what if I'm lost?
what if I never want to be found?
what if the world turns me away
and never turns me around?

what if I cry like a child
who by the world is denied?
what if I'm too tired to fend for myself
so I always just step aside?

what if the pages of my heart are blank
like a book that's never been read?
what if I sliced and stabbed and cut
until to my death I bled?

what if I stare into my future
and realize I haven't got much?
and what if I'm taken away by a man
who wants me because I'm soft to the touch?

what if I just want to die?
into the depths be thrown?
what if I want to be in the dark,
venture through the black on my own?

there are many what-ifs that one could ask
as the stars draw their fates in the sky.
and there's many a girl who's been out on her own
who
decided
to
end
things
and
die.

another day of exhaustion
after another sleepless night
not knowing where to run
and too mightless to fight.

the world around me seems blacker
than it did yesterday
but with these storms in my mind, thunder, lightning,
the dark is here to stay.

no more reason to live,
no reason to go on
I sit here all alone
waiting for the dawn

when the sun rises,
and when the moon fades
I'll still be here alone
being stabbed with thorns and blades.

once upon a time, life was hopeful,
and I had reason to push through
but now I'm here, all alone,
and all I have is you.

but will you ever realize?
will you ever even care?
will you ever admit it's love?
would you even dare?

it's true, my answer would be no,
for I am slight and weak.
I would merely zip my mouth
like a bird who'd lost its beak.

but you are strong, you are wise,
you are brilliant and bold.
you - you are my one true love;
my dearest treasured gold

it's true - I love you, I will not lie,
please believe and know.
and if, by chance, you feel the same,
please just tell me so...

I want to hide away and cry
But it seems my eyes have both run dry

A bright spot in this haze of black
Would give me nothing but a heart attack

A heart attack might wake me up
But I'd just drink from your poisoned cup

Then I could go back to sleep
And be within the angels' keep

"The angels' keep, or the demons'?" you say
It matters not to me either way

As long as I don't have to wake
And I shall be all yours, for the take

As I sat in my bathroom that evening, bawling my eyes out, I came to a realization; I am a very ugly crier. I think crying being ugly is something that humans just innately have a concept of, but I think it takes a real and true mental breakdown in front of a bathroom mirror for a person to come to terms with how ugly their face can actually be. But I came to another realization, besides just the fact that my face can get really ugly...

You have been there for every ugly face.

For the ones that come along with mental breakdowns, when my eyes are raw and pink and my entire face is red and, when I cry hard enough, that strange, chapped line shows above my upper lip that is slightly reminiscent of a mustache.

For the ones that come along when I'm really really really ******* and my left eyebrow raises and the left side of my mouth curls up into a snarl and I end up looking a helluva lot like my dog did when he was angry.

For the ones that come along when I am so utterly repulsed by the stupidity of humanity that every single one of my ****** features is centralized at the middle of my face and contorted in such a way that can only be an expression of disgust.

But you've been there for the other faces too...

Like the one that I make when I tell you stories about people at school not knowing what "****" means.

Or the one I make when I'm laughing so hard I look like I'm dying.

Or the one I make when I'm smiling so idiotically about a boy that my canine teeth protrude abnormally from the sides of my mouth.

You've been there for every face.

The ones that you deal with looking at when I'm sobbing because you know I need you to.

Or the one's you say are "pretty" with an expression of disgust and hilarity after you've seen one of the selfies I send my friends on snapchat.

Or the ones you say are pretty, even when I don't see it myself...
You've been there for every face.


You've loved me


at my best,



at my worst,



and at my ugliest.



And for that, I can


never



ever



ever



thank you enough.

inspire
1. to fill with an animating, quickening, or exalting influence
2. to fill or affect with a specified feeling, thought, etc.
3. to influence or impel

inspired
1. aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence
2. resulting from such inspiration

inspiration
1. an inspiring or animating action or influence
2. something inspired, as an idea
3. a result of inspired activity
4. a thing or person that inspires

Inspiration is not often thought of as something with feet. Something capable of wandering the earth.
But rather, it is thought of as a thing. A thing that occurs. Be it divine or natural, it simply is.

Some people find Inspiration in nature.
In the woods, among weeping willows whose vibrant leaves cascade upon the earth in blissful waves.
Others find it at the edge of the water, as they observe their reflection in the piercingly clear, blue ocean while the tide brings waves rushing endlessly forward into their bare, goosebumpy legs.
Others still find it under the skies, as they stare up into an endless mass of meteors, meteorites, and stars of all colors, burning ever brighter, flying through and twinkling against the night's black.

I fear many people live their lives without meeting even a subtle glimpse of Inspiration.
These creatures are not capable of living; they simply exist.

Inspire is what we are capable of doing.
Inspired is the way we are capable of feeling.
Inspiration is the difference between being alive and living.
People are born and die.
Their lives simply pass.
They exist, they do not live, for they have never caught a glimpse of Inspiration,
even out of the corner of their eye.

I am one of the lucky ones.
I sit, among the harmonic symphony of coffee and cigarettes, across from Inspiration Himself.

We sit.
We sit on a worn, green metal bench that has become familiar and comfortable.
He hugs His legs against His chest with His feet crossed, bobbing up and down as though He feels the ebbs and flows of ocean waves beneath him.
He looks ponderously at the words in front of Him, words so brilliantly crafted,
woven from His life's toils, troubles, and joys.
Words that I hope He sees fit to share with the universe;
Words that are simply beyond me.

We are no more than two young minds,
One, spectacularly brilliant, and the other, exceedingly average,
but whose brainwaves crash into each other as
thunder and lightning join in a perfect storm,
a collision of angst and unhinged emotions and laughter.

There are people in the world who live without Inspiration.
Who never even see it out of the corner of their eye.
But the few lucky ones, like me, will tell you that
you simply have to look in the right place.

You can find it in the trees.
You can find it in the seas.
You can find it in the skies.

But if your mind can't seem to focus on something so vast and universal,
you simply have to look into the eyes of a friend who has never left your side.

I love fireworks.
They embody the human spirit.
I love them because everyone finds them beautiful.
They're not looked down upon; they're only looked up to.
And though each and every one of them is different, even in the slightest of ways, it doesn't matter.
Their differences don't make them inferior; the make them stand out.
And my favorite part, is this:

Once a firework shoots into the sky, it can't be stopped.
Nothing
Can
Bring
It
Back
Down.
Even though the color fades eventually, that firework has left its mark in the sky forever.
It's eternal.
It never dies.
And even if  you can't see it, it's still there.

I went into NSLC with my mind open to the possibility of my life being changed, because, honestly, I needed it to. But I went in thinking the experience would change my life, because I think I started doubting quite a while ago that people could. I'm sitting on a plane that is taking me farther and farther from New York by the second, and, therefore, farther and farther away from you. From my window, I can see a storm below. From 31,000 feet up in the air, what looks like a small clump of grey clouds is being lit through over and over again by streaks of lightning. While I'm sure it is terrifying to behold from within, being an outsider is like very few things I've ever beheld. And seeing as I've been morphing into you the last ten days, a metaphor comes to mind.

I am that grey cloud, the cloud which before simply existed. A small clump of clouds that, in the grand scheme of things, is inconsequential. But then the lightning came. It came and changed me, from the inside out. It gave an inconsequential, meaningless clump of grey clouds the ability to light up the night sky, even above cities that glow with electric lights. The lightning first electrified my heart, then my soul, then my mind and body. You are that lightning, Liv. And now that I have been changed by that lightning, I cannot go back to the invisible clump of grey clouds that once was.

But unlike the clouds, I will not go away. I will not evaporate. I have been a light in the night sky, and I will continue to glow and to grow. I hope to someday be the lightning in someone else. This letter isn't hand-written or stained with my tears, because I needed you to know this now. But there are many of those to come. Continue to be the lightning in the hearts of humans that were before meaningless, invisible, grey clouds.

Thank you for being my lightning.