Recent Journal Entries

  • Strum and Love

    by alterEgo on November 26, 2014

    I feel your pain. I miss my ex sometimes as well. Maybe it's this time of the year to mourn past love while new love blooms. I feel like I'm falling in love, but I don't want to. My heart is tightly grasped and he tugs me close until I'm enclosed with his warmth and scent. It's such a light warm feeling. His smile breath and scent, and the stubble of his chin. I am falling in love. Even before I found any love I was a hopeless romantic. It pains me to think about my ex now and them, it seems like when I'm alone something will trigger the thought of him, and all I want to do is go back, but then i remind myself why we broke up. It may have been a bad idea to start a new relationship when I was still wasn't fully healed from my last one.

    I write to you because I'm upset from work. I didn't do a good job today. I didn't stand at the til while I polishing cutlery talking to the girl working at the bar. I am bad at focusing, then a lady was just waiting there. and the chef told me off. I'm so bad :( I want to kick myself in the head and cry. Overall I did a good job but this job is pretty hard, I'm at one place while having to focus my attention on two things at once, and the customers come swooping in from the entrance to the counter, and it's partially blocked by some plant decor shit so i can't see them. it's unfair. I should put the bell up from under the counter so they can ring for me. because i'm bad.

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  • today.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 26, 2014

    my sobs come out in whimpers. i don't have much left for tears. i washed my bed sheets and pillow cases a week ago but they're already stained in mascara again. 

    today was just a day. a day that isn't worth remembering. it was a waste of my life, a relentless tick tick tick counting down the seconds until i die. when i get this sad, i read perks of being a wallflower because it comforts me even though it makes me cry. i lend out that book a lot. it's tattered from the hands that have held it, that have turned page after page. some of the pages are falling out. every time i lend it to someone and they read it, i make them sign the inside cover. that's a tale within itself, of who borrowed my copy of perks. the name of a teacher from school that i was close with is scrawled near the top. my high school boyfriend's tidy writing traces out the letters of his stupid biblical name. lance signed it. he told me the poem made him cry.

    but adam has my copy right now so i can't read it. 

    so i watched the movie and cried all throughout.

    the montage of charlie's mental breakdown has always made me cry. every. single. time. "i can't stop seeing it. all the pain. it happens to them and it never stops." i almost cried while researching a hate group (disguised as a men's rights group) for class last month.

    his montage is of derek hitting his sister, of his aunt helen running her hand up his thigh with the words "don't wake your sister," of someone fighting his best friend in the cafeteria.

    what would my montage be?

    it would be the look of disgust my high school classmates saved for me, scornfully cast in my direction moments before we walked onto the stage for graduation. it would be the decayed silence as my friend's body hung from a noose this august. it would be whisper, "you're not a slut, it's okay because I'm your boyfriend." it would be the twisted look on adam's face, dark eyebrows arched, as he told me he wasn't ready. it would be the aching, incessant desire to turn the soft, smooth skin on my frail forearm into crosshatches. it would be the drunken fumble for me to do up a button that my friend hurriedly undid on my pajamas, in the process of trying to take off my clothes. it would be my exasperated whimper afterwards as i asked him, "why would you do this to me?"  it would be the sharp intake of breath my mother took as she hugged me one last time before i moved away. it's the sight of my home in my rearview mirror as i knew i was leaving and would never know how to come back. it's the aging i see on the faces of my parents every time we reunite.

    it wouldn't just be sad things.

    my breakdown montage would have good things, perfectly wonderful things that break my heart just as much. like the gentleman who brought me a croissant when i was sad in a coffee shop. or the time i saw my parents this summer for a couple of hours, and dad kissed the top of my head. or the nervous tone in lance's voice when he told me he was falling in love with me. the harmonies my friends and i make when we turn on the perfect song at the perfect time. the look of the prairie as the yellow canola blooms. the feeling of adam's fingertips.

    there's so much pain, and there's so much joy, and both hurt me to think about. and i don't know how to stop these domino thoughts, one knocking into the next into the next into the next, until everything collapses into a black and white heap.

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  • such great heights.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 24, 2014

    You played Such Great Heights on guitar for me. The Iron & Wine cover. You didn't know that it was originally by the Postal Service. 

    Last night, I asked you to return my tattered copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower sometime soon. Today while I was in class, you texted me to say you weren't coming to school but would give the book to my-friend-in-your-choir at choir practice. I said "fine" and made a deliberate choice to leave out punctuation. Aren't I an icy bitch? I left class to fight off tears in a bathroom stall, and returned to class to grab my books and bail.

    I texted you twenty minutes later and said, "Actually that's not fine. It isn't so urgent that you can hand it off. You can give it back to me like an adult when you have a moment." You said "Ok". You didn't bother with the 'ay' or punctuation either. Maybe you're the icy bitch.

    The person I share a wall with in student residence is playing some really shitty music right now. Oh dear heavens, I think they're trying to play an instrument. 

    Quotes from Adam: "This has nothing to do with you," "I'm not ready and this is my fault," "I still want to hang out with you. I genuinely love the time I spend with you." "I don't want you to hate me like you hate Lance."

    Actions of Adam: Ignore Fallen. Ignore Fallen's seldom attempts at basic conversation. Treat Fallen as if she has done something horrible - like fuck his dad or best friend.

    I couldn't sleep last night.

    On a scale of one to ten, how acceptable would it be for me to get angry with him? Not just the anger that I already feel festering inside my chest, but to meet with him and say things like, "You're being a fuckhead" and "I am incredibly disappointed in how you are handling this"? A seven? A four? How acceptable would it be for me to ask things like, "So are you a hell of an actor or did you actually give even the tiniest fuck about me now?" The small, vulnerable voice in me whispers, "Do you think about me at all?"

    I feel like I'm allowed at least an angry text message. A simple "haha hey dude so it's funny how you said it wasn't my fault and it was your issue but you keep treating me like I deserve some sort of punishment, but yeah lol have a good day."

    I want to yell at him and tell him he's being fifty shades of shitty but I don't want to ruin a chance for basic civility, let alone a friendship, in the future.

    In other news, I'm going to sleep all day and watch movies.

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  • n/a

    by Fallen Leaves on November 24, 2014

    I think there's something wrong with me.

    On Friday, I went out with two of my guy friends, Allen & Beau. We got drunk and unruly. Beau tried to wingman me but nobody at the bar caught my eye. I guess I was fun for a while, but then went to what we call "The Dark Place". I forget that I'm in public and become unresponsive to my surroundings. I stare blankly and lose track of time, and people, and noise - all to get lost in the maze of sadness in my head. Allen and Beau made a game of this, in which they would keep me in the corner of their eye throughout the night. One would see my smile begin to falter, or see my eyes grow fuzzy and stare at nothing, and they would yell, "Allen! She's sad! Dude! Saaaaad!" and then they would become colourful jesters in front of me, flattering me with compliments and telling me jokes in hopes to bring me back to the present.

    Much like two worried parents jangling keys in front of their toddler who can't stop crying.

    This goes without saying, but I have some pretty great friends.

    Later that night, we ran into a friend of ours. (Context: a couple of months ago I drunkely borrowed this guy's sweater. Jesse asked to have it back. About two weeks ago we met for coffee so I could return it and we hung out for nine hours instead. Ran into him a couple more times that week. He asked me for beers a couple of days ago and we drove around the city listening to Death Cab for Cutie. He showed me his favourite spot in the city... gorgeous old architecture, surprisingly quiet, a pretty view of the skyline reflecting off the river. We've had some good life talks. I'm fairly certain he's interested in me in one way or another but understands that I'm not in the place for that right now.) I must have talked to Jesse for quite a while that night but I can't recall details.

    I remember being in a pizza parlor and being stupidly drunk. He put his hand on my knee for a while. I remember wanting to entangle my fingers in his but thinking, "No, Fallen, don't be drunk and dumb." When he was leaving at 3am, he asked me to come outside with him to say goodbye. I went. Good Guy Jesse went in for the hug and a brief word of encouragement, and asked to hang out sometime soon.

    I woke up Saturday morning butt-naked and cuddling a dish towel.

    I remembered drunkenly blurting out dark personal experiences to Jesse. I texted him with a basic, "Hey man, I realize I got really dark on you last night. Especially that one thing. Don't worry, you're not the first person I've told and I've dealt with it. Sorry if I made you feel weird." "Don't worry. It isn't a burden when I want to listen."

    Last night, I met with some of my fellas again. We were out for supper and they gave me a serious talking-to. I guess I was lost to the world again, staring forward and running a million things through my head. They said, "Don't do this to yourself, Fallen. You're too smart for this and you know it. You've got so much going for you. There's more to you than a boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend. Fuck that guy, anyway."

    Might I state again that I have wonderful friends?

    Today I skipped my hockey game and laid in bed for three hours before I garnered the courage to go get food from the restaurant. I went to dodgeball. I did some homework in a cafe and then came home to lose myself in the realms of the Internet. My sister called me to make sure I was doing okay. I texted Adam, "So do me a big favour and bring my book to school sometime soon. Hand it to me or drop it off at the restaurant or whatever." He replied two hours later saying he would. 

    I think it wouldn't be as bad if I could forget the sound of his pretty singing voice. Or how hard he made me laugh by singing songs from Frozen.

    Oh, and another fun fact: I met Lance on this very weekend, one whole year ago. He has a new girlfriend now, I'm told. I saw a picture and she is very pretty. Last time we talked, he scolded me for making poor decisions and coping with my feelings in an unhealthy manner. He said he was disappointed in me.

    I think I'm still hungover from Friday night.

    I did some quick reflection on what has changed in a year. Last November, I was so happy to be single. I had finally escaped the clutches of my emotionally-destructive high school relationship and was single in the land of opportunity (aka, a city where I didn't know anyone and I could be sure that nobody was my cousin). I was free to kiss whoever I wanted, or to stay in by myself, or to go out with new friends, or to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Liberating.

    Then I met Lance. We clicked. I said I wasn't ready for anything serious. He said that was okay. I kissed some more boys. He said that was okay, too. I told him I wanted to be friends. He said that was fine. Then we would go to hang out and I would get confused and end up kissing him, and he would smirk and say, "It's neat how you say one thing and do the opposite." Then, of course, the rest of that is history.

    My one friend says I need to spend one whole year as a truly single human being. I said, "I put in six months of purgatory between Lance and Adam." He said, "Now you have had Adam, so you have a year to kill." I said, "I get a couple lousy weeks of not being single and I have to wait another year?!" 

    My main group of friends say I worry too much about relationships.

    They're right. It's a compulsion and an obsession and I can't ever remember not being boy-crazy. If I didn't have a crush on someone then I had an infatuation with a band member. My very username is an ode to Billy Talent, the band that had my heart for years. A band I originally came to like because the boy I had a crush on liked them.

    See a theme?

    The scattered sense of this entire entry just shows where I'm at emotionally. Really, I'm writing this to extinguish my burning desire to text Adam furiously right now ("Things you don't do: jump into a relationship with an up-front emotionally vulnerable human being, reassure her endlessly that she's not a rebound and that you're ready, then break up with her because you're not ready, then never talk to her again. Your ears are uneven and I want to punch you in the penis but I also want to come to your acoustic set and hug you afterwards and meet your friends.").

    This goes without saying but the idea of therapy is increasingly appealing because I'm clearly not doing well and it's starting to scare me

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  • Deavola The Bad Fairy

    by pinkyandrexa on November 23, 2014

    Deavola the Bad Fairy

    Sara L Russell aka pinkyandrexa, 6/6/14, 10:23

     Bad fairies always suffer from bad press.

    We're vilified, and very much maligned;

    I live up to this homage, I confess,

    My notoriety has me defined.  

    I love to gatecrash parties, late at night,

    Dressed in black silk, with rare black diamond rings,

    Sometimes weddings, where everyone's in white,

    But best of all, I love the christenings.

      I wave my hands over the infant's cot,

    Invoking names like Odin and Belial,

    The air smoulders with ash and bergamot,

    I speak the curse; pour incense from the phial.  

    This is my gift to you, Felicity:

    You'll grow up looking like a chimpanzee.

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  • Everyday is one of those days.

    by WarPath on November 21, 2014

    Every day seems to just drag along, the same mundane routine day after day lacking any thought, any creativity, boring and meaningless lifes we have.

    I blame society for this mundane existence, anything different is deemed wrong, anyone different is deemed as crazy.

    Charles Bukowsi was right: 

    “Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”



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  • digging into that icecream tub

    by alterEgo on November 21, 2014

    I couldn't help but feel sad. What a sad scene, a sick girl with a cold, spooning out large amounts of icecream on a plate. I'm so hungry, but there is nothing for me to eat, so i go to the food that is least healthiest for me. in the fridge there is braised pork belly, and fried fish. What is there left for me, one slice of cheese, already ate it. 1 tub of yogurt, my mum has claimed it. 3 bottles of milk ...urk. some vegetables cooked in oyster sauce which i can't have. there's not even bread in my fridge. this is such a first world problem, but i'm struggling to cope with vegetarianism from time to time. I'm denying myself of things i used to enjoy and it depresses me. That dish looks so good, i can't have it because it has meat in it. Chef hands me a spoon and urges me to try his dish. sorry chef i can't have it. booo. what im left with a plate of vegetables.*cries inside* ok i'll go cook for myself now.


    see you later

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  • sleeping badgers

    by CleanLaundry on November 18, 2014

    it was 3pm and the fog was still curling around the tree trops in somber gray crowns. when I want to get really out of my mind, I walk into the woods. right then I was walking pretty aimlessly, alone, save the hibernating leaf litter phantoms.

    there's this sunday school bible verse in which the body is the temple of the holy spirit. but I also read from a poet that a human being is made out of forest canopies. I decide on the latter and give myself to the anomalous sort of hopelessness settling into the threads of my sweater. for a mile or two, I pretend to be robert frost, but I was never really cut out for the transcendental club. so instead I drop my backpack and dig for earbuds. I dig for my earbuds for a good 5 minutes and the split second I realize where they are, my phone rings. the sound is deafening and I feel the forest toss and turn, like who knew you could even pick up a phone connection out in the backcountry? I apologize to the trees profusely. 

    on my phone, in my hands, your name sends a shot of warmth through my bloodstream, like espresso, diluted by a panicked "hello?" you voice is angry. and abrasive! and amplified by the fog, asking why I left my earbuds at your house. you told me not to leave any of my shit in your apartment! you asked me twice if had everything, and I reassured you I did. what kind of game was I trying to play??

    I tell you to just throw them away. the earbuds. my thumb reflexively brushes over the end call button and the fog crackles. I am jack's complete lack of surprise.

    but it still hits me hard, it still brings my knees to the wet leaves that seep their way deep into my patellas. the fog shackles my wrists to the ground and I sit there for a long pathetic time. I know why you're angry at me, but they're just fucking earbuds. they have no haunt potential.

    but then I think of your stupid bobby pins, which I still occasionally find on my bedroom floor, sometimes with rogue strands of copper hair still attatched. I think of how they probably got there. I think of your red lips, your fingers tugging at hems, my fingers tugging at rubber bands, carefully plucking out each pin until your hair fell to your shoulders in red rivers.

    like what is it about breakups that makes me romanticize the shit out of girls and their hair?

    I think about the events leading up to this point with my knees and palms pressing against the forest floor. I think about your won't-ever-happen-again face as you walk out the door.


    I was supposedly incommunicado and there was someone else.


    not that I'm jealous or upset or feel strange in anyway.


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  • muddy dreams (jibberish)

    by alterEgo on November 17, 2014

    The pangs of emotional distress send me over, and I feel the demons entering my dreams. The demons have a distorted way of speaking, almost like snippets of white noise, and they have jagged teeth, but aside from that they appear very humanlike. In my dreams, they are my friends, I feel I can relate to them because they are neglected by the rest of the world. Last night I found them in an abandoned place in the urban sprawl, the walls are lined with graffiti and vines, mildew dripping down the walls, and the place smells of damp and it's cold, but i feel safe here. they welcomed me with kindness when i entered their place last night. i remember it quite clearly, I was lost, and found an abandoned building, there was bedding and there was also trinkets on the shelves and as i walked closer to bed which was mouldy and damp, i could see this sleeping form, it was a lady around 50-60 years old, she had dark skin, and . as i approached her i heard a noise behind me, turned around and saw a vampire like figure. he was around 30, and very pale skin and darkbrown hair, his skin was cracked and flaking and he had red eyes. i felt a sense of panic, turned my head back to the llady, but she was standing in front of me now. i was surrounded by two demons, who were just staring at me. then out of nowhere i  see a floating demon baby, who doesn't look human at all, it's skin is black and red, and it has black horns. the lady goes towards to baby, and starts talking to it in a ery motherly way even though i couldn't understand what she was saying, she is hugging it and patting it's back. and the guy walks infront of me and grins widely, then he lies down in front of me. for some reason, maybe mind control i start giving him a shoulder rub, and then he transforms into a semi tanned regular guy around 20 years old, all the while looking at me, smiling. 

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  • november 16.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 16, 2014

    pardon my blatant teenage existentialism - or, wait... pardon my inadequacy to even set my scopes to existentialism. heaven knows I'm stuck on a lower frequency, focusing on only myself with a burdened incapability to fathom the bigger picture. I can't possibly be an existentialist, when what occupies my mind is only my own petty problems. 

    and pardon me, too, for writing late-night wonderings on a long-dead music website. there are virtual tumbleweeds scratching across the Forums and the Journal section, but nevertheless, I extend my most sincere apologies for burdening the ten-twenty (if that) lonely people that have discovered my journal.

    I guess I'm sorry for being sad about things when I suppose I could be celebrating the fact that I'm privileged or white or whatever. I'm sorry for taking my emotional incapabilities to pretentious writing, in a flat attempt to figure things out. I am sorry for taking creative liberties to try to explore my written voice. I am sorry for being upset about short-lived relationships and the loss of genuine connections, and for reminiscing online about smart boys with horn-rimmed glasses who used to kiss me.

    I suppose that, while I'm at it, I should apologize to the online community of for relying on the Internet as an outlet. I should know better than to declare my feelings on a public forum when instead I could be hurting myself, or getting really drunk, or letting people fuck me.

    I am sorry that I feel my feelings deeply and sincerely, that when I am happy the world is full of colour and promise, and when I am sad I feel aimless. I am sorry that I do not work to guard myself, for I see embracing feelings rather than stifling them as a positive thing (and not more irrelevent, incessant nattering typical of a teenage existentialist).

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  • cushion loving

    by alterEgo on November 16, 2014

    I wrote the previous post on my phone, and it was too laggy on my phone to write something properly. My mind has gone blank again, what was I going to say. I had a nice day. Now I'm worrying about what the voice in my head sounds like to others. I am miss annonymous to you. yes indeedy. I'm like you fellow annonymous. You have great music tastes. and thanks for accepting my friend request on I admire your character in this world, we are all characters in the game of life aren't we?  Um,  let me crack open my heart like an egg on my keyboard and tell you about stuff. So i'm looking into my religion, reading posts and articles on Buddism as well as reading a book on buddhism, that was given free from the temple I usually go to. I have been on a vegetarian diet for two weeks, there has been the occasional meat product in my food. that has happened three times. when i went to the restaurant with my parents and my mum couldn't finish her noodles soaked in fish broth i helped her eat it, but rinsed the noodles with the tea provided. and then i ate dry noodles rinsing that off under the sink and putting my own veg sauce on. and tonight eating with my "romantic interest" i ate noodles with oyster sauce on them. im still adhering to the veg diet, because i feel better reducing suffering in the world.

    my bed is very soft and snug, and large. I love feeling craddled and covered. i've been meaning to hang out with my best friend for our once a month meetups but im so busy. i so want to hang out with her again, but lately i just feel like i want to hang out with one person. i really don't want to be 'overly attached girlfriend;'  

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  • on

    by alterEgo on November 16, 2014

    Hello world.. through the ripples of laughter and the smoke of water I found you again. No matter how stagnant the water is I find my way back to you. Though you may die before I reach you. Life is truly beautiful here

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  • Autumn Haiku @ SongMeanings

    by NomadMonad on November 15, 2014

    SongMeanings turn gold:
    Fallen leaves in the river
    many sad voices

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  • What title shall I choose??

    by Rmeena on November 14, 2014

    Choosing a title is pretty hard. Anyway, you know what? I'm really getting sick and tired with all these people around, trying to prove that they have the most miserable life with dozens of downfalls and obstacles to deal with etc., just to show you they are powerful enough not to confront anything. Why do they HELL LOVE to be deppressed? Why do they want to pitty themselves?! URGH...

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  • greetings to everyone

    by HanajimaSaki on November 14, 2014

    hi guys im new here just wanted to say hey hope fully i am able to chat with some of you guys on here! -giigles and waves-

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  • november 13.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 13, 2014

    I am a woman of many words. I like to weave with language, knitting sentences together with colourful adjectives and strong verbs. I can talk to someone every single day and still think of new things to talk about. I once talked a girl in the drive-thru window at McDonald's for such a long time that she got in trouble for chatting instead of working. I like to speak. I like to write. I like to communicate.

    The best kind of message I can send is a silent one. There is a kind of speech that rattles my bones and makes my stomach jump with anxiety. Nervousness. There's a kind of communication where the playfulness that dances around my green eyes dims, and things get soft. Cozy. Comfortable. I am a woman of many words, but the most powerful thing is when I don't need words. It's when I can slip into someone with a quiet smile and have them know without me needing to say a single damn thing.

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  • im back

    by RockPoes on November 13, 2014


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  • november 11.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 12, 2014

    I stayed out until 4am last night with my friends. We went to a mediocre karaoke night at our favourite bar. A fight broke out at the pizza parlour we went to afterwards. I ran into some of the fellas I work with that are in the band I saw on Saturday. One of those guys adjusted his glasses and asked, "Are you still all sad about that boy of yours?" When I said yes, he laughed softly. We talked about if I met cute boys that night. "Revel in your hotness," he told me.

    Today I laid in bed for two hours before I could muster the courage to face the day. I went down to the restaurant and ordered a sad bowl of oatmeal and forced a couple of spoonfulls down. I took a break to cry in the bathroom stall. I'm so fucking emotional. I called a friend and asked him to hang out with me. We wandered the mall and later sat in my dorm room. We talked. He played guitar. I sang along. 

    I fell asleep after my friend left. I texted Adam. We haven't talked since Thursday and I was wondering what the fuck was going on. What the next step was. What to do when I ran into him on campus; smile, ignore, or chat? He said that I was right, that it would be unhealthy to be friends right now. That we would invest more in this friendship than in other relationships. My pillow is stained with mascara. I went to my friend's dorm and she gave me beer. I got drunk. I texted Lance. I don't even have shame left.

    If this isn't articulate it's because I went for drinks with a friend I haven't seen in a while and alcohol hits me hard. Especially when I can't force down food.

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  • breakfast for dinner

    by CleanLaundry on November 12, 2014

    set aside today specifically to write and I can't fucking write.

    okay let's try this –

    red blossoms are falling on my fingers which are stalled on laptop keys –

    maybe this would be more romantic if it were pen & paper but my pen hemorrhaged a week ago when I bumped into you in the garden. your eyes met mine and my pen literally burst, ink smudged my palms and my jaw which I ran a shaking hand over. nauseated, I dragged my eyes away, thinking "be like water to rocks, be like water to rocks." 

    that was a week ago and I still wish I was in the Japanese countryside, at least then I'd be justified in feeling like a gaijin. 

    darling, I really liked what we were doing, but the honest truth is that I was using you for your sexytime playlists. I picked up the best music when you turned the lights down and the speakers up. 

    that's not the whole truth. the whole truth is I liked you a lot more than I was prepared for. a shame our rhythm was like two ticking clocks left to their own devices.

    once had a friend who was born with perfect pitch. I would run through guitar chords over and over until he would pick up on something average ears couldn't dream of, and his fingers would shoot out like lightning to nudge a peg ever so lightly, back to equilibrium. 

    that's what we were like. something was dangerously out of tune, but both of us were wearing the same earmuffs. or maybe you took them off ages before I did and chose not to say anything. fuck. why didn't you say anything? 


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  • november 10.

    by Fallen Leaves on November 10, 2014

                    Things do not occur in a vacuum. Everything is connected. We are always reacting to reactions to reactions. We are timeless, in a sense, because we are influenced by billions of decisions. Our decisions will go on to impact others. We are infinite despite our inevitable end. I read something that said genetics were as close as we can get to reincarnation. Your grandfather loved your grandmother’s eyes and asked her on a date. She got those eyes from her father. The twinkle in yours is a memory of that infinity.

                    Adam did not break up with me because of me, but because he was reacting to his past relationship. My emotional upheaval is a reaction to this decision but is built upon my friend’s choice to hang himself and Lance’s choice to move away for the summer. Lance’s choice to break it off with me was shaped by his previous summer with his ex-girlfriend, who clung to him. She clung to him because she had personal issues.

                    When I heard him say, “I’m not ready,” I reacted. My mind reeled, and I remembered a summer of choky sobs and drunk escapism. I remembered downing a bottle of Schnapps in distress. I remembered my friend taking me home and kissing me and trying to take off my clothes. I remember crying and making him leave. Most of all, I remembered the piercing loneliness of a transient life.

                    I have a constant desire to connect. I am surrounded by a flurry of friends. Texts pour in like a heartbeat, constant and pounding. People know my name and I know theirs. I am not in physical solitude. But with dozens of smiles and dozens of “How have you been?” inquiries, I wear myself thin. I am not able to connect. My stories and feelings are diluted with each re-telling of x, y, and/or z. I could tell a stranger my deepest secret. It would mean nothing to me.

                    The real victory is when I say something and feel it wriggle within me uncomfortably, ample with sincere vulnerability and fear. I could tell a friend, “I am deeply sad right now” and it would roll off the tongue like an order at McDonald’s, but if it is someone I connect with, “It’s pretty out today” carries emotional weight. Sharing is important. When I do not have this unique connection with someone, and do not have a special person to tell them how funny I found it when I put my sock on inside-out, I scramble. I spill my words like seeds, sewing them carelessly and hoping they take root.

                    I wander aimlessly until I can entwine my fingers with someone who just knows. Words fall out of my mouth without feeling. I fall out of the present and am carried away by longing.

                    I write this in a café with my schoolwork tossed aside. I was reading a book for class when a man came into the café and asked if I was hungry. He said he didn’t want to see me drinking tea on its own. He bought me a croissant, placed it in front of me, and walked out of the bakery. He didn’t buy anything for himself. He must have seen me through the window as I sat with a glaze of sadness and a downcast twinge. At first I thought he was trying to flirt with me, but when he walked out silently, I realized it was an incredible act of kindness. The world is either relentlessly cruel or exceedingly kind. I don’t know which makes me want to cry more.

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