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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
explains itself...

Submitted: December 21, 2012

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Submitted: December 21, 2012

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I began this alongside hurt. Not the hurt that has gathered and is thrown over the edge, by one single action. But the kind that weakens you, and may change you, as well. My thoughts always resume to what I should do. What I will do, is a feather in the wind, clinging to the air inside of me;Hope. Yet there are still restraints, as there are with everything. The causes to these feathers are the knowing. Not only the stories of cruelty, abuse, and hatred, but the facts that they contain. The absolute dreadful people who have been raised improperly, that acted upon them. My daily life consists of not a wholeful personal day, but rather these stories all gathered inside of me, releasing themselves into me. I regret this, but I have made a pact starting today to not cry. It is alike they say “Wekaness leaving the body.” I am maybe weak, but only for the physical restraint and internal struggle that I keep up with only myself. It is not as dramatic as those feathers that blow about my eyes right now, as I stare at a meaningless screen projecting an untitled document, on a laptop that isnt even mine. So to conclude a simple reason as to why I brought up these feathers, and the stories that mold them. I will tell you of the countless times, I think and I laugh, And I love human and the creativity within everyone. But at some point we wont have any left, not because of the outgrowing alike that of small children growing to their much more mature selves as adults, but the kind that expires. A ripe peach left on the counter, forgotten. Yet, loved. “As I looked around I began to notice that we were nothing like the rest” To live as you have never before. Change, is developing inside of us this instant. We are beautiful beings, with promises inside of our eyes, our tongues with language, our hearts with desire and the passion that can only be explained or examplified by me writing this right now. My pasison is writing. It is an act where there is no intervening. It is just me and words, and language; the way I change the order of them and mend them like dough so they can rise to the expectation of a...stubborn reader. We all have moments within us where we retreat. We believe, but step back once we know more of it. I have loved something so much before that when I began to retreat after it had been lost for over a week. I cried. Now it was many years ago, but to this day I think about it, and my heart begins to mend a sorrowfull hollow rythym, creating space within my ears in which the terrible sound of my crying is to be held, and ripened. This hapens only only as a way to create more and more actions and reactions to the actual story in which I tell with figures. This one figure of the story about my lost loved one, is one upon the side of the road. Still warmt to the touch it lay, by human fault dead. I felt its neck where it felt limp, but whole and beautiful. I wanted to lay with it the whole rest of the day, but the cars were myriad and it would disrupt the whole scenery of hurry to get nowhere, when you put a small freckled girl with thick un-brushed hair lying on the side of the road, breathing slow, thinking of stories that persist many countries away, while petting this beautiful animal; Appreciation. This word has many definitions, but the most important part of it is the latin root- I dont know, actually. But the human mind can devour new words many at a time and distress the meaning into their own little snippet. For me it is unconditional devotion and the result of that. Whether it be required or useless. People all have appreciation inside of them. Right now I would like to tell you I cant type without music, but these songs are useless, since for me the best music is silence and nature whispering pure, unread secrest to you. The wind may or may not be the cause. I will live where no one man has ever set foot upon, I promise this. I love space, but enough so that I will contain appreciation without devotion- My careful attempt at travel will relocate me from countries, to islands, to even mountain ranges. There are no imits, except when it comes to safety. Then I will abruptly halt, and put it in reverse. I want to tell no one, except myself since I am the only one that can read this, that right now I feel so much better. My eyes have stopped their stiff nature in which they become before tears, my mouth is closed tight, with concentration. I have created a dsitraction. But that seems to far away, and distant. You my friend writing are my love. And this devotion contains more appreciation for the figure more than anyhting. A particular figure in which you have mended over the years consisting of hard fights from the kitchen and distant phone calls. That figure is indeed my active mind. Again thankyou. Not one tear has excaped my eyes. I just cant stop can I? You are a crush of mine, truly. I never want to stop. Maybe I am lonely...Wow really can one word mean that much? I do have many friends, but they are not me, and you. They are themselves, who I rely on for information not like some robot telegram, but updates, funny nicks about others, common traits. I just wish you could answer my questions. Should I tell my mother about you, like I did with a nice boy named john? Who I know to him Im just another one of those girls at school, he talks with, but he has things about him that I like. There are so many stories hidden within him, I can just tell. His perosna is sad, but he brightens easily, It is very lame. Believe me, I dont help people exactly. I study them. They are interestign to me. Right when I said this though, I do imagine a giant girl studying these small mere barbie dolls of fiction or life. Whichever word fits best. Well, I guess I could rely on you to tell if I am going about life the right way. I need to talk to someone who knows. Maybe a verb cant help, but you are a great verb to act and react from. Books are infinite in number, but how many hours does a girl have to spend in a librray before she finds a good read?! Anyways John does seem to like to talk to me a lot of times, but he is very physical. I will never find someone. I dont mind. I like to smile and make people happy. I will never ever find one I love, I am a very lovable person. But maybe it is just my choice. Will you tell me this as well? I know you have a lot of answering to do, but do you think that me wanting to remain independent is a good thing out of choice, or the actions of men that recommend that to me? Not directly ofcourse! I do love music. Before I act like I am contempt to it. It does really take a lot of hard work for one song that collides with the another before the end of the day. “Home is wherever, with you” Maybe homes require two people.
I began thinking about writing again, once my mom and I got in a disagreement, not as disabling and gut-wrenching as a fight or an argument but an uncomfortable knot in your stomach, a feeling of disgust for that person whenever they are near yet only in that specific moment of time. It was over nothing, but afterwards I remember analyzing everyhting about it, even the way she called me a bad name but quickly afterwards accused me of feeling bad for it, once crying. I wonder if it is ever enough to see another's tears. I think that maybe near the tongue of a sword, a neck of vulnerability screams at it's possesors mind to act, and maybe they begin or are already crying. The tears come silently, definatly, alowing whatever is to come, to come. And they mean more than the loud, harsh sobs that are innocent and prayful. My mom looked at those tears and did stop laughing with my brother at a recent joke, but her smile was replaced with no regret, or forgery of any sort of sorrow, just confusion not the nice, innocent kind, the kind that is oblivious to before events, and the people must know, she has to know why. She askes what are you doing?! I say I'm tired, like I always do when someone catches me crying. The silly thing was,-or is-that I love to cry. It makes me feel infinite. (thats a new word I learned today, it maens more than being outerly strong and willing, but catching a full resemblance of integrity and beautiful ways about oneself thsat keeps us, as us. Happy, growing, and youthful) It releases the bad and makes me feel less and light, but keeps that moment within me for a long time to come.
Sometimes I worry that how I want to live my life wont be supported. As I grow and become an adult my goal as a human, might not be supported by my honor status. I want to travel-badly-if you havent noticed my way of writing which includes analyzing different views, and everyone surrounding or surrounded by them. Countries, cultures, languages, faces, paints, woods, I want to witness, feel, and experience in a whole sensual way. I am excited, but I get to nervous. What if this doesn't happen? There could always be ostacles, and I hope there aren't. I personally believe everything in life is stopped and that is why it happens; The perseverence to push through and make the action, event, creation more beautiful than it was ever going to turn out to be. What is meant to be does not happen, it is truly what can. We are the only ones that create within those circumstances of what if? And once we do enable ourselves to push past those internal words of discrimination, and maybe past let-downs, we create with whatever we can, moments will always happen. It will be routine. We dont need to believe, this is nothing but words, and hope. We determine our naieve souls to care, to love as much as our elders did, to travel to learn to hope in the way of knowing what will become of us and our peers, we are perfect in our way.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


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