I once read somewhere that if you can’t sleep at night it’s because you are awake in someone’s dreams. And every night that I lie awake because I cannot turn my brain off, that thought comes to my mind. And I know it’s weird but I start thinking about all the things I’d want to tell you if I was in your dream. I dreamt while I was awake about all the things I’m hoping for in the future. And although right now it seems so very possible, I’m scared of my own feelings at this point.

Everyone has that moment where they meet the person they spend the rest of their life dreaming with, but no one ever knows that moment until the rest of their life begins. And I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t thought about what our lives would be like together.

I’m pouring my heart out onto my notebook because I figured it’s easier than telling you in person. I’d rather live alone than with someone who doesn't understand me, and maybe that’s the reason I want to show you this. I’m a girl of too many emotions and perhaps that will die down with age but if it doesn't I want you to be able to accept me. All of me.

And I know none of this makes sense, but if you’re reading this and you still feel the same about me then I want you to know that I once read that love is when you want to share everything that makes you happy with one person.

I want you to know that at the end of every day I lay awake at night and want to tell you all about my day. I want to tell you about the jacket I found at the thrift shop, and the cool fact I learned about the human heart. I want to tell you everything. I want you to be here.

Lets play a game
Write whatever comes to mind
...no editing
watch your soul

speak

Here's mine:

Sometimes I'm as delicate
As a rock
And as timid as a lion
Sometimes I hold my breath

For a breath of fresh
Air

Most times I lay awake at night
With the silence of my voice

Thoughts

Finding joy
In the beauty
Of my contradiction

Din of voices crowding out thoughts
Thoughts constructed of safety pins and toothpicks held together with spit
Spit dribbling out of the hungry mouth that yearns for companionship
Companionship which is desired but not truly felt
Felt people saunter past, their fabric feet barely touching the ground
Ground into a pulp are the vicious spiders of memory
Memory is a tactile thing that turns in contemporary web
Web of truths spinning and spinning beneath agile fingers
Fingers dug into temples' throbbing ache of words words words
Words are not enough to describe this mortal dullness
Dullness like the din of voices crowding out
**Thoughts

Sometimes I feel this one vessel can't contain all these experiences, all these emotions.
This one trip isn't enough
This one guy isn't enough
This one life isn't enough

What then?
A higher peace?
A believing remedy?
Blind blind apathy.

I try. I tried. I became. I become.
I'm a fool. A servant. I'm a slave to these emotions.
They turn on me like the light from the atoms in the night sky.

What are these?
These experiences.
What is their mount?
What is their worth.

I try to desert the hurt then thwart the pain..but of course it enters through the memorized corners of my gaping heart.
It swallows my pleasure, happiness, reason to be until there's just a silence.  Desparate acceptance.
Yes. Yes. I'm a willing slave of this pain.
What else can you call a non-doer.

Cecelia was right.
Indecision is decision.

                                                      ­            *s.q.

A writer asked me long ago,
For advice on getting better.
He runs through his works with a fine-tooth comb,
Sculpting each and every letter.

I said,firstly sheath your fine-tooth comb,
For blood-lust it will only bring,
And undress your cliche armour sir,
For it only numbs the sting.

And then I said, with cigarette lit,
Be not ashamed of all your vices,
You're allowed to care; and it's fine to swear --
It's allowed, if you can write it.

Don't do this **** for fortune,
For fame or to be credited,
And if you want advice on writing well --
Keep that **** unedited.