Osh Kosh

That was my life for so long, and now it isn't.
I don't think I'll ever get used to this.


<3

Batman

Love is dumb. Love is beautiful. Love has broken my heart and destroyed me. But I always manage to keep believing in it.
I've said I love you to guys that I now wish I had never met. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it in May, or June, or July, or October. I've changed. I get it now. Not fully, because no one can. But I understand it more now. Because I've experienced it. I mean it this time. It's a feeling, and an action. Love is when you get butterflies from holding hands even after months have passed. It's when one hug can change everything. It's when they can make you smile even on a Tuesday. Love is a giant mosh pit of arguements, broken hearts, smiles, Thursdays, anniversaries, dandelions, forgiveness, memories, and belief. You have to believe it in. It's not easy. It sucks and it will make you cry and turn you bitter and your emotions will get tired. But it's worth it. All of those temporary problems are worth that moment of laying in a field of sunflowers with everything you've ever wanted. I mean it this time. Belief.

Stay Gold

Don't wait for someone to tell you it's too late.
Cause these are the best days.
There's always something tomorrow.
So I say, let's make the best of tonight.
Here comes the rest of our lives.

We only grow up once.

Liberty loss and coffee cups.

My friend Kendal is a musician. He's on iTunes. "Pacific Resonance". Check it.
I'm listening to one of his songs right now, actually, and there's one line that stands out to me.
"Isn't it strange to think everything we do is useless?"
When I first heard it, I thought: "Dude, Kendal. Depressing, much?" But I've realized that he's exactly right. Nothing we do is going to change anything. Really.
I mean, we all want to think that it will, but really. Really. Nothing we do can change the weather, or the fact that polar bears will someday be extinct. (I know, I know, it's sad). Nothing we do is going to explain, truly explain, why Mona Lisa smiles. Isn't it strange to think everything we do is useless? It is. But I feel it's also a relief. It's not up to us. Nothing's up to us. If you know me at all, you know I know that it's up to God. Nothing He does is useless. Everything he does is everything. And we aren't Him.
It's like when someone you know has a test that they didn't study for. Dude, that sucks but it's not my test and I'm not you, so I'm not going to worry about it. Or even care. It's in God's hands. Everything is taken care of. The song's titled "Never Ending Search" Never ending search for the truth. The truth is, everything we do is useless.
But that's alright. :)

Lovely observations.

God is constant and unchanging. He will not fade like the colors of summer, or shift like the shadows, or scorch like the sun. He deserves all glory and all credit for every perfect thing, and every perfect second. All good is He.

This little light of mine.

I need you to think for a second. I need you to imagine. Imagine what life would be like, if Hope were a tangible thing. If Hope could be held in one's palm, and given, shared, or contained. Imagine everyone in the world, holding a little handful of Hope. Hope would be beautiful. It would shimmer with pure, nonparishable life. Hope would be desired so greatly, but would not bring destruction. Hope wouldn't be fought over. Everyone would have Hope. Everyone. It wouldn't be one of those situations where the person with the most Hope lives the longest or is the happiest. It would be an equal, consistent, everlasting, beautiful, something that we all had of our own. We would be free to toss some Hope over to our best friend, or stick some in an envelope and send it away to wherever. The supply would be infinite. Always hope, always there, always. It's simple. We would carry our Hope as the Night carries the stars. It wouldn't be optional. Why would it need to be optional? Who wouldn't want to always have their Hope with them? All you could ever need, always with you. Shining with that type of peaceful passion that can't be placed, Hope would always be there. It's purpose would be flawless. Hope could do no harm. It would be every perfect thing.

Lost to the past.

I haven't lost my self. You're wrong about that. But thank you for waking me up before I did so.