~September 5th, 2017~
~Sometime between 10 and 11PM~

Her:
You're an empath.

Me:
I guess so.

Her:
Have you ever thought about it?

Me:
Being an empath?
I never knew there was a name for it.

I never knew there was a name form my kind of pain analyzation. Like I have some kind of supernatural power to read into pain of all kinds.

Her:
Is it that you understand other people's pain or your own pain or both?

Me:
I think I’ve always done both.

Her:
I had a feeling.

Here we go.

Her:
How does it affect you?

A loaded question, and being the person I am I answered it the only way I knew how:

Me:
I always get this feeling that when people are sad or hurt, I have to be too.
Sometimes it’s just my way of showing that pain is just something people have.

But mostly, it makes me helpless to stop other people’s pain.
I get sad, like some kind of way to share the pain that isn’t even mine.
And when it is my pain, nobody can seem to understand it fully.
And it’s not like I completely understand someone else’s pain,
but you see and hear a lot when you turn silent for awhile.

Lots of people try to say that people aren’t alone when they suffer.
And most of it is comfort.

But most of the time I see people in pain, and I don’t see a reason to comfort.

I see more of a reason to just be there.

Experience something beyond yourself.

There a certain type of selfless peace that comes when pain is no longer just one person’s fight.

It’s not about being together in pain. It's about experiencing life with pain just passing by.
It’s been said in books, “Pain demands to be felt”
I don’t know, something about that makes me wish I could do more.

But yeah,
I’m empathetic a lot of the time.
Maybe that’s why I stick around even when I shouldn’t.

I stop. I've said enough.

Me:
Sorry, I’m rambling...
That’s a ton of text.

Silence

And for a minute, I wonder if anything I say is being understood.

Her:
The way you speak is beautiful.
I'm marvelling in it.

... I sit in awe. Grasping at a full acceptance of the way I convey myself in feelings, but more importantly, here, in this moment.

Her:
You speak poetry.

Me:
No wonder I’m a poet.
It’s like destiny or something idk.

Part of me wishes I would have spelt the whole phrase out, it has the same amount of syllables.

Her:
I'm here for you.
I **** at comforting and that's not what I want.
All I want is for you to know that I am present.
And sharing the fight.

This, THIS right here, is companionship, and friendship, saying that "I can be here", and that will be enough.

Her:
I want to fight with you.
Even though I'm not very aggressive.

Hearing this said, "I want to fight with you". Not "I want to fight for you". This says more than any kind of battle with someone at my side, this is real, in this moment.

Me:
Hahah, we’ll fight it with music or something.
Doesn’t have to be aggressive.
Faith, hope, the essentials.

We're believers in things like love, God, and good songs that rock the world... and we don't need much more than that.

Her:
That said, music can be aggressive.
But we'll stick to the essentials.

We'll stick to our guns and hopefully, we won't have to fire.

Her:
Please know that you can ramble to me as much as you like.
I love it.

I know... me too.

Her:
Goodnight, love you.

And as we come to an end, we fall back into a small but familiar silence between us.

Me:
Goodnight, love you too.

-End-

I've run away before.
Not for an overly good reason.
But because I didn't know what else to do.

I had no ID, no licence, no accessories.
Nothing that could possibly describe who I am or what I've done.

So I ran.
I went to the end of the block and turned right...
And the right again.
And again.

I ran around a block, but still ran in a circle.

Back to where I started.

My mouth dry, legs weak, heavily breathing and sweating out the 15th fever this week, and it's scary to not have a justifiably good reason to be here or to run off.

I want to scream until singing is a lost memory but I would not do that here. Not when I still have enough energy to cry.

And I do cry.
More than I should.
More than anyone should ever have to.

Running in the middle of the street not even close to being scared of the cars speeding down the pavement.

And yet, there are no cars on the road.
Open.
Empty.
Nothing.

I do want to disappear sometimes.
But I wouldn't do that now.
My suffering is already a public hanging nobody watches.

I ran away.

And I would run out of the city and never return.

The only problem is...

The only place I was ever taught to run to...

Was home.

And even that doesn't seem to exist anymore.

So where can I go?

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.

I've been told that people have forgotten what happened.

I've been told that word got around.

I've been told that hatred still exists here.

And you tell me not to be guilty.

But I look at them...

And feel nothing but the pain I cause them.

I know I'm no good.

I cannot believe that you say I'm a good person.

When seeing them does nothing but remind me of how I ruined it all.

I have saved a grand total of 3 lives... maybe.

2 lives probably.

1 life definitely.

I have saved the same life multiple times. Once from suffocation, once in a runaway situation.

I have saved myself numerous times. Twice from suicide... almost. And countless times over from personal trauma and pain.

I think I like pain too much. Yeah, I think I like pain a lot.
I think I like pain because it makes me feel human.

Because if I'm suffering, then the body is working, and if the body is working, nothing is wrong on the outside.

And by outside, I simply mean, the side that people ignore the easiest.

So when I get no reaction from anyone, it's okay. I know what it's like to get ******* over every day by everyone.

It's cool. No big deal.

I like weapons way too much, I like really cool blades and badass guns that for some reason are attached to electric guitars.

I'm a martial arts teacher. Which means that I am responsible for teaching young lives to survive until they are old lives.

I've never had to bare scars on my forearms. But I would like to bare tattoos... but only if you'll sign it with:

"Remember when I was here? Because I don't".

Hahaha... You're funny like that.

You seem to like knives too, you've made my back a knife block out of my back. You like to cook, don't you? Slice me up like one of your best works of art and I will scream how genius you are.

No.

There is no more room for me on a plate for you to serve up!

I...

I would constantly wash dishes after cooking in class. And I would always make sure I picked up some of your plates if I could because doing good things in secret was the closest I ever got to you.

And you went and replaced me with a seemingly nicer, shorter, pretty blonde who was everything that I was... but more

But it killed me that she wasn't me. Or maybe that I wasn't her.

Because she matters to you and that just cuts me up. One day I'll brandish a pocketknife with your name on it.

And every time I want to **** myself over what happened, I have to remember that no matter how many knives are in my back...

I have to keep this one in my pocket.

This is also going to be on the long list of good/bad ideas.

Because you need to sort out your ******* life, and nobody does that better than you do.
Only because you can only count on yourself for something like this. So there is nothing else to worry about.

You are still the same person you were.
Just, I don't know... more of a sap?
Yeah, probably.

Anyways, when you feel stuck... like now for example, just let your words fall from you hands.

You still hold all of this in your life right?

Not a poet.
Not a poet.
Not a poet.
And I know it.

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.

The kid was killed by adulthood.

That's what they said.

But the reality is...

The kid is always killed by adulthood.

Forgive me for being so honest.

But I hate you!

And if you think I'm lying, I'm not. I really do hate you!

I don't like the way your face looks. Actually here! I will give you a full list of reasons why I hate you:

I hate that you keep secrets.
I hate that you procrastinate.
I hate the way you talk.
I hate the way you treat your parents.
I hate the way you treat your friends.
I hate that I have to be the one to tell you this.
I hate that you can never get your act together.

And you know --

You Know

That I hate you.

But you don't care! You'll just keep going won't you?!

Ugh.... uhmmm.

I can't get rid of you...

Because you're my reflection...

You're *me.

I can’t sleep because I’m too tired. I’m so tired that what I just said makes complete sense...

I can’t sleep because I’m not tired at all, I would run around the world and come back home and still be awake. If I could... If I wanted to.

I can’t sleep because counting sheep is stupid.

I can’t sleep because I want to pull an all-nighter. I can’t sleep because I don’t want to pull an all-nighter.

I can’t sleep because I plan to wake up at 6 am tomorrow morning. Or 8, or 12, or 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

I can’t sleep because YouTube.

I can’t sleep because I can’t wait for tomorrow, and I can’t sleep because I don’t want tomorrow to catch up with me.

I can’t sleep because I have a scheduled 3-hour long conversation with God and something tells me we are definitely going overtime. We just have so much to talk about.

I can’t sleep because I’m hungry, but let’s not risk waking my family of the sleep I don’t get to have.

I can’t sleep because I’m afraid of dying in my sleep. You can’t tell me it would be peaceful, or comfortable, when I’m subconsciously fighting for my life, and a rest I will forever never get to have.

Rest in peace right? More like rest in pieces, I am a broken body sprawled out across a bed that is too small for me because I hate sleeping on a diagonal, I keep tossing and turning, so no, I am not resting in peace.

I can’t sleep because I will never be comfortable, I will never be able to sleep in a straight line, or on my left or right side, so lets just stare at my ceiling and wonder why I even bother trying.

I can’t sleep because my dreams will always become nightmares in which I wake up the next morning to forget my dreams of yesterday, I did not ask for a tomorrow, I did not ask for my alarm clock, I did not ask to wake up. Tell the sun to go back down for five minutes.

I can’t sleep because I will wake up to find that my arms are wrapped around my pillow, where I thought your body was. I am not hugging you anymore, because I have woken up. I don’t care it it’s not real, let me dream for just a little longer because I just wish you were here. I cannot forget how lonely I have become.

I can’t sleep because I’m waiting for the phone to ring, for a message to be sent, for burglar to sneak into my house, because I am awake and ready to fight. I will defend what I can see. But I can’t see in the dark.

I lay awake, wishing that you were here to tell me it’s safe to sleep, but we both know monsters exist in the dark.

I can’t stop wishing that you were here, I’m sorry that I can’t stop thinking about you. I just can’t explain myself, and I will stay up all night thinking of something to say to you. But I can’t…

I can’t sleep, I can’t let myself fall asleep I might never be as alive as I am right now

STAY AWAKE!!

I have so much I need to do, so please don’t let me fall asleep again. Because being here alive and awake with you is already a dream come true.

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...

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...

I was built with an iron will and a weak soul.

I was made by the best, and built to take a hit.

You can tell I was made to be hit and not hit on.

Haha.

But despite the way I'm supposed to work...

I might as well malfunction now.

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.

Big house, big family, big heart.

Something like that, I remember.

But clearly, I am the uncivilized person at the table as I hold out the salad bowl, asking for the main course.

All eyes turn to me as if I am foreign.

Now it is just a simple mistake. I won't make it a big deal.

But when you're as much of a perfectionist as I am...

You seem to hate these little things that get in your way.

Things that you just didn't do right the first time.

Being so hypercritical of myself just magnifies the things I do wrong.

So something as stupid as a salad bowl got under my skin.

I don't think I envy your family.

I don't even think I envy your lifestyle.

I won't call it rich, or comfortable.

I'll simply say that it's not mine.

And that is reason enough to not feel at home in it.

The night was long, and the conversations were longer.

My ultimate honestly always hanging around like a sad puppy.

And yet, I can't help but think of how you could be ashamed of me.
Or embarrassed by me. My ways, my habits, my lifestyle.

My awkwardness, my jokes, the things I do in default.

I wish I were a better spectacle to show off sometimes.

Although most days, I talk more about you than I do about myself.

Often talking to myself.

How sad is that?

To feel all of this in an instant at a supper table.

But there's no time to be sad.

Be a part of the conversation, don't faze out, act like it's all okay...

And pass the salt.

No one will ever know my perspective on this story.

Only because judgement is clouded by everyone's bias and opinions.

I never wanted to cause more pain.

But I wish I could erase all that broke these friendships.

I can't think
I can't sleep
I can't work
I don't talk
I don't eat
I listen to the same playlist
Over
And over

No one will ever know what really happened to us. Unless you call on everyone to give up the truth in exchange for consequence.

You know the saddest ******* thing I've heard?

A guy I know was holding his girlfriend while she was sick. Her sister asks if he's helping her.

He says...

"I'm no good at taking care of people."

You know what?

I'm not good at it either.

Nobody knows how sick it all makes me.
Or how sick I am.
So much pain caused by a few mistakes..

And nobody deserved to suffer for months.
Nobody needed to hurt for this long.

I'm drunk on my emotions again.

And as unapologetic as I could be... I'm not.

My life has changed. And I don't know if anyone will ever truly understand that.

So I am sorry.

But I've also spent the last 4 hours writing this disaster of a poem.
And yet...

I still feel empty.
Like everything was taken away from me.
Not taken by anyone or anything.

But just... gone.

Once again, learning to live alone.

Or maybe just learning to live at all.

So...

I guess this informal goodbye is all I can really offer.
Until I come back better.
Or until somebody reaches back with a clean slate, and an open mind.

I'm not as sad as I was about it all.
But it is pain I'd wish away if I could.

Don't go blaming anyone you see fit.
Just take this for what it is.

Time.
Time saved
Time apart
Time spent doing all the wrong things

Because at the end of it all...

This is still my life.

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.

~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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I can't tell you how much I miss you.

And I feel awful because you'll never miss me.

You broke my heart, and maybe it's my fault for not noticing sooner.

Or it's my fault that I let you do it.

I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, but I did.

And you didn't say anything but that you were able to excuse my character.

I guess I deserve that.

I'm not myself.

I don't like change.

I make no progress.

Self?


Self image?


Self worth?

What even are those things?

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?

In John Green’s book “Paper Towns”, the main character believes that every person gets a miracle. A single miracle, a gift to you, possibly from God, that allows you to feel like you might actually be a lucky human being for once.

But this statement is not true. Because everybody in this world doesn’t get “one miracle”. I mean sure, you can get one miracle, but that doesn’t have to be it. You could get millions of miracles if you were just a little more patient. If you waited just a little longer.

Miracles can come in different shapes and sizes, different people, different amounts of money, different words, or sights, or stars. You, yourself can be your own miracle.

I believe that every friend I’ve ever had is a miracle to me, every song I write, every word I speak, I am shouting miracles at you, even if you’re at the back of the room my voice will make it to you if you just wait a little longer to hear it.

Some miracles happen more than once, like a boomerang coming back to you, you keep getting something and you pray as hard as you can that every miracle you ever got comes back to you.

And every boomerang will come back to its thrower if you just wait a while.

Now if your miracle is a person, you must be willing to be the most patient you’ve ever been in your life. Because people will change direction, this boomerang sometimes decides it wants to take control of its path before it comes back, and it will come back. Just wait a little longer – Just wait – because if you leave you won’t be there to catch a miracle you knew the joy of having.

God has sent me so many people. So many boomerang miracles, and I’ve been waiting for too long. But nothing can move me, I am rooted to where I stand, I will wait for as long as it takes for my person, for my miracle to make it back to me.

Sometimes I doubt. I consider walking away, and maybe somebody else can catch my miracle, and call it their own. But if I believe that God sent you to me. And I’m the one walking away, then maybe I’m the next boomerang, but I promise I’ll make it back to you – this is all I know how to do. I have been waiting, for so long...

Please God, I need these people to come back to me. They mean so much to me, more than they will ever know.

So I wait, and I will keep waiting, until God sends you, one of my many miracles, back to me.

I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.

But I know it did.

And I can't change that.

So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to ****.

I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.

But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.

Pick out a complimentary hat and go.

Face the day why don't you?

Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.

And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.

~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 see writing and suddenly my brothers’ poetry comes to mind, and I realize his writing is not poetry, it is tragedy. Something we both share but we will never talk about it, it is not something we want to talk about.

I see pictures I the polaroid I never took becomes to clear to me. This photo is the still shot I wish I could hold onto.

Every time I see my friends change their style, they become a new person while still retaining their old personality. I will take the time to remind them of how beautiful they are.

I wish there was more I could say...

I used to walk down the block to the bus stop everyday.
Whether it was a bright sunny day, or a dark icy winter before the sun woke up, I was there...

Walking.

Backpack slung over my shoulder, alto saxophone in its case in my right hand. Leaning to the left to balance out the weight so I didn't fall over walking over the uneven rectangles of grey rock.

Artificial building blocks that make the world flat.

When I was little, I rode my bike to a nearby school park. They had a water park right by the school and surrounding the drain was a wide circle of bricks set in the ground.

But they had to take some of the bricks out of the ground, I don't know why. But they filled the gap with cement...

And lucky for me, I had gotten to that water park just before the liquid rock turned to solid ground. I pressed my right foot into that patch of grey. Just barely leaving the treads of my shoe in the cement.

I sometimes stop by to visit that old water park. Some 10 years later and that mark in the cement is still there. And no one will know it was me who left a temporary mark on that patch of grey all those years ago.

My footsteps are bigger now. I can run faster now.

Or maybe I can just walk.

I am older now. I don't take the bus much anymore. I drive my car to get where I'm going. I run everywhere, I don't take the time to walk through my life. I live too fast.

I've made mistakes.
I have regrets.

And even if I don't want to...

I have to walk with them.

I have to accept my actions and live with the consequences. I must walk slowly with my choices. My rights and wrongs... my own self inflicted pain.

I step in rhythm with the music playing through my headphones. I don't step on the lines that divide the building blocks of my pathway. I follow the grey brick road, not traveling with anyone this time.

So now I am leaving.
I will take everything.

My guilt.
My shame.
My regret.
My heart.
My mind.

I will go...

Song lyrics slung across my backbone...
Guitar in my right hand.
Ipod in my left hand.

I look ahead at the sidewalk before me.
I feel the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.
I breathe...

And I walk.

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?

Reasons to go:

-My low self image
-The people I've hurt
-I'm tired of fighting
-I'm tired of trying
-I'm tired
-I will never be what I was

Reasons to go on:

-Music
-Trying
-Waking up
-Redemption of any kind
-Being seen as someone...anyone

Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.

I guess I should start by saying that I don't really believe in other universes or alternate dimensions.
But sometimes I like the idea of manipulating where I am now into something... better?

Only to find that I'm not in that kind of better place.

So... until I reach that realization again, here I go.

In another universe, we met at the auditions for my first musical. I wasn't scared to audition because I finally wanted to put myself out there as a singer.

We both get chorus parts... figures.

In another dimension, I was told to pursue my music career like it was the most important decision I was ever going to make.
I stick with it.

In another timeline, I spent every lunch hour making friends laugh at my dumb jokes.

In another universe, I never lost those friends.

In another timeline, those texts never made it to their phone. Maybe they didn't even get on the ship.

In another dimension, I never stopped hugging you.

In another world, I stuck with friends I had.

In another universe, there was never that fight. We never had a falling out, and there was never a time where we stopped being friends.

In another universe, I never got on that plane to Paris.

In another timeline, I finally recovered from losing all my friends. I finally got better.

In another dimension, I stopped writing about how much the past 5 months broke me.

In another universe I never hesitated to text anyone for fear of interrupting their life.

In another world, I never recover.

In another dimension, I never get over it. I let it consume me and I commit suicide. I never said anything to let anyone know when the end would come.

In another world, I spoke up and said I miss you.

In another dimension, we never met.

I guess that would be a sad place to be.

In another universe...

It never rained on the pride parade downtown. It stayed sunny, and people kept walking in full glow of their personality.

In another world, I did something or said something worthwhile.

In another dimension
In another universe
In another world
In another life...

I was gonna be okay.
And I knew somehow...
That we'd be there.
Together.

But none of these alternate realities exist.
I guess I just like the idea of another outcome.

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?

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.

Letting go is another thing in life that just doesn't sit well with me.

But I get it.

And so I must swallow whatever pride I have left.

Only because people have been sent after me.

I didn't ever think I'd see the day when my once close friends decided to bash my reputation. And to be completely fair, not everybody came after me.

But the ones who did, really wanted me to have it.

But despite what I've done. I can find some relief in knowing that some of those people still think I'm decent.

And thank God I haven't done anything to some people. I try to be kind, and that gets me a decent reputation. But only one mistake can drive it right back into the ground.

After all of this. I just want an iced capp to numb the pain and to keep me awake.

And sure, this isn't ideal.

At all.

But it's my life.

Or at least...

It is now.

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...

It was a Monday afternoon...

4th period, first semester 10th grade. Drafting class.

You hated the class. And I... didn't.

But we had fun anyway. I had a headphone splitter and while we worked we watched YouTube videos together. You introduced me to Panic! At The Disco, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, Bring Me The Horizon, Black Veil Brides, And Jon Cozart.

And I showed you FadeIntoCase, Dodie Clark, and whatever YouTube had to offer that interested me.

Our friendship was good. We never had to worry about boyfriends or girlfriends, we were just kids. But I guess looking back, I can say that we were definitely better people than most.

I feel bad about that one day you were rewatching the Deadpool trailer over and over. You asked me what Deadpool video we should watch next.

And I told you I thought you should calm down.

You pulled the headphone splitter out your computer and chucked it my way. A sudden disconnect. I immediately apologized and when I realized you didn't want to hear it, I stopped trying to get your attention.

I know that's a stupid memory, but I still feel bad about it for some reason.

But I also remember that Monday afternoon that would test our friendship. We were in class and you were... not there, mentally I mean.

You were crying and I felt like something needed to be done. So I went and asked the teacher to let you go... and he did. As soon as I told you, you left.

And I felt bad. I knew I did the right thing, but I felt bad because I was going out of my way to make life better for someone I truly care about. It was overwhelming but I did it anyway.

I took your bag and waited for you outside the classroom. But you didn't show up. I found another friend and began crying in her arms, telling her how I couldn't do it anymore. Eventually you did find me, you took your bag and left.

I felt bad because I felt like my efforts went unappreciated time and time again. But they weren't.

I went home to write the song "At what cost?", which I performed the next day. You asked me why you hadn't heard the song before. I told you I wrote it after what happened. And I promised to send you every song I'd write from then on. And I did.

I still do.

I wrote you letters and cigarettes, I meant everything I wrote. And now where are we?

During the musical, I made and effort to wish you good luck before your big song, every single show. Every show...

You baked me cupcakes for my birthday.

The last time we FaceTimed was a Monday night. We listened to Disney music while you worked on art. You offered to FaceTime... I felt lucky that you would want to hang out with someone like me.

I would give you a hug everyday before leaving school at the end of the day...

In the last cigarette you gave me for my birthday you wrote "I couldn't ask for a better person to go to France with."

And I believed you.

So while we were in France. I can only remember watching a part of an episode of Riverdale with you and thinking to myself, "she still cares... we're okay".

We played games of 31 and that felt normal. But then we played cards in a different crowd and suddenly I didn't feel safe around them. I felt judged, by them, by you.

I don't even know if the locks mattered to you. You gave the letters back as if they didn't matter... I don't know how to fix this.

I remember walking slower to get the attention of a guy. And you saw me walking by myself and tried starting a conversation with me. I told you I was in the middle of another conversation. So you left me to try and talk to him.

You even said, "It's been awhile since we've talked." AND YOU WERE RIGHT!!

I should've stayed back and talked to you.

I wish I did.

I still care about you. So much so that I'm willing to leave you if it'll make you happy. I'm sorry.

How much I remember makes me cry because I will never be able to take back everything I did wrong. And now it's too late.

When I asked you if you thought we'd still be friends after high school, you said you didn't know.

And I believed you. But I still hold out the smallest bit of hope. Everyday, that you'll tell me it's gonna be okay, and that our friendship didn't just...

Pass by...

That I was somebody to you.

On your birthday, at the stroke of midnight, I texted you saying happy birthday the same way I did the year before. And you just said, "Thank you".

So I guess...

Thank you for being there. Thank you for existing. Thank you for being my friend. And if, in the future, I do make things right and we become close again, than maybe I can drop this guilt and shame for what I did.

Because I need too know...

If I'm worth your friendship all over again.

I'm sorry I ******* up. And if I could do it all over again, I would. And I would make all the right choices, making our lives better.

And if this really is the end. I just hope that you listen to my songs once in a while and remember me as someone who wrote a couple good songs for you.

Because "Rush" is still my best piece of work. And it's yours.

"Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead."


And I'm dead anyways. So read my texts all you want.

Somebody pick a fight with me. Set this all ablaze and watch the photos burn.

No.

I can't do that. I will not give the world the satisfaction of being right about me. That I'm this monster...

Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead.

But she's not dead.

So let me rephrase:

Rereading her texts... doesn't bring her back.

Sometimes the only way into my brain is to read my poetry.

Because talking to people is terrifying. And I don't know how to not be socially disastrous.

I don't know how to stop saying the wrong thing, so I don't talk. For fear of saying the right thing at the wrong time. And so far, I have become a train wreck of my mistakes. So I write.

So you're reading my life on pages. And this is real.

I can tell you with absolute certainty that these are my honest thoughts.

I know there is no good explanation for my actions.

I know there is nothing I can say to fix what happened.

But I'm willing to try again.

I'm willing to try.

I know I upset you. And I get why. But I am not strong enough to tell you face to face, so my thoughts end up here.

And that may not be the best thing I could've done.

I know.


...I know.

I just saw a bunch of pictures of people who I used to be friends with.

And I forgot how beautiful they all looked when they smiled.

It's been 9 months and counting.

And they still smile without me.

She's here.

And I love her.

But she's not my friend.

I've accepted that over and over.

I get it.

I got it.

I never had it.

To feel worthless in someone else's eyes is probably a feeling that cannot be shaken.

It is to be close to her..

And have nothing.

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.

~ 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

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.

I will love you as much as you need.

Which is always more than you want.

At 10 years old, I argued for my time back. I don't to play piano anymore, I want my 10 000 hours back.

This is the brokenness I am

At 13 I had a double, nothing in common but the title of their being. And yet that is all it took to become nothing.

This is the brokenness I am

At 14 I spent time with a locker, the only friend I had in the jail of a building.  A homeless student living amongst the rich.

This is the brokenness I am

At 15 I was trying to put life together, but it didn't work. Making myself angry about it. Maybe you don't have to accept that life doesn't like you, that people don't like you. That you don't like you.

*This is the brokenness I am

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.