The fact is that some people seem to disappear from our lives due to different paths that we choose. Some friendships last forever,  it's human nature that we have interactions with people good or bad. And although we don't want to think about it people come and go from our lives everyday. It's your choice as a friend or loved one to let something's go, because something's that is the only way arguments are settled. There is already too much hate in this world, you can decide to be apart of it or not. Quick judgements are stupid and we do it everyday, weather they are good or bad. The best thing you can do is to be positive in the smallest things in life, because although this is corny "the smallest things make the biggest of differences" and to you it may seem dum to others it can bring joy. Love, I can't define  because it is different for everyone and no one of any gender or race should be bullied. Not only do I believe that people should love who they want but I also don't believe in being "main stream" because that does not exist. The moral of this is that,

“I'm the one that's got to die when it's time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to.”
― Jimi Hendrix

Waiting at the Bus Stop

I'm sitting in the back of the bus where the heater is and I'm gazing into the isle of the bus. The heat is very strong, it's not very comfortable but neither is my position. My tangled dark blue track earphones are trying their best to blast "Move Along" by All American Rejects from my 3rd generation iPhone that sits in my flannel pocket. My friend in the seat next to me is reading Grendel while blasting Paramore, the freshman in the front of the bus are fooling around, once the bus goes over a *** hole they fly back into their place. Two seats infornt of me there are two girls sitting next to each other, probillily talking about a boy or how great the swim meet was. Th bus starts to go up my life threatening hill, many car crashes happen here. When we get to my stop I stand up mid drive, I feel like I'm surfing. And when the bus comes to it's sudden stop, I jolt back because I know I will fall. I walk down the isle of backpacks and freshman looking at me as if I was a big tough guy, I'm only 5 foot I would say. When I get off and cross our road, my dog is waiting for me. I start to cry. Kids should be allowed that right to be able to come home and see their dog waiting for them at the bus stop.

Prayers for Newtown

Rooms, Doors, Windows

One part of me thinks that it is what makes it, and the parts and pieces are what holds it together. Like a cat with its tail, whiskers, and paws

Another part of me thinks that a thing is what you make of it, like a desk: the  broken Mike Piazza bubble head, the mini pencil that's on it's last tip, and the dirt stains on the floor below for that time you went for a walk in the rain.

No your wrong, parts are held together by the things they are made of like the old "The Game Of Life" board that's on your shelf. The pieces and cards make up the game and when you play it you will need all those pieces to do it.

But in life you need something to be sentimental about, not only will you be happy but it gives you hope. To use your example of "The Game Of Life" board, sure those bits and pieces don't have much and they are needed. But they have meaning to each person, like the guy who always goes for the blue piece because that's his favorite color. Or the person who decides they don't need college and they said "it's because I'm none conformist"


The moral of this conversation is to prove to people that life is like a house, a house is made of rooms, doors, and windows but each house is different because each house has a story. Every door has been opened to see what treasures lie within, every window has been looked at and sometimes looked through,and every room has been built to fit the owners vision. Happiness grows.

I waited for a while. For something to happen, an explosion, a bomb, something that would get me out of there. Why did I drive him here? The though span through my mind every second that I had to wait. We were at the propane store in bethel, and my dad was looking for a fire place. The temptation of my blue Subru in the parking lot, I had the keys. No phone, no board game, no s reaming family to entertain me. Just my dad, bob, and I. I had to do something, there were grills, propane powered lights, and thousands of gas tanks.  There a burgers in the car, and grills all around, its taking this long. The keys jingled in my pocket, Get me out! How did this happen? We went to walmart. Past the target. Get some coffee. Soda's in the car! I could run!
I waited for while.

Four weeks before,

An aroma of pine that sicks to the walls of your house,
Pictures that dangle from ten feet in the air,
The fake gas fire place smells like burning rubber,
Socks that don't fit hanging from the fire place,
Kids laughing and running around with new phones and car keys,
Four weeks before,
Family members talking politics around a turkey dinner,
Manhunt and kid the can games in the backyard,
Grandmas asking what to get for Christmas,
The a pumpkin candle releasing its scent apawn the bathroom,
Four weeks before,
School work piling up on my new iPad,
A sad break up from separation summer,
Closing the windows to keep out the fall breeze,
A hurricane?
Four weeks before that?

An Escape

For freedom,
For the search of love,
To find a new home,
To my hearts desire,
We could make a new life,
We could find a place,
When she let me out,
When I never came back,
Can I be free,
Can we still be friends,
The time was up,
The decision was final.
I bit her,
I hated them,
Along came fate,
Along the nabbors yard,
She was old,
She spoke very load,
I fell,
And got up,
They came home,
So I hoped and fell again.

The story of a lost bunny