I need to write; I wish you'd read.

Days go by & I don't pick up a pen. I should, I know I should, but I don't. I can't, won't.. whatever you'll call it. Nothing much flows from these hands anymore. Recapturing a passion is a tough, confusing thing. You feel as though you're forcing yourself, as if it's no longer something you want to do. But when it comes back, it's a beautiful thing.

So I wait.

Conversation has been prolific between us. I wonder if this is a good or bad thing. A sign of maturity, or my getting used. I don't know where I stand on it all, I don't know what it means [this seems to be a common theme in my life], so I don't know what to say. I'll be hurt if it's nothing more than you just craving someone who doesn't hate you.

I know how it feels when it seems like the world's against you.

I feel like I can't stop moving, thinking, studying. I did this to myself, especially today. It feels nice; as though I've accomplished something for the first time. Everytime. Accomplishment is always a beautiful thing, but it seems so rare. I often feel as though I just can't do what everyone wants, what everyone expects. Scratch that. What I expect, because it's often too much.

A bunny sits in the corner of the apartment, flooded with the belongings of a number of people. She's my companion now, she's what I hope will help me through the summer. Who knows though. Will she hate me? Will I accidentally kill her? I'm not exactly the greatest pet owner. I get so busy & then... but I guess the fish are still alive [she says while one of her two fish sits on the dining room table in a plastic bag].

I'm horrible.

I can feel my other ear now filling in, the precursor to the painful infection I was diagnosed with last night. I feel bad for babies, who cry because their ears hurt so much, but they can't explain it. It hurts. It made me cry.

In September, when I turn 20, what will I be? A 20 year old girl? A 20 year old woman? 20 going on 12? These are the things that plague me when I can't sleep & my mind won't shut off.

I think it wants to shut off now.
Zzzzzz.

3:29am.

i'm not sure what to say, but i know i should be writing. feelings & emotions & thoughts are racing through my mind but i'm not sure which ones to say; which ones to hold back. maybe it's my state or the time. maybe it's the time to think & chill this night gave me.

five dollars. thanks. five dollars. thanks. screw therapy. this is better.

hmm. back to that old chestnut. what am i supposed to do? walk in & blurt it all out? amusing, but i'm certain it doesn't work that way. no introductions? explanations? no "hi, how are you?" "oh i'm alright. & you"? just sit down & spill.

i think i might...

oh. you thought you were going to get it out of me. just like that guy with my number.

your words are doing you any good. best shut up while you're ahead. my attention for you has timed out. ding! move on. you can't handle me. no one can. well, except for one b-o-i. y?

your obsession pays off. my respect is yours forever. not to be forgotten or misunderstood.

peace.

pas de bourrée.

I pretend my life is a show these days. I'm the star, with my sub-par dancing abilities. Not even a week later, my withdrawal is full force. No pun intended. Every song is a new number. Every movement means the world. Posture! Smiles! It's been far too long, my friend.

love generation.

I need to get these juices flowing again. Passionless, I flounder. I may not be great, but it's something. Don't argue with that. Something's better than nothing. Two minutes in heaven is better than one minute in heaven. Grammatical errors be damned. Essays, excuse my friend, but please go fuck yourselves. These forced exercises of something so rightfully mine are tiring. Papers filled with bullshit surrounded by facts & evidence. Where's the emotion? This does not suffice.

pen to paper &... flow.

Picture perfect sitting there. Not you or him or her. But it. Confusing, perhaps. So perfect in it's natural state. Contrast. As if I know what that means. Focus. Maybe it's the camera, maybe it's me. Maybe I don't have what it takes. But I want it. I want what I see on film. Memories, beauty. Cover my walls. This summer's mission, perhaps.

Pose.

Unstrung in the corner it sits. Begging to be played, to be relearned. Skill faded with time. Sunshine beating down, tank top & a pair of shorts playing what I want to hear. What I need to hear. Another mission. Time wasted in the sun this time without the sheets telling me which finger goes where. I'll show you! I'll play from the heart. I'll play from the soul. Sitting on the balcony, I'll play a random configuration of notes & claim it to be art.

Fill my ears with beauty.

From the tenth floor, they'll be recaptured. Relearned. Remastered. From the beginning. Passions escape me no longer.

Passionate beauty emanate.