I could write a meaningful story with a meaningful message for you to carry with you into the future and beyond.

No, I don't think I have enough time to create a picture in your mind of what I have to say.

There is nothing to gain or give to the words I write in the time I have left.

How about 5?

< 5. Would you be able to pull this off by then?

I can't and I have < 10.

Maybe it's easy for you, but accept the fact that it is not easy to write good poetry with purpose and meaning and feeling and anything that is important to you in < 10 minutes...

You know I'm a simple human, I don't worry about much except for school, and food, and work opportunities, and the future in general.

And the future is big, it's one of my personal biggest fears, connected to my fear of the unknown.

I like to know when and where things happen and why. Needless to say, I'm an organized person.

I don't worry about much.
Sorry, I lied, I worry way more than I used to.

I can't do much of anything without needing confirmation and reassurance that I'm gonna be okay.

Mostly because I'm not okay.

Sorry, I shouldn't do this.
I do this thing where everything I write becomes about the same sorry tragedy, starring me as the main character.

But far from any kind of protagonist.

My best friend texts me and asks me if I'm doing okay, and I tell them "I don't want to talk about the end of the world".

At least, that's what I would say if I had a best friend.

Sorry, am I lying too much? There's only been two lies, and that's too much on the record for most people so just don't stop to address my mouth, just walk away in hopes that I might shut up.

When I was a kid, it becomes the end of the world when a classmate lets the entire class know who your crush is. And that sinking feeling that happens when I wonder if Jason would like a girl like me.

So yeah, the world's ending. But 10 years later Jason turned into a *******, so it's not that big of a deal.

If you believe in multiple dimensions, any one of those worlds could end just when the story gets good, like a cliff hanger that never gives you closure, or when a song cuts off because your phone died.

Like popping the question and before deciding to spend the rest of your life with someone you might love forever, the world splits in two and you fall away.

The world ends.

I want to live to answer that question like the world won't end until it has an answer from me. But somedays, even I'm indecisive.

When a test score comes back and it's just below what you wanted or needed it to be, the world ends.
When you put on your seatbelt on before your first driver's exam, the world ends.
When there is only one Oreo cookie left in the package, the world definitely ends.

December 21st, 2012, we were so convinced the world was gonna end, we made a movie about it that only managed to get 39% on Rotten Tomatoes.

And where was I the night before?

In karate class. My sensei standing before the class, shrugging it off saying "So the world's ending tomorrow... let's do some work".

The world goes on.

But when I woke up successfully the day after doomsday on the 22nd, I was surprised to be alive. Because what is any average kid supposed to think?

I was scared. But we continued on to Christmas anyway.

2017 comes along and we have yet another eclipse, one of many passed and yet to come.

I did not look up to see the sky shining of falling, my heart couldn't take it.

I am told, it is a sign. A link in the long chain of events leading up to coming of the Anti Christ, to the ends of the earth as we know it.

I have woken up countless times more scared of the ground falling out from under me than the sky falling onto me. I don't need alien invasions, or nuclear war, or acid rain, or killer volcanoes, or my own depression because the world is ending, and I don't want to talk about it.

They ask, "You're a Christian aren't you? Why are you scared? Of death, or the end, or anything?".

Being religious, and afraid are two worlds I'm told are never meant to touch, but yet they are still ending. I still haven't read the book of Revelation like a "Good Christian" Because I'm afraid of scaring myself. The world is going to end!

I did have a best friend.

Or at least, I treated them that way.

They said, "Death, is just another adventure. that's why I'm not scared of it."

I ruined my friendship with them about 8 months ago.

I haven't spoken to them in...

In..

I'm sorry. I can't remember.

But suddenly it feels like the first grade crush reveal all over again.

But it's different now.

Someone has left me.
And it hurts.

The world is ending...

And I don't want to talk about it.

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

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 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

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

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.

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

Hallways:*

They're empty first of all.
And anything or anyone that appears to be there, isn't actually there, you-- are dreaming. Don't believe me?

Let's play a game, it's called, "Where's Waldo?" With you as "Waldo".
Yes, that's right, you-- have to find yourself in this sea of walls, floors and people you do not know.

These people, with stoic faces, walk the same halls, looking for the same thing. They do not care that you are here, and you don't care that they are here.

Just get to the end of the hallway, but don't go into the light, you are not here to die -- you can't. You have to find yourself before you do. But there are some people who die before finding themselves in the "Where's Waldo?" page.

They're dead!

Out of this maze of halls you find yourself in.

But you...

You are determined. You will not leave without finding yourself, do not allow yourself to give up!

Look!

At the end of the hall! It's you!

You found yourself! You win the search! Now go!

Run! Get to them, yourself is waiting for you at the end of this hall.

RUN! Run as fast as your legs can carry you! Because you do not have time to think, so RUN!

They need you to save them! They're calling out to you, screaming for help, for You.

Get to them, grab their hand, save them!

...And just as you barely make contact with their hand and lock eyes with a body with the same eyes and face as you...

They begin to fade, to disappear!! WAIT!  NO!

Come Back!!

You were so close to saving them!

You wake up.

It was all just a dream.

You were dreaming right? You know you were dreaming!

You get up. Open the door... exit the room...

And you walk down a hallway...

Your average human body has hair, a head, arms, legs, a torso, hands and feet, eyes, ears, a brain and heart...

But if my body is made of music, are my arms mallets? Are my legs the legs of a piano?

Is my heart the drum that my feet will always follow? The metronome that my body will always follow?

Is my DNA coded in sheet music?

Are my hands the baton? Are my fingers the keys? Is my spine a xylophone, each vertebrae a singular key?

Fact: The average human body will eventually narrow down to only 207 bones. Are my 207 bones each a separate instrument? All part of the orchestral body,

--This STAGE!

If they say music never dies, do I die?

Does my soul live on generations after I am gone? Will people still remember me?

If my body is made of music...

Will you still listen?
Even if the song is over?

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...

Any day now, I'm either gonna **** somebody, or end up dead myself.

Dramatic, I know.

And hey, maybe nobody will take me seriously when I say that.

Figures.

So far, the only people who give a **** are the people who believe I'm still a good person. And I'm not saying they're wrong, I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me if they're right.

Because I don't feel I deserve anything.

I can never focus on anything. I'm writing this because I should be doing other work right now. But when I'm not thinking about this, I'm overworking, or sleeping, or crying again, or shouting again.

I feel physically sick just being in this much pain. It's never gonna be driven out of my body until I get a **** miracle.

But those aren't really coming my way.

If karma is responsible for all of this than haven't I endured enough? Something needs to break the cycle. Or I just have to break. Act out, get expelled or suspended, consider the empty possibility of my thanatophobia finally leaving me.

I stopped caring about myself when an old enemy decided to step in and come after me. But the remarkable thing is that I handled it without attracting more trouble. That doesn't mean it didn't pain me to set myself aside to do so.

I'm not a complete pacifist. And my dangerous nature only gets stronger when left unquestioned by all. So yeah, I'm scared as hell of myself. But then again, so are other people.

I like to believe that I'm stronger than I am.
That I'm braver than I am.

And yet, I fall into cowardice like any other reflex built into my skin.
It's a program the world wanted to overwrite onto my story. Like I didn't have a choice about whether or not I wanted to be miserable.

And I want to be better.
Who doesn't?

I just... fall away. Like it's so easy to give in to what you've been exposed to. No matter how dangerous or vulnerable it makes you.

You just fall.

I drop into a broken conversation, it just ended with an "I'm sorry".

It feels so final.

Like the unsatisfying ending of a story you wish you could rewrite. Like you're in so much control, you'll do anything to keep that control within your grasp.

I didn't want this.

I didn't want the final result I got.
Nothing.

An open road, and being told to just go anywhere.
Anywhere but were you came from.
Leaving home, and not returning to the comfort of the arms that held up your body when it couldn't fight gravity, falling to the ground.

They pick you up like it's the only thing they were ever taught to do.

I wish I told them everything.
I wish I told them how much I could cry.
How it could make an ocean all on its own.

I wish I hugged them more.
Told them they were the best thing that ever happened to me.
Told them that I would drop everything to be there for them.

That I would write songs about them.
That I would write and write and write until we had no more jokes to laugh about.

So, I guess the writing and laughing would never stop.

I wish I said more.

I mean. I wish I said something.

I wish...

I wasn't so afraid of being here.

I was told to go back to them.

I wonder if they'd ever want me back.
After everything.

So how do I go about this sort of deja vu?

Being told that:

"Maybe one "Hello" will flip everything."

Maybe. But I haven't gotten there.

Not yet anyway.

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...

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.

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.

~ 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

Just between you and me, clowns…are extremely creepy. And whoever decided that clowns were funny and appropriate for children….. Just noooo.

But even though I hate clowns, I’ve seemed to become one. My red smile on a white coat of paint that is my face.

No…

I didn’t always look like this. I used to look like you. But now I have this, A red painted frown plastered on my face and guess what?!

It’s stuck there.

This is not the kind of make up you can just wash off, scrubbing the skin until it start to bleed and I can’t take the pain anymore.

And I don’t just mean the physical pain. I tried to paint another colour onto my skin, I tried to cover it up but I can’t. People still see it, they ask about it as if it bothers them more than it bothers me.

Yes! Of course! Eyes up here remember? Stop staring at it. Don’t ask me about it, it’s been there for too long…

My clown face can scare people. Do I look like a scary person to you? Is there a reason why children are afraid of me? There is still a person underneath this face paint, underneath this skin.

And people say clowns are supposed to be funny, no wonder people find my face so easy to laugh at.

Come on! Tell me it’s funny, TO MY FACE. I dare you, tell me exactly what it is, and why it’s so funny. I can laugh at it too you know, because I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to just laugh it off.

At the end of the day, I decided to visit the house of mirrors. I walk down the hallway mirrors on both sides and I stop in front of each one and stare at myself in the mirror.

I’m not happy with what I see in it. I’m not content with it, I am not okay with this image being forever, I don’t want this to be me forever.

So, one day, I will find a mirror that doesn’t show me like this, and it exist in people’s eyes, these mirrors exist in the people who see me the way I should see myself. So when I look into the eyes of my friends and family, I can see myself, and I don’t look like this.

One day, I’ll find a way to get this red frown off of my face one day I tell myself.

One day, I’ll stop being a clown…. And I’ll start being me again.

We are the written ammunition of this literary military.*

~April 1st, 2017~

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

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

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...

I forgot what you looked like when you were dancing.

I guess it just took a good P!nk song to get you moving in rhythm with the world again.

I guess I was just missing out on that.

What about all the times you said you had the answers?

I never wanted to be the world dictionary or encyclopedia, but I guess I took it too far when I said I was right.

Only now can I see that I can't even fight for my opinion even if I'm right.

What about all the broken happy ever afters?

I honestly thought this was going to be my big story.
That we were that story waiting to be told to anyone.

But I shouldn't write for someone who didn't approve their part of the story.

What about all the plans that ended in disaster?

You mean me?

Because I'm pretty sure I was your worst mistake.

What about love? What about trust?

If you think I would know anything about either of those subjects.
If you were to think me a fool...

You would be correct.

So in the end, I can't fight anything with pure willpower from here.

I'm still not sure if I should bother wishing you good luck.
Since you've been gone for awhile.

So yeah..

*What about us?

I felt so sad as I took a jar of paper stars from the top shelf of my school locker and held it close to my chest as I walked down the halls and I knew you were watching... Arden.

You just didn't do anything.

You knew what it was like to cling to life the same way you hung from death, like it was some kind of sick game. However, this is not a one player kind of match now, is it?

I powerwalked through the halls once, wanting so much to die. I had no plans, just a few ideas. You know, I didn't consider hanging myself in my mind to be a "plan to die" because I didn't actually write out the plans, I just thought about them a little too much.

I answered "No." when asked if I made plans to **** myself, because in my mind, I really didn't make plans.


When asked if I was homicidal, I don't remember what I said, but I remember not saying "no". I remember that I've imagined punishing people, but never killing people. I want to hold their lives in my grasp and hear them apologize like they actually mean it.

But I am too nice for that. Too Christian for that.

It takes a strong person to lift weights, but a stronger one to lift the personal weight off your own back.

I've thought about retiring my poetry career 10 years too early, not even making it to my mid-twenties before quitting simply because there were too many people too eager to get offended at my work.

I will not play innocent to your sickly made games.

I am no fool.

Although, I will not retire my poetry career just yet. Because every time I feel the urge to quit, I am here at 3:22am writing long strings of poetry.

Arden's gonna have a fricken sleeve of tattoos.
Alex is gonna have pain.
Baer is gonna have me taking care of her sister.

But who really cares about that? Because Arden's gonna have something.

Arden has friends,

education,
teachers,
a job,
a life.

Arden's gonna have love.

Arden's gonna have ******' love.


Alex is not going to beg for my jaw unhinged from all the fighting.
Alex will not bend.
No sir.


Baer has hired me as the worlds worst babysitter, and her sister, only a few years younger than I already holds me to a higher standard than most.

But Arden has more to life than me.

There's no comparison.

I too, want to die when I'm not staying up this late to escape my thanatophobia.

I will not live to see Arden's graduation.

But I will live to see the hurricane that comes after it.

I don't feel special Baer.

But no one really needs to know that.

I stand in front of thousands of people, and I don’t know them, but I do know you...

When I was ten years old I wanted to be in the Olympics, an athletes dream in front of millions of people I don’t know. But I know you.

I stood on the podium, a stage of glory and pride for my country, medal around my neck, as the national anthem plays through my ears I begin to remember that I was gonna be a soldier.

At 14 years old I told you I wanted a badge or a medal, a uniform to wear, and something to fight for. And here I am standing on this stage about to receive recognition for my job.

And 15 year old me standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, with a guitar strapped around my body. And I’m singing a song I wrote, and only you know why I wrote it. The secrets I don’t tell the public are told to the people I really do trust in this world.

And yet here I am on a stage in front of people I don’t know.

Do you remember? I told you that you didn’t need to be remembered by the whole world by putting your name on a star in the sky. The sky doesn’t need another star, but Earth has it’s own star with your name on it, and it’s you.

And you don’t need to be remembered by thousands of people to be happy, you just needed me to remember you when I stand here.

You asked me to never forget you if I ever became famous. And I’m not famous. But you should be, you’re the star remember. You believed in me, told me I was worth something, enough to be here on this stage. So why aren’t you here? You are worth remembering, so why don’t you want to be famous? Why don’t you want to be on stage? I have a constant fear of never being remembered and you don’t want to be that person. Why do you not want to be on this stage? I want you here. I need you here.

I stand on a stage in front of people. Most of them, I do not know. I don’t remember why I’m on the stage anymore… But I know that you’re proud of me for whatever reason that might be.

I remember saying some sort of speech to these people, and suddenly you’re here. I can see you in the crowd, and you’re smiling. You seem so happy to see me here, almost as if you were on the stage beside me. And I wish you were. But I know you don’t need to be remembered by these people, but I remember you.

And when my speech comes to a close I say this: “Thank you, to the star in life who never made it to the sky, I just want you to know in this moment. That we made it!

It's constant.

The crying.

Like a scene on repeat, and I can't turn the TV off.

I feel lifeless.

I want to be the pendulum swinging beneath a broken bridge over cold rushing waters.

I feel drunk.

Without being drunk..

I hate what happened.

I don't want this anymore.

Even if I do manage to fall asleep...

I have to wake up and do this all over again.

Never escaping this nightmare.

And continuing to cry.

Every day.

6 months you say.

That’s how long you’ll be away. You leave today actually, maybe in the next 6 or 7 hours. You’ll be saying goodbye to your family and your home and I will be here.

I haven’t seen you since last Sunday’s church service and I think I won’t see you until these months are over.

To tell you the truth Baer, I’m scared of being by myself for that long. Most days you’re the sister I met too late, and I do and don’t wish we met sooner, but as for right now that’s not a big deal.

So I’ll count the hours in 6 months. 4380 of them to be exact.

I’ll get through how I can, if I can.

You remember what you said to me before I left the church that morning?

“Call me, text me, I’ll make time for you.”

It still seems funny that you’ll make time for me like I’m incredibly important or something.

I still haven’t even texted you. Part of me believes you’re too busy for me to barge in.

But I will wait out these hours. That’s something I can do.

Before you go...

I just thought you should know... you know..

I love you always. Come home safe.

Speak up
Stop shaking
This is not part of your character
I'm not mad
I believe you are completely wrong
You continue to believe a lie
Get you hands away from you face, stop shaking, breathe, and say something
I am not causing you anything
If you don't like it here, get out, go live under someone else's roof
You can **** me
I hate that they did this to you
I blame them
I'm not the bad guy
You make me out to be this monster
This is not you
Where is my daughter?

If friend groups and cliques played a major role in anything, school definitely takes most of the blame. Because when you get down to the truth, people are awful.

We are just, the worst. So don't go trying to chase a utopia where we all do good by each other, because we can't. We don't ever take the route we would actually prefer in life.

Why is that? I don't know.

Like I said, people are awful. And there really is nothing you can do about it.

Okay, you what saves my soul? Laughter.
Because even when I know somebody isn't talking to me, their laughter still exists. Hearing joy and knowing that someone is okay, words aside.

And for me, that will never be enough to satisfy my loneliness. But it has to be. For their sake.
And for some reason, I still hold out hope. The slightest bit of optimism. Why? Maybe because I can see it when eye contact is made for barely 5 seconds.

I can feel us wanting to fix everything. But for some reason... we don't?

And maybe we never will. And that will never be okay but it has to be. It doesn't make sense, it never will. And that's just my life. But I don't want this all to seem like a bad dream. Because I'll just look back with regret.

And I can't live like that.

It would **** me to do so.

I promise you I am safe every night.

I don't need a bodyguard.
I don't need a guardian angel.

I know you're out there somewhere away from me.

And that's okay.

I should tell you I still imagine myself in the hospital.

I sometimes wish I was in critical condition just so you would have a reason to talk to me without feeling weird, awkward or forced into it.

Although hospitalization is a weird way of forcing you to see me out of guilt.

Mostly because if I was dying...

You would show up only if you really did care.

It is not enough for me to just let you go.
I may have stopped talking, or stopped crying.
But I never stopped hurting.

And I reach out, I hope for you with all I can. I'm still on your side.

So if you end up at my hospital bedside...

I want to hear you say it.

That you care.
That you never stopped caring.
That you actually want me around.
That you want me to live.

Or just that you don't want me to die thinking that you didn't give a ****.

Because that's what this still feels like.

That's what walking away does to a person.

I'm safe here. I will not go anywhere.

But I still hold out optimism for you.
For us.

But I was told, "Things will not go back to the way they were."

So I guess that optimism is just ******* right?
It doesn't mean anything.

I know you wish I would just simply tell you this face to face.
But in all honesty...

I'm not brave.
I'm not as strong as you thought I was.

So I write instead.
You told me I could write to you anytime.
And you would be here.

But now you're gone.
And I can't do anything about it.

So I will continue to pray for your safety for as long as I can.

Because I don't know when I'll see you again.
And I've told you I fear the day when I don't.
You told me I would.
But that was before...

Things are different now.
And despite all the pain...

I'm still safe.
And I'm still...

Holding on.

I cannot stop crying to say my life.

It's like it's on a schedule.
Crying in school, after school, in my car, at home, to my parents, to my teachers, to no one at all. For sometimes... hours.

I have officially become so broken that I've become pathetic. So I don't know. I'm a wreck. I cannot even think about this without hating myself, and I can't talk about it without crying.

I'm a broken fricken record about this story. Saying it over and over.

Apologizing over, and over, and OVER.

I am so sick of it. I do not want this, but I can't escape it. As much as I may want to, I can't. It is so easy to write about the bad.

I can't remember one good thing last said by someone important.
But I have a million good things to say about them. I always will.

And you're the one who's sorry?
Not as sorry as I am.

I don't want to be told to "get over it" as if it was ever that easy.

And I hate this. I really do. There is nothing left here. So I guess you were right about me being nothing more than my mistakes. I hope you take pride in being right. Because I am barely hanging on.

And you decided to walk away.

That's okay.

After all, this is the real me right? I've secretly always been this monster. I'm nothing more than you say.

So tell me what I am.

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

From here to Paris.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Paris from here.

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?

~September 2014~

They came to me with hair filled with colour.

We met.
We talked.

Friends.

Right...

I miss them a lot.
And the only thing I seem to remember is the shape of their hair and all the rainbow it contained, from blue, to pink, to red, to green, to blonde, to finally going back to the normal root colour.

You could say the hair had personality of its own.

~August 2015~

Summer camp.

She was a stranger and a musician, and I had to know her.
She was a strong soul, and even holding her hand felt like a superpower I couldn't control.

Short cut hair.
Clean.
Swept over her eyes, over her ears.
Framing her smile.

~December 2016~

Techie girl.

She is the most complicated thing to come from all of this.
The semester didn't treat either of us well.

Slight curl to dark short hair. Shaven around the back, kept remarkably short.

Leaving her face untouched.

~July 2017~

Me.

I've shaved my head twice.
No shame in it.
My dignity not what it used to be.

My hair hangs down past my shoulders.
4:40pm comes around and I've lost inches upon inches of my hair.
6:30pm.

Slightly bobbed at the ends, framing my chin and shoulders.
Changing my hair part again.
Moving from side to center.

Straight hair, dark colour, lighter.

Short.

I like the aesthetic.

And I like these people.

I miss them most days.

But even though I'm now a short haired person myself.

I still forget about it...

Only to find my reflection later.

I wrote the date at the top of the page.

And nothing else.

I flew into this day from the second flight and stayed up the entire day.

And yet...

I wrote nothing.

Hello, my name is selfless, I only care about other people so don’t ask me how I’m doing I am only concerned with your well being.

Hello, my name is forgetful and I keep forgetting you name and pretty much everything else about you.

Hello, my name is confusion, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Can you help me out??

Hello, I’m apologetic and I’m sorry for everything thing I’ve done, or have done, or things I never did I’m sorry.

Hello, most people call me silence, you can find me in many places but I find the most comfort in peoples discomfort of awkwardness.

Hi, I’m solitude, and I don’t want anything to do with you STAY AWAY FROM ME.

My name is anger and I hate everything and everyone for absolutely no reason, but if you want I can give you a million reasons to justify my actions.

My name is lonely, and I just want you to hold my hand so that maybe it can stop shaking so much.

People sometimes call me disappointing and I hold onto that like it’s the only part of this cliff I can hold onto to keep myself from falling.

Hello, I’m transparent and I’m thinner than the page of the book you used to read, so thin that you can see right through me, or maybe not even see me at all.

Hi, my name is dictionary, and I know how to describe your whole life in many words you may never understand.

Hello

My name is Swingline.

And I would make a name for myself to describe what I think I am or what I’m supposed to be. But the name I seek…

Isn’t in the dictionary yet.

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.

Some days, I'll just sit in my room and listen to one song on repeat.

I'll slowly make my way to my poetry, and find myself feeling more empty than poetry needs me to be.

Poetry is the letter someone spilt water on but you can still read whatever was written on it because for whatever reason the world decided to be nice for a minute.

My sister is nice too. I think you can say I've only really known her for 7 or 8 years. We were too far apart in age for me to even care she existed for the beginning of my life. And just as I get comfortable with her being here, being home...

She moves to another country.

I guess one way or another, your heroes do fly away.

My best friend is a girl named Baer. Although, I cannot tell you if I'm her best friend, she is mine.
I always seem to latch on to people who seemingly don't show a lot about how they think of me.

Maybe I just don't look hard enough, but isn't that what all self-deprecating people do? Avoid mirrors and self-image until they come to scourge it? Punching out mirrors either cuts you up or picks apart your reflection, and hey, whatever.....

It's just you.

Baer's sister is a whole other story, funny and open, far away from time to time, but wanting a hug when the time comes.

I've always been the type of person to idolize others who treat me well. Perhaps it's because I think so much of them compared to myself. But it's okay.

I would do anything for them.

I'm so full of everything for the people who are everything to me.

And for myself... I'm no hero.
Capes just aren't my style.

I'll say it once and once only, because if I've said it once, I've said it too many times:

Karma is a *****.

And no, I guess I haven't suffered enough according to the rest of the universe. And I'm free game for people to line up and just hit me over and over. It would hurt less than this.

And the timing of my karma has to be the most rigged thing in my life. It's like the world has it out for me. Everybody is staring and whispering about it. They all know.

I mean, I know they don't, but I can't help but get lost in this way of thinking. It's not worth it.

I stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning just crying. Listening to the same songs and staring up at the ceiling. My physical body trying to reject itself. Like I'm imploding. My vision blurry, wanting to scream but nothing happens.

I don't want this.

There's nothing that can even be done to even attempt to save this. So I'm done.

I'm done.

The emotions run on highs and lows. But lately I feel like I'm burning below ground with the flames of hellfire scorching my backside. And with all the smoke damage, there is no room to breathe.

You...

Are still in a relationship.

I have never been in one.

You... are travelling to Costa Rica.

I went to France a million years ago.

With..
YOU...

Are still subscribed to my YouTube channel.
And I have no idea why.

For all I know, you're only subscribed because you don't go on YouTube all that often...

Therefore... you've forgotten.

I don't blame you.

I'd like to forget me too.

I... am lonely.

You.. not so much or at least it seems that way..

I... am blind to my own pain.

You... are probably the same way.

You... still keep certain people as friends on social media despite how things ended.

I... don't even have Facebook.
Or Twitter.
Or Snapchat.

Or anything that would make me any "Friend" of yours.

You have no idea what's happened to me.

And vice versa.

You... have changed your hair for the hundredth time.

I have cut my hair for the first time in months.

I... have no idea what I'm doing.

And you are going to be set to be a history buff.

Funny thing... history huh?

How you will go on to study world history.

While I fall apart over our history.

What a mystery, the inconsistency of our lives right?

Because we weren't supposed to be friends.

I was never supposed to send you songs.
I haven't in 7 months give or take.

I cannot bare the weight of an unwanted conversation.

I have been told not to worry about hurting people.

But I don't worry about things I have already done.

So congratulations, you got out while you could.

And I deserve it.

On any other day, I would asked you to be alone with me.

But tonight.

I'll just be here.

And yet...

I wish we could talk about something else...

Like music.

I'm no longer one of your favourite artists.

Okay.

I'm glad we still have something in common.

And get up.

After 2 weeks of being away from school, here I am again. And if I'm going to live through this week, I should tell you right away, it is going to be hell.

It's already eating at me and I am doing my best to pretend I'm okay. Because what's the use of feeling like nobody can fix me?

Because nobody can. I'm so broken that it's funny. Yeah, I can laugh about it. I already have. When I poured out my pain to my mom I was laughing and crying.

But it quickly turned from funny to just sad. For... a multitude of reasons. I think I'll keep the keys around my neck just to prove a point. That I can showcase my pain without anybody really caring. So... what now?

There is nothing I can do, the friendships aren't dependent on my actions. They never have been. I guess one thing worth mentioning is that I redo the sharpie on the key everyday. Just to keep it clear and legible.

And because forgetting this doesn't seem to be an option at this point. And my stubbornness in forgetting is... there. But that's always been a part of my life. So I distract myself with my work, however boring it may be.

And it's not all boring, but it is more than effective when it comes to my mental state. It's exhausting. But it works. And that is... enough?

Probably not. Ugh, nothing is making sense. I'm at a loss for once in my life. A loss of... well... what seems like everything. And for a teenager yeah, my situation does seem very "end of the world" like. But I try desperately not to overreact. But I do. And I will.

If there are any at all...

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.

When I see your face early Monday morning I can’t stop myself from smiling because you’re here. You’re here and I’m here with you.
And I could listen to you talk all day, about the things you like, the things you hate, about the things you just can’t get off your mind. And I listen, because that’s what good friends are supposed to do.

When you are my company I am on the edge of paradise. And you are just on edge. If I was having a bad day you were having a bad week and I didn’t want to have to trouble you with my problems, when you are already suffering. So I back off and I listen.

It’s not that I’m not strong enough to hold on.
It’s that I’m not strong enough to let go.
Because letting go of the greatest thing that ever happened to me will surely result in me losing everything I am.

But this isn’t about me…

I wake up the next Monday morning and I look to see if you’re still here. You look better than you did the week before and I am more than grateful. Because if I was able to help you in ANY way at all, then I am one step closer to getting better myself.

You ask me if I have anything on my mind… I pause for a minute and wonder at what I should say.

Because maybe today is the day I stop hiding that list of worries. And you’ll listen… Because that’s what good friends are supposed to do.

Right?

I'm never going to be ready.
Another day or month is never going to be enough time to get ready for this.

But if I wait, I will be waiting for the rest of my life.
Or just until the summer washes away.

Okay...

I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,

Please don't leave me.

But if you do...

I guess I should've tried reaching a long time ago.

But I'm here now.

...I'm here now.

No matter what happens here..

I'm not dying today.

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.

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

~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?