It’s hard to believe that something shining so bright could be so far away from where we are. To think that something like the moon or the stars seems closer to us than it is. And we’ve been there, we’ve been to the moon. Isn’t that amazing? And yet we still look up at the dark night sky…

Looking for something...

What that is, I don’t know. But I guess you see something in that sky right? Whether or not you’re searching for something up there is up to you.

But hey, that sky looks amazing doesn’t it?

So maybe you’ve got a wish to throw up there along with the other shooting stars. And I wish you the best of luck with that.

So keep stargazing if you must, maybe a shooting star will appear for you. I hope it does. And hey, maybe something will happen up there, you just have to keep watching to find out. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

So you wear a watch right? Me too. Time is a resource that we forget we have. We always wish we had more of it. So we keep track of it all the time. With our phones and alarms and our watches. We keep time close to us to that we don’t lose it. We always try to manage time to make the most of our lives.

And yet sooner or later, we run out of time and our watches don’t seem to matter anymore.

Some of us manage our time too much, and we forget to live. And some of us waste time, and some of us want to forget time. But whether we acknowledge time or not, it’s always there.

And you know that right?

Your watch will prove that much. So my advice to you, is to remember that time exists and to take advantage of what you’ve got right now. Whether it be an hour, or 5 minutes, just take some time to live by you, and not by time. Don’t wait, because time won’t wait for you. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

Do you skip stairs? I do it all the time. It’s like a pattern I’ve done since I was little, skipping every other stair. But enough about me.

You’re going somewhere, and to get there you had to go up these stairs. It can be annoying and tiring sometimes, but you do it anyway. Because you’ve got somewhere to be, and this staircase is just a small incline, a small effort to get there. Now don’t get me wrong, elevators are nice too, but you don’t have to do anything but push buttons to get somewhere.

So staircases make you work a bit harder, so what? Why do I care? Well, it reminds me of being able to do simple things, and how we go about our days as if we were made to scale mountains or jump out of airplanes.

And we remember that the small stuff, like climbing stairs, is still something we do because we can. And we forget that a lot of the time. So don’t forget, no matter how many stairs you’ve got to climb, you’re still going up. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

Hey, I’m sure we all procrastinate at least some of the time. We all have something we should do, and then the things we want to do. And yet we choose easy over practical. Maybe because we’d rather listen to ourselves over others and that’s not a bad thing. But we forget that we aren’t the only ones living life.

So maybe we should stop wasting time and do something meaningful again. And sure, maybe the reason why you’re procrastinating is because you’re bored and I get that. But hey, it’s up to you what happens next. You could ignore me and this letter wouldn’t matter, and that’s okay. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. Just don’t forget that you don’t have to stay in one spot forever. Take a walk or strike up a conversation, write a letter.

It might not be for you, but it helped me. So there, I’ve said my piece, now you decide what to do from here. I’ll just wait here. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere just yet. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

I appreciate that you decide to work well. Not everybody puts the best of themselves into their work. Some of us never had to live hard lives or put up with the world treating us like we don’t matter. But some of us have something we’re looking to achieve, something we want.

Something we’re willing to work for. Now I don’t know what or who it is that you work for, but for some reason you work. I hope that whatever it is you’re working for, that it’s worth it.

Not all of us have something worth fighting for, or working for. So don’t forget why you work so hard. But also remember to take it easy sometimes. You may not have time, or maybe you don’t want to, but you should at least try.

I hope that you get what you want, and that the hard work pays off in time. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

So about an hour or so to go and not a moment of actual sleep to be had.

Surprising that I'm actually still very much awake and living as much as I am. So I guess it's just something about the flights that keep me forever awake. So now that the traveling is almost over, what am I supposed to do now?

Other than more waiting for the adventure that is the next 8 days. And sure, 1 hour isn't a long time on any given normal day. But this is a plane to Paris.

And time seems to pass slower on any plane. So I guess I'm just waiting out the next hour for now. Not much, but enough to drag out the rest of this flight.

Ugh. I do not like waiting. But what else is there to do? I guess there's only so much to do from here. So for right now, I'll get back to the writing when I'm in Paris.

Only because I'm tired of writing the same phrases page after page.

There's only so much I can write on this plane.

Usually, I'm pretty impatient about well... anything. Like this trip for example. I kind of wish we were already there. But at the same time, I'm not too eager to rush through today. Making this experience last as long as possible.

Getting as much out of it as I can. Living like to the fullest sort of thing. And yet, this plane ride is becoming sort of draining. But plane rides are usually like that. Not much to be done about that.

So for right now, I'll enjoy some time to lat back and try to relax. More air time above the ocean.

There's really nothing more to be done about the time left on this flight. And writing seem like the best time killer I've got. But it's not that I'm bored of writing. It's just that I'd rather be singing or playing my uke.

I could still be writing... But I'd be creating a song or poem or something new.

Something good. (So like I don't know, the bachelor?)

Something... (Yep. Definitely the bachelor.)

But I have to continue to wait out the flight. But again, I'm not really complaining.

I have the whole trip ahead of me.

Seeing as we still have about 4-ish hours to go, I can only wonder what I can do in that time. 4 hours is enough time to watch a few good musicals. But I don't seem to have access to those at the moment.

So my best options are to write, sleep, or talk. But the latter doesn't seem all that successful at the moment. (The bachelor is definitely a distraction.)

So that's a bit nerve racking, but I'm managing.

Other than that, music therapy is seeming like a really good thing. And yet, I don't feel all that different going to Paris. I mean, things could have turned out differently for different reasons.

And that's just listing tons of possibilities taking everything into account. And sure, thing could've played out differently but this is what I've got. And honestly, I'm not complaining. I'm pretty okay with where I am and where I'm going.

I mean, I'm on my way to Paris. So why would I even think of being the one to complain?

This is gonna be a once in a lifetime thing. So taking everything into account, I should just enjoy it right?

I mean, that works for me.

To Paris!

In like 4 hours...

I can wait.

So, I guess I'll start by saying that I have not done much to accomplish my goal of staying awake. I mean, usually I can just will power my way through it. But that doesn't always work. And I don't expect it to.

Second thing, I have no idea how to combat my sleep patterns. I mean it's sort of unpredictable and inconsistent. So maybe I will sleep just because. Not because I want to, but because I can.

And my current situation is sort of battling that decision of "sleep of no sleep".

Anyways...

It's a process that I'd rather not go through at the moment. So the sleep aside, I think that excitement of getting to Paris is nothing short of overwhelming.

but the curiosity of what it's going to be like is a weird thrill. Wondering what it'll be like to live there for a week. I'm still sort of nervous about it all and I'm still getting used to the though of it all.

So I guess I won't have much more to say until we actually get there. And I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am to get there.

My average for staying awake can lie anywhere from 12 - 3 in the morning. Only earlier on a tiring day, or when I have nothing better to do. It can be a struggle depending on the day. Some days it's just not enough to put everything down and call it a day.

So on those days, I stay awake for as long as I possibly can. And most days I don't win the war between myself and sleep. But I shut down the will to try after a few hours.

But I try.

Only so often do I actually succeed in abandoning my sleep for a day. But then the morning comes and I once again, become a groggy, tired, semi - functioning human being.

So...

Now what?

Well, I'm left with about 2 option: Sleep and don't sleep. One definitely seems more appealing then the other. Only because I'm willing to accept a challenge. Like staying up for the next 24 hours. But, we'll see how that works out.

It's gonna be some day.
Or something like that.

~April 6th, 2017~

I can only imagine what France is gonna be like. But the curiosity is definitely there. We leave one day, and fly into the next. And I would consider this some weird form of time travel.

Hours behind on some flights, hours ahead on the next. What a day, and it's not even over yet. But here I am, close to high haven once again. And nothing more to be done except wait.

But that's not exactly a bad thing. I can be patient for awhile. I can manage that.

At least for now.

So I'm not entirely sure when this flight crosses over into tomorrow. But I mean, is that really worth sleeping through?

Maybe, maybe not.

But I'll definitely attempt to pull off the world's worst "all nighter". It's worth a shot right? I mean, it's something to do.

So this flight may be the weirdest crossover between days. But that's okay with me. Only now, can I really understand the influence of time and flight and varying amounts of sleep.

Speaking of...

~April 6th, 2017~

Dear Yesterday,

Right now the panic is setting in to your body like the third wave of infection we didn't write poetry about. And let me tell you, the anxiety and stress with everything will subside throughout the flight.

Not a normal feeling of excitement or anything , but you feel the joy eventually. But for now, take my advice and relax a bit. Don't worry too much about what will happen once you get there.

Leave life in it's upside-down, unpredictable state. Give up some control.

I mean, I've forgotten what it's like to be above clouds. It seems so close to high haven and yet...

Still a long drop down.

And sure, I'm not really scared of falling from here. Just my thanatophobic tendencies. But in all honesty, I think I'm gonna be more scared of the people on this trip then the actual trip.

Only because of things like first impressions and my personal friend group staying together.

I can only hope that nothing goes wrong for us. And honestly, probably nothing will.

Optimism right?

~April 12th, 2017~

Some time between 8:00pm and 9:00pm in the street of Paris...

Imagine walking down the street with the best strawberry yogurt ice cream in the world. Seeing the street of starving artists in all different forms, like that one scene from a movie you saw years ago.

Seeing freehand artists drawing the faces of complete strangers, and the suddenly hearing music.

Hearing a complete strangers singing over classical guitar and not knowing if they were singing in english of french.

But I don't really care. Music has been and always will be a universal language.

So what more can you do about a starving artist?

Well there's  only so much you can do for a guy playing classical guitar in the middle of Paris.

So about 3 songs and €10 later, this artist's voice rings through the empty street. And somehow I become the starving artist, playing this guitar that doesn't belong to me.

And yet I play out like nobody is listening in.

Applause comes... and it goes...

I played one song to look up, and one song from here. All the while feeling the air pass through this street. The only thing left to do was pick up a name and a sappy french poem.

I shake his hand and come away from the street with a major music high. (Pun intended)

And I wasn't the only one on Cloud 9, the feeling shared by yet another music nerd.

And as we roam the streets of Paris singing the same lyrics from "La La Land", we feel complete for now.

And in  that moment...

I lived.

And there's nothing more I can really say other than...

How did we get here?

I'm picking up everything on the floor and dividing it up into piles.

Things to throw away.

Things to recycle.

Things that don't belong to me.

Things to preserve.

Things to hang up on my wall.

Things to reconsider how much I want them.

Things to stare at.

Things....

Things I don't want anymore.

Things that pain me to get rid of but I have to.

And I look at all the dust piling up around my room and I wonder how long it's been since I did something like this.

And yet... I still have to much work to do.

...That you don't hate me for what I wrote.

I have no other way.
I'm stuck here counting days.

What happened to me?

When you are working on that really important history project, before you can even begin, there is always that one person who asks: "So how much is this worth? How much will this count towards our mark?"

Ugh. Welcome to the Bauer state of mind everybody!

All that matters in life is how successful you are. And as long as your average is a constant 100%, you do not need to worry about anything else.

What a life huh?

These people are the perfect people for office job life. Nothing but numbers, no life, no soul.

Nothing else matters to them.

And singling these people out in high school is the saddest thing, and the most hilarious thing I've done.

Because these people brag at 100% and cry at 99%.

Wait, what?!

How can you not be satisfied with anything less than overdoing it?

I mean, you go on and live your life.

But I'll stay here with a more than satisfactory 85%.

I can work with that.

There's a guy I know who once used an entire 2nd period class to draw out his entire family line on the white board.

He explains in great detail the divorces, the half siblings, the brothers he truly cares for. And you forget that somewhere in this family tree, he exists.

And he talks....and talks....

It gets to a point where you forget he's monologing.

He stops talking about and slowly begins talking about his view on love and relationships. I forget that he comes from a somewhat messed up family.

I mean, I'm still optimistic about love. So much so that I forget that people don't see the world the way I do.

And he is... not as optimistic about love.

Or rather, he just doesn't see love as an opportunity worth chasing. He explains it as, "I can develop feelings for someone, but I don't act on them because I don't see the point."

Or something like that...

And well, I can't think like that.

So I'll leave this mindset here. I guess it's something worth talking about. I guess...

Alright, alright...

Let's me be honest when I call myself out for being a narcissist.

Because I am a narcissist when it comes to things like music, or poetry, or worldview.

In short, I'm pretty terrible.

But in my narcissism, there is a bit of a God complex.

Feeling like I am invincible and unshakable. Like no one is above me and like nobody can possibly be in my way.

Like I am in control of everything.

Like God.

But definitely not like God.

I try to pull myself away from that kind of thinking because it dehumanizes me. It makes me something I don't want people to see.

It doesn't matter if I enjoy the insanity while it overtakes my body because eventually I will come to realize that this is not the life I want.

That I am better than this.

I mean...

Am I not better?

I don't know.

God?

Can you tell me?

Joseph is a gifted mind, given a coat by his father, and visions by God.

After getting out of prison, Joseph is brought before the Pharaoh , as the Pharaoh believes that Joseph is a "dream interpreter".

Joseph explains that he does not interpret dreams, he just tells what he sees in his visions, and that the visions are from God.

Pharaoh continues on to tell the 2 dreams he's had constantly:

One of 7 good ears of corn eaten up by 7 bad ears. And the next of 7 healthy cows being swallowed up by 7 sickly cows.

Pharaoh has had so many of his royal interpreters try to decipher his dreams and none of them could do it. So when he heard about Joseph, he found himself all out of options.

And Joseph delivers with this interpretation.

The 7 good ears of corn and healthy cows represent 7 years of feast, 7 years of plenty. And the 7 bad ears and sickly cows represent the 7 years of famine that will follow after. And Egypt may not survive if nothing is done.

So what can be done?

Joseph comes up with this plan:

During the years of plenty, take all the grain that Egypt has and store 1/5 of it underground. And then during the years of famine, give the 1/5 back to the people.

The plan saved Egypt from starvation and Joseph was made second in command to Pharaoh, and he continued to lead Egypt to great success.

This concept of "storing the fifth" can be applied to happiness as well.

When things go wrong, or the world is completely against you, find something you know makes you happy...

And store it somewhere you can find it later.

A good movie, your favourite comfort food, a conversation with an old friend. Something that calms you down and brings you back home.

And right now, I may not be in the middle of a 7 year famine, but I am working through a starvation of my own. So I am picking up the nearest shovel and I am digging for my stored fifth.

Problem is...

I still have no idea where it is.

Throughout our lives we develop our personality and our complicated states of mind.

And yet we still end up believing in our personal causes like it's world law. And sure, that may the most narcissistic thing I can think of right now, but it's my life is it not?

And yes, a lot of what I just said doesn't make complete sense.

So...

Just bare with me.
I just went through hell.
And it takes the bravest and best of us to come back from that.

You may not know what happened to me, so I'll pick apart my psyche so that maybe I can understand what happened to me.

So here we go.

Stick around if you want the details.

I wish people could hear music the same way I do. I almost feel bad that people can't tap into my brain and hear the musical pulled apart into sections.

Melody
Harmony
Each instrument going separately and yet all of the pieces coming together to create this...

Masterpiece.

I've tried to explain it to people.

And no matter how hard I try, nobody will ever truly understand it. And that's okay.

Hey listen, I’m not here to criticize you for spending 10 hours on YouTube or Facebook or Tumblr or whatever. I think we’re all at least a little bit guilty of going overtime online. And it’s not like that's entirely a bad thing. But sometimes we get stuck with things we don’t really need.

And I’m not asking you to abandon the internet for a day of anything. And it’s not like I have a whole lot of influence. I am just writing on a page from a person you don’t know. But still, you gotta wonder where you’ve been when you get lost online. Trust me, I’ve been there. Sometimes, we need to wake up and remember to live life again. Not because we should, but because we can. Because you’re more than you realize.  

So don’t get lost if you don’t have to. Not just on the internet, but anywhere. Remind yourself of where you’re going, and make it there. So now it’s up to you, what you decide to do is out of my control. All I can do is wish you good luck. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

How’s the view out there? Did you count the cars as they drove by? Is it snowing out there?

I’m only asking because I don’t know how you see it. I’ve looked out my fair share of windows and seen the world. Almost makes you grateful that we have something this amazing to look at. Even when the storms roll in, you feel good that you’re inside watching a natural chaos.

Something about that can make you wonder why we deserve something like rainbows or sunsets. It’s nice to just take some time to appreciate the simple thing like a good view from you corner of the world. Some of us don’t do that as much as we should. So do us all a favour and stare out a window for just a little longer. Not everybody will see the view the way you do. I hope you can see the beauty from where you are.

And hey, it’s a good reminder of what we’ve got on this planet. Enjoy your view, it must be beautiful. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

You ever walk from place to place with your earbuds in and music turned up? I do that a lot. I’m a hallway walker myself, used to run everywhere at first but not anymore.

So since you’re a hallway walker, where are you going? You got somewhere to be? I find myself walking halls a lot. Sometimes it’s for absolutely no reason. And sometimes we all just need to walk out our problems or feelings.

You get used to seeing the same walls and doors along the way. Sometime that halls are empty and hollow, and sometimes you’re trying to walk through a crowd...

Have you ever wondered about where other people are going? Maybe they’re walking the same way you are, or maybe they’re walking to nowhere. Either way, we’ve all got somewhere we have to go. I hope you make it there safely.

And hey, don’t forget where you’re going, but don’t forget where you came from either. The journey is just as important as the destination. Thanks for finding my letter. Now keep walking, I mean, don’t you have somewhere to be?

~Letter Writer

What can I say? I would love to be you. If you really do approach the world with love instead of hate, then maybe you could teach me to be less cynical about the world.

I don’t consider myself to be a hateful person. But It seems more difficult to be a loving person instead. In a way, you could just see it as confusion, but love is a complicated thing, it always has been.

I’ve never truly understood love in general, but I never expected to. So really, how do you manage to live life while still loving? Well, I admire that you can live life like that. Whereas I still have to learn.

So use this to your advantage, remind yourself of why you love, who you love , and why it’s all worth it. Because this is something only you can understand.

Because love is different for everybody. Love may be weird and confusing, but it’s something we need. And who am I to argue? I may not know much about love. But I can agree it’s worth it. I hope you’ve got love wherever you’re at. Maybe you can help me figure it all out. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

You just can't help but love the feeling that you know something they don't.

But at the same time, you can hate that feeling until the secret explodes from your heart.

But in the event of this good secret, I can only watch people be oblivious and love that this secret won't stay a secret forever. Because I know something that will hopefully make them happy.

But when someone is dying to know the secret...

You can only hope you don't disappoint them when you finally tell them what it is.

Because you've been holding this secret for 3 months.

And it means something to you.

Hopefully the same applies to them.

We are the written ammunition of this literary military.*

~April 1st, 2017~

My headphones are on.
I know what I'm hearing.
And I hope you can hear my heart break with every hit.
There is no excuse.
There is no cover up.

You wouldn't allow me to sit idly by and listen to you drain the blood from your hands.
I've been there, I've done that.
100,
200,
300,

Are you even counting? I'm not, and even I know you've doubled up on the hits.

I can hear it.

Can you?

Setting: My Hometown, The School Ground, The 3rd Space, The Front Seat Of The Car, The Church, 2014-17 and beyond
Main Cast: The Musician, The Punk, The Tie-Wearer
Other Important Roles: The Prince, The Parental Units, The Body Guard, The Boy With The Glasses, The 5 Personalities, The Logical Thinker, The Multiple Third Parties, etc. There are too many to count.

Edit: Do not cast the 5 personalities... I mean, you can, just be careful. They might quit their jobs halfway through the film.

Warning**

Deciding to make this movie is a challenge that nobody is prepared to execute, so don't be surprised if you cannot handle the emotional scarring and strain on every single character in the film. This is not your average story.

And these are not your average characters.

So we start our story off in 2014.
Autumn
2 of our main characters meet...
And our story begins...

From "Unsolicited Advice To Adolescent Girls With Crooked Teeth And Pink Hair" By Jeanann Verlee*

"When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you're a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won't have anything to grab when you head-**** her...


Then, head-**** her."

I have never felt so sick in my life.

Eating feels like a necessary torture, and sleep feels like an unwanted evil.
Stuck in the same cycle of waking up feeling disgusting, and not wanting to sleep because the longer I stay awake, the better I feel.

But even I can't stay awake forever.

But I try, God knows I try.

So I still live in these infected clothes in this infected house and I can't help but wonder where the hell my conscience went.

I feel weak every single day, and I can only hope that this week...

Can change everything.

So if I'm crying out to the TV watchers and the music citizens. To my best friends... some of which who won't even talk to me...

Help me.

I can't wake up tomorrow thinking that this will not pass us by like the sickness it is.

Or was...

But if somebody else is crying out, I will drop this sickness like a ton of bricks and run to wherever they are.

I won't feel sick if somebody needs me there.

So I can put a lock on the medicine cabinet. Not because I won't be able to pry myself away from it, but because I will believe with the entirety of my whole body that I don't need anything.

My family is made up of some of the strongest people on this planet.

I will not be an exception by any means.

So maybe I can wake up as a medical zombie, filled with my own drop dead weight.

I am tired.

But not tired enough.

Unlike the first wave of sick.
This one cannot be cured by any amount of overdue sleep.

Why do you think I write into the abyss of every night?

Because there is nothing more for me to gain from saying that I am helpless.

So I won't...

Wake me up when it's all over.

And then I can live again.

I woke up sick.
And I feel awful.

But not for the reason you think.

I can assure you that I am fine, I just need some time to lucid dream and wish my worries away. But that might never happen. And honestly, that's okay with me.

I'm wearing the same infected clothes, and wrapping up in the same infected blanket hoping to get better.

I've gotten the rest of my family sick, so good for me.
Because my family is made up of some of the strongest people I know. We never get sick.

And yet, here we are. Bound to our beds and eating soup like it's the elixir of life.

But we will get better. Physically...

As for everything else... we can leave that until tomorrow.

But I'm still in these infected, sick clothes. But I'm too tired to do anything about it. So I'll sleep.

It's the best thing I can do right now.

Don't you think?

Me?

That can't possibly be right.
I never planned on being this kind of crazy, but I don't hate it. This is not what we expected and yet somehow we're okay with it.

I'm being very vague, I know. But only some of us are going to know what happened. So I don't need to shout it to the rest of the world. The rest of the world doesn't really need to know what happened to us.

I'm not afraid to die some days.

Mainly because when I do get on with living, I get caught up in being so busy that I don't have time for death.

Or maybe that death will be gracious enough not to have time for me.

I wish I knew how to pick up the pieces of my life and try to put them together without losing anything on the way.

You know that I don't belong to anyone. And that no one belongs to me, I am not one to claim anything for myself.

I think that you are awesome. And you can decide to throw that to the back pages of your life story and I won't be mad at you. I'll just decide to keep writing and maybe the book won't seem so heavy on your heart.

But even as I say all of these great things about you. I cannot tell you that I am sure of what will happen to us. You can't have me.

And I will not be able to explain why. But I will say that I feel comfortable where we are now. Held in hugs and folded away with stray sheets of paper. I don't want to lose you, but I cannot say with confidence that I can be what you want.

Because as much as I care about you. We must understand that we are single people looking for connections in the network of our closest friends and family. And we don't always find what we're looking for.

And that is okay.

So when we decide to stop.
I will still call you gorgeous.
I will still walk with you down hallways.
I will still lean on you in the worst of times
I will still call on your name.
I will still call you awesome.
I will still call you amazing.
I will still call you beautiful.

I will still call you...

And I hope you will still call me.

Day or night?
Video or audio?
Wake up or keep dreaming?
Move on or turn back?
Tomorrow or yesterday?
Now or never?
Too much or not enough?
Lifted up or put down?
Shut in or shut out?
Step forward or step back?
Forgive or forget?
Ahead or behind?
Real or fake?
Control or chaos?
In your head or in your heart?
Off beat or in sync?
Accept or deny?
Save or sacrifice?
Together or alone?
Yours or theirs?
Blood or water?
Everything or nothing?
Beginning or end?
Taken or given?
Live or die?
Your fault or mine?
Your choice or no choice?
Surrender or fight?
Different of the same?
Run back or run away?
Anxious days or sleepless nights?
Shining in the spotlight or hidden in the shadows?
Say something or stay silent?
Inner strength or outer strength?
Keep or abandon?
Bitter or sweet?
Cut off or connect?
Cooperate or compete?
Relief or risk?
Jump or fall?
Stay or go?
Preserve or burn?
Cold as ice or hot as flames?
Relaxed or on edge?
Listen or disregard?
Pride or concern?
Public or private?
Adventure or reward?
Save my life or leave me here?

This state of limbo is the calmest and scariest place to be.
Where all of these decisions seem to matter long before they've been made.
And here I am just staring down the possibilities...

I can stop you know.
I have self control and that is something I can be sure of.
But even now, what are we supposed to do?

I'll start with saying this:

I'm not going anywhere.
I am not a guarantee for what you might want, but I won't leave.
I can't.

So here's what I propose:

Stop. Think. Act.

And sure, that's brutal honesty, and it's not easy.
But you've got an iron will do you not?

For now...
Just watch some TV with me.

Please?

I don't need a poem written about me.

I mean, I could argue whether or not it's worth it to write about me. I am an original among billions of people but only so many people are going to get to know me. And fewer than that will want to talk about me or write about my life and how it affected theirs.

So really now, what is there to tell?

You can start with what event brought us together...
And end with how you think everything will work out.

I'm giving up my author status for a short time to let someone else tell this story.

Because right now, I need another opinion.

So I'll leave the paper here.
Write what you will.
And write with everything you've got.

So you must have something you really care about to call yourself a fighter. There is a certain amount of pride that comes along with that.

I’ll be honest with you, this world will try to bring you down, along with everything you care about. Maybe not all the time, but there will be days when it feels like the world stopped caring. But for some reason you didn’t give up… Why? I guess only you know that.

Everybody has something they’re willing to fight for, and maybe you had to fight physically or internally. But you have something you’re willing to defend. Whether it be your family or possessions, beliefs, or even yourself. And I get that, believe me I do. I may not know you, but I get wanting to stand up for something.

Because everybody’s got something worth fighting for. Why else do we decide to defend ourselves for what we’ve got? So keep fighting. In some cases, it keeps us alive. Take care of yourself. It seems like you’re doing a good job at doing that already. Thanks for finding my letter

~Letter Writer

I guess you enjoy the sound of a good singer or backing track. Am I wrong to assume that you walk around with your earbuds in, and the music turned up to shut out the noise?

I’ve spent a lot of time listening to the music through my headphones, but not the music throughout every day. Listening to thunderstorms, or birds singing, or the school bell. You’re very lucky to enjoy the music as you hear it. It’s part of the reason why music reaches out to so many people. It’s one of the things I really love about this world. It’s just beautiful isn’t it? It kind of makes me feel bad for people who are deaf.

So listen, music is also part of your communication in a way. It complements your personality and style. So maybe you’re walking down the halls to your favorite song and just enjoying life. I mean, how great is that? Pretty great if you ask me.

In all honesty, thanks for being a musical person. It’s the sort of thing that opens you up to the world if you let it. So keep listening to whatever music you like. But don’t tune out the world when you do. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

Hey,

Yeah I know, you weren’t exactly expecting this, trust me I get it. But I’m not big on writing long letters so I’ll keep it short.
You decided to read this so you might be curious as to what I have to say. Well, to be completely honest, I wanted somebody to talk to.

But listen, this letter is the first of many that I will handwrite and leave for complete strangers. I’m not trying to fix the world, and I’m not trying to change lives. But I think that we all need a little more good in our lives. I guess I should tell you that wherever you are in life right now, keep going.

Let some curiosity take over and open up to the world for a bit. Take this week by storm and live a little. Yeah, I get that this may or may not be the best week of your life. But take a minute to just experience what you’ve got. Appreciate the small things like the sunshine or the quiet. I hope that you’re feeling okay, but I think I’m running out of paper. Maybe you’ll see another on of my letters sometime soon. It was nice talking to you. Thank you for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

~ The Letter Writer

The following is a series of letters written for complete strangers. These letters were written, put in envelopes, and then sent off for people to find. I’m not trying to change lives, but I thought it could at least help out the people who need it most. And who am I to stop people from remembering what’s important? Whether or not they find out who I am, that’s another story...

~Letter Writer

In all honesty, there are always going to be people you can't stand. Like the teachers you hate, or political leaders, or just stupid people. But I might as well stop myself from talking about it before getting carried away.

I don't always feel my voice is very subtle, I'm told I'm a very loud person. And that's only true when I want it to be.

I kind of just hate money... and politics, and people, and anything and everything that makes me live up to world standards.

I've got an anger problem, I dream about getting into fights and then I imagine winning and suddenly everybody thinks I'm dangerous.

I should probably tell my sister I love her, but if I'm being honest, I have to tell my other sister I hate her.

I don't know how smart I'm supposed to be, or if I should act like I don't care anymore. If I could shoot up a building, I think I would. Not because I want to.

But because I ---



...


*Nobody ever told me how to put an end to this...

Don't get me wrong, I like elevators as much as the next guy. But there's always been something about stairs that just interests me in a way elevators can't.

If you've ever watched me climb a flight of stairs, I usually skip every other step. Mainly to save time because I live life too fast, climbing stairs so I could slow life down somewhere else.

I have this one staircase where all my friends hang out, less than 10 steps with a door at the top. That door wasn't opened very often, we called it the -- "Suicide Door". Only to find that it was a room where there were tons of stacked boxes willed with paper. But we still hung out on that staircase anyway.

Lately, the conversations that take place on those stairs are less than amusing, we don't laugh about how stupid people are. Rather we rant about who we want to **** in this world, and who's mad at who for thier gender or religion, I don't feel safe there anymore.

I fear if I say anything that I'll be shut down because I don't like people's use of "free speech" when it's used to put people down. And yes, I know, I'm not innocent here. There are conversations I regret saying that I have left on that staircase.

We don't talk about those conversations because we know out opinions are still changing. I may not remember any of this when it's finally over.

We don't talk about conversations we had behind closed suicide doors. But we never talk about the ones we had on the staircase below it. Sometimes that door seems like it's locked forever, and we choose to believe that our staircase leads to nowhere.

I miss the way thing used to be, when conversations weren't poisonous to those who heard the even by accident.

It makes me want to take elevators with strangers. Sure, it would be awkward, but at least nobody would want to rant about people to a bunch of strangers.

I sat by the stairs again. All my friends were there. But the school bells ring and everybody leaves. Nobody bothers with a "see you later" of a "c'mon, we gotta go, you'll be late". They just leave.

I'll stay there for a minute, gather my things, and wonder where they all went.

And whether or not they'd come back.

After all, the stairs aren't all that important right?

And these stairs, out of all staircases, just lead to nowhere...

I don't care.

You see that's just it: I don't care.
And it doesn't really matter if I'm lying or not because I don't care.

I'm more numb to the fact that love is a subject I used to want to talk about. I don't really feel like writing about it either but here we are.

Although I'm not as big of a believer in love as I used to be, I'll probably still hate you if you say love is just an illusion. But to be honest, love still *****. But there's nothing  more that I'm willing to give everything I have for. Except for God, or myself. But this is what you get with me being selfish.

I was talking to an old classmate of my brother's and I tell her I would rather have a son than a daughter. And she says she would rather have alcohol than kids -- she's younger than me. And suddenly I don't feel great. Who knew it would take one sentence for me to feel shock and then... hate her. Or rather her judgement. Part of me refrains from wanting to **** her, but I've always been violent right?

Chances are, if I have a son I am more likely to raise him as more machine than man. He would earn the pride of the family by being more man than human. And that's probably my fault. But's it better than me having a daughter.

Because the only thing worse than having a child who isn't like me, is having a kid who is me. I would want more than anything to raise her to be her own person. But the chances of her becoming me by default are more than likely.

But I'm not a parent, not yet anyway. But here I am, surrounded by all my friends -- in relationships...

And love now seems more like an idea than a goal. They're all holding hands and spending time together. And you can see the way they look at each other. It almost makes me feel sick. Because it's obnoxious... but I want it.

I hate that I have to be the cynical ******* who nags on people for loving other people. I have never known this kind of live. It almost makes me want to be bi, or an atheist, or anything that isn't me.

They're holding each other again. I  catch myself staring and suddenly I don't feel very safe anymore.

Because love ******* *****.

So why do I want it?

I try to bring up the conversation up with a friend. She says, "What are you, 16? You're only 16."

She's the same exact age as me... and in a relationship. As much as I want to point out the hypocrisy, I don't.

Her girlfriend arrives 5 minutes later and I watch them drive off together. So I leave, get in my car, turn up the music and drive home...

alone.

Look, I never said I was that smart.
I say stupid stuff all the time.
It's not like I'm always awake.

I'm rewriting my life story.
Impossible?
Maybe.
But we all wish some parts of our lives were different.

I'm rewriting my DNA make my skin less red, my spine less curved, my mind less distracted, to make my body hurt less.

I'm rewriting my backstory, one where I didn't worry about much other than my life at home. I never told anybody how dangerous my life used to be...

Listen, I tend to write like I'm speaking in a conversation. Mostly because I wish I had somebody to talk to. And if I'm being honest, you'd be my first pick to talk to. Life never treated us the was we thought it would mostly because we're optimistic than realistic.

I tried talking to you at least 10 times today. And every single time I wish I didn't close up in my own embarrassment. I tried 10 times and didn't talk to you once. and if you ever hear this poem than maybe I finally did succeed in talking to you.

Sometimes, when I write poetry, I hope you're reading over my shoulder so I wouldn't have to say it out loud. I'm sorry that I blame everything on time, and how if I had another minute, I'd tell you "I love you". But I can't...

I'm sorry I make things awkward because I'm scared of telling you what I'm really thinking. I wish I knew how to write this without wishing you were gonna read it. Because maybe you never will.

Part of me will never be okay with that because you may go your whole like never know that somebody wrote pages about you that never made it to your eyes or ears.

I'm sorry that I'll never have enough courage to read this to you. I'll wish I did when you feel sad or unloved. Because something like this will remind you of why we never let anyone take control of our lives because we are Gods right?

Or at least you were.

And I know infinity can't hold up to your brilliance so please don't cry when you the world's grip on your shoulders. You're already stronger that you thought you were.

Part of us will always suffer in the moments we never said what really mattered. But it seems like time is already passing us by.

I know you've already forgotten the lyrics to the first song I ever sent you. And soon my name will fall on that list as well.

Just take a pack of cigarettes to the rooftops like you always said you would.

It's okay if you don't remember why you're up there.
I guess this is where most conversations end.

See you soon.

Or rather...

See us.

Growing up in a Christian home, you'd expect someone like me to have committed myself to working for God since I was 4 or 5.

Aha...

But no. I used to think that too.

I was 11 and it was the middle of the night. I was crying and sweating bullets calling out to God to save me. This is the kind of thing I will not be required to explain to a skeptic or somebody who questions why I do thing the way I do. I have never been very open about faith during my life. But this isn't about me.

Let's talk about something else, so there's this guy, Isaiah. A prophet, said to have understood and described the mystery of Jesus. Something people today would never figure out. Isaiah would prophesies the future in such a way that you wouldn't know he was talking about the future. He wrote songs about the revelation songs... I write songs...

I know a little boy at my church, his name is Isaiah, and part of me wonders if he will write song, or poetry praising God along with it.

Let's talk about silver, a metal used as currency, or plates written on in biblical times, and its brother metal gold, is seen in the garden of Eden, where everything was perfect.

Gold is seen as perfection. Heaven paved the streets with it, can you imagine the glory? But no, silver, seen as second place to gold, seen as "not-as-pure". Because silver will tarnish right? I am silver, tarnish is my sin, I will never be gold in this skin.

And Isaiah was silver turned gold by God and now Isaiah, you are on silver, printed with your own words.

Here me now:

Written in Isaiah Chapter 55 verse 9.

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts higher than your thoughts." Says the Lord!

This is not to say that because I am religious that I'm better than anybody. This is to remind myself that I am to be humble, and human, and silver.

Not perfect by any means, but working towards a life I've needed since that night when I was 11.

I am human, and Christian, and nothing can change that. this silver reminds me that I'm not perfect.

This verse reminds me...

That I still have work to do.

All the cliché Hollywood movies keep reminding me that love doesn't come by that easily. And it's a hard truth for me to accept.

And all through elementary I've always been the crush-er, the person crushing on the good looking person over there!

I've never been the person crushed on. But that aside, I've been filled up with all this love for you. I'm not sure if it's real or not.

You see, I've seen fake love so much that I've convinced myself that this love is also fake...

I won't tell you, "I love you" because I don't want to lie to you. But how can I still feel like I'm not lying? I still feel guilty.

I've never been "in love".

I've loved, and been loved in return, but is this--

Real?

I know you're out there, but I'm impatient. But I am willing to wait for love... if it really is real..

I'm sorry for lying.

I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.

For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.

My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.

I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.

I am the door keeper.

I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".

I am the guard.

When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.

I am the lookout.

Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.

I am your friend.

I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.

A treasure more valuable than money.

I can't stop working.

I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.

A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.

I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.

I once asked my parents if I could join cadets. They asked me if I knew what cadets grew up to be. I never brought it up again.

I got into a fight with a friend about her ex. We haven't spoken in months. She still hasn't forgiven me...

Someone detuned the piano in my mind and now music sounds awful. I want to find where melody and harmony met and made a straight line coming back to me.

Over the logs and dirt of a camp ground, you still shine. A blazing, bright fire.

Fire is also an element of destruction, of rage, but also of love. The burning red love you have for someone.

But my favourite type of fire is blue fire. Looking like the polar opposite of burning red hot, blue fire is hotter than red.

And to think that a full rainbow can come out of the flames of chaos.

How beautiful is the colour of destruction...