I came because when I called and asked you if I should you didn't just say yes instead, you said "I need to be next to you" and after that, driving home to my bed all alone clearly just wasn't an option being next to you there's just no right words when your hand is in mine and i look up into your eyes all i can see is how much weight that smile holds how much gravity and power and magnetic fields together we can have the world without you by my side, sometimes i forget who i am I feel lost and directionless a girl with a computer, typing out words and constantly wondering: are these the right ones? will they be good enough? will they have an impact, will they break hearts, will they break down doors and start riots in the streets with media coverage and I'll just get to look on and smile and say yes! yes! I did it i made them know what its like to be me but sometimes...there's this fear that if i just keep writing for the sake of writing so that i look busy or have something to do, or have a tangible way to measure my time i'm afraid the gift will disappear that i'll forget exactly what message im trying to deliver i know the limits of my own experience i feel that so much when im around other people in the way i just close off and shut down, protection mode, an innocent face with a thousand secrets I am 20 years old and i have my whole life figured out. this boy , this beautiful amazing incredible boy has taken me to the depths of all that i always was and shown me how to bring them to light he tells me i am amazing and special and perfect and beautiful and more than i have ever believed in anything, i believe in the feeling of his words in my chest and his hand on my face and the love i have that controls my happiness but which of us is the strong one? we're both so full of tears mirrors of one another, carrying the weight of the world and a mind that can't reconcile things like a how to guide to life, a definition of normal our intimacy feels so private when i try to explain it, everyone laughs and says that its all too soon and fast, but i just cant translate that knowledge into words how safe it feels to know that no matter what, in spite of everything wrong, there is a person out there who shares your experience who has cried your same tears, who has seen into the grains of everything and found a magic place to hide that everyone else has just glanced over we escape into bliss, into too goo to be trues, into the very epitome of love and protection and deep understanding but at this point in our lives, i still feel so young he's curing cancer while i write in the fucking journal on song meanings i started in high school and fiance its a words that makes me smile, but i sometimes forget it belongs to me i see people's reactions as they take us in: skinny little hippie girl writing her novel in the lab at sloan kettering memorial hospital while she waits for her fiance to cure cancer in a laboratory its hysterical, but you know what? i wouldnt have it any other way

I'm a hippy dippy trippy girl and im going on a drive the ride is long and all alone but I know that I'll be fine I've got some music for company so i guess ill sing along and we find thrill in moving forward but the fear of the unknown is strong a place called home gets left behind And everyone i've ever known gets off the road at times and you can't always hope for straight and flat sometimes there's turns and gravel and i know that i can do it i know that ill be fine but theres a part of me thats terrified for the girl i left behind the one who sat in bed for hours and dreamed off in a page of words that made her stronger but she stayed inside her cage four walls that gave her safety a closed door to hide the tears and mirrors to stare in and wonder aloud what are you doing here? but finally she had to leave start over somewhere warm and again those tears were cried but this time she was reborn she stumbled in a magic land a piece of paper on the tongue and it hit her like a million bricks there are more ways than one there's a special hidden exit if the freeway gets too fast and all you hear are angry horns and people speeding past it it wasnt luck that led her there it was something more like choice and hopes that glowed like shining snow and whispered in her voice this internal golden aura that wandered out of sight her friends and family miles away and she followed without a fight her eyes had never been so wide bright light spun laughter loud the point is that there is no point those were the words she found you're just a bunch of fucking atoms only chemicals in skin and this thing called life can be seen as infinite if you're willing to look again

Love the word drips from my lips like butterscotch rain this glowing current, electric certainty it lifts me up a thousand feet and somehow I still feel safe I know it doesn't make sense outside our bubble too young, too fast, its all a laugh but if you could stand in my skin and close your eyes then you'd see how easily the real world slips away

for a minute there i lost myself in true blue skies and summer breeze in open hearts and lucid lips I hid inside a shadow's eaves Bright lights are calling closer now don't close your eyes, this is what it means to be, be alive, be free pick up the pace, don't sit out out, start a chant, and no amount of suffering will end the war we don't know who we're fighting for am i sane or have i landed on some desert plane abandoned by all the shared maddened minds of conformity of clarity he who shall prosper, hand of the divine am i at the steering wheel is it a disillusioned feel of control, to which i seek beyond all hope the hiss and fire, a sliding rope center bring the words inside twist like fairies in the night lilac and blue, silver lined a glinting hope, a copper shine of length and flesh and mites of dust a history a fortitude, push forward we must

They didn’t know she had brought it to the funeral. She kept it hidden in her jacket pocket, a coat that itched and smelled too new, that had been purchased specifically for the occasion. As the service went on, she kept reaching for it, reassuring herself it was still there. Of course she knew this was ridiculous. Things didn’t just get up and walk away. But somehow, the idea of losing kept crawling up into her mind, streaming down in a flood of teardrops. “Sorry for your loss”. She’d been hearing it all week. Adults who claimed to know her tried to comfort her as though she was a doll, touching her face and petting her hair. She hadn’t thought about loss much before. At ten, her only experiences were with things. She had not been aware that you could lose people as well, that in such a case it did not matter how carefully you tried to keep track of a person you love, they could still vanish in a poof of thin air at any second. They hadn’t given her much warning. Her mother thought it best to keep her in the dark, shelter her from the reality. But she had to know at some point. “You’re grandma is really sick. She’s probably going to die soon, but she loves you very much.” The girl had been shocked. She hadn’t known what to do at first, so she mimicked her mother’s tears. The news sat on her skin, saturating slowly. The next night she cried alone. They wouldn’t let her visit the hospital. They wanted to give her a beautiful memory, to leave out the broken parts. “Try not to cry on the phone,” her father told her. “Grandma doesn’t want you to be sad,” But she couldn’t help it. Now that she knew, everything was different. “How can I live knowing I’ll never see her again?” Her mother gave her a hug, but what she really wanted was an answer Now at the funeral, everyone was crying. She had never seen so much of it. As she looked around, her own water vision goggles made everyone’s faces shine. Her grandfather was the worst. There he stood; front and center, shoulders shaking like an earth quake. She wanted to go to him, to show them how their faces matched, that she understood what it meant to have that steel ball constantly resting at the top of your breath. But instead she just watched, absorbed the grand words floating from the stage, put in the mouth of someone not part of this tragedy. Her father placed his hand on her grandfather’s shoulder. It didn’t stop the shaking. Her hand drizzled back into her pocket, fingering the string of beads. She didn’t know how many there were but she would have liked to. Maybe that number could have meant something, been a comfort to whisper under her breath. Her grandpa would have liked to know, probably. She held them in her fist, a plastic heart, beating thump thump thump with the life of her own pulse. After the funeral, she wore the necklace every day. It wasn’t a very pretty thing, just a basic string of red plastic beads that dented little circles into the web of her hands. But its plainness was sort of the point. Her mom and her aunts and her sister had gone through the boxes with excitement, looking for shiny treasures. Her grandmother had a lot of valuable things, pearls and diamonds and precious stones that had to be split evenly amongst the relatives. Everyone argued over the things they liked best, entitlement cascading through the voices. The girl asked for nothing, until everyone had taken their pick. The red necklace sat brightly on top of beige velvet, and the girl thought of blood before anything like roses. She picked it up and twisted it over and under her fingers, little vines forming a cat’s cradle. “I want this,” she said. No one had stopped her. For over a year, the string became a part of her, swinging like a noose. “Why don’t you wear one of your nicer pieces of jewelry?” her mother asked. It wasn’t so much the necklace she was concerned about. It was the haunting way her daughter carried it, always reaching for it with a faraway look in her eyes. It wasn’t healthy for a child to be so consumed by the past. But the girl just shook her head. The necklace was lucky. She talked to her grandmother in heaven about it often. “Keep it on and you will always be protected.” The voice in her head told her other things too. It wondered about suicide, about what it meant to live a life worthy of being remembered. The girl didn’t think too many people would cry at her own funeral. Her grandmother had been so friendly and kind and full of life. It was no wonder she deserved all those tears. The girl felt like if she disappeared, most people probably wouldn’t notice. One time, a boy on the school bus decided to comment. “Why do you always wear that stupid necklace? Will your head fall off without it?” All her friends had laughed and she felt a resentment creep up into her heart. “No. It was my grandmother’s. She’s dead now”. A year ago she would have cried. Since she didn’t, the boy left her alone. The more she talked to the voice in her head, the less she wanted to stay in the real world. Her parents were always yelling at her about school and chores and took her little sister’s side whenever they would fight. Her friends were not people she felt any closeness with; other outcasts of 5th grade society. She spent weekends alone in her room, writing poems and crying in the dark. She had the feeling that something had to give, like she was on an edge. Every morning when she woke up, she couldn’t help but consider not getting out of bed. What would happen? If she just lay there, refusing to respond, refusing to even open her eyes, what would happen? Her parents would try to wake her up, of course. Yell for a while. Maybe they would get scared, bring her to a hospital. And she would let this all happen. Let them run all the tests, stick needles in her arms, pull the necklace over her head, dress her all in white. And she would do nothing. She would leave her body sitting motionless and let her mind float out of her head, into the air, trailing along her grandmother’s. “I am so proud of you” she would say. “No more fear, now. Just let it go”. She still remembered the last words her grandmother had said to her. They had been on the phone, that crying conversation, just the day before she died. “I love you so much” she had said and the way she said it, well it felt like a promise. And she knew it was stupid but there was this idea in her head that if she poured the love out of her chest, an entire life time’s worth, and sent it towards her grandmother, then surely that would save her. One day, the necklace broke, just a simple snap of the fragile string left her with two wilted snakes sitting in her hands. She hadn’t been rough with it. She hadn’t yanked or pulled or tugged or wrenched. But there it was, broken, all the same.

There's one line that just gets me every time. "Katie it's a strange world when girls can get so broken hearted" rising in harmony, fragile vibrations; a perfect understanding And my heart it just melts at the center, lets the music fill my blood like gold dust, unravel me, take me home Andrew gets it where do you go with your broken heart in tow? the world is so repulsed by sadness It soaks you through, like getting caught in the rain for a while you become an ornament a package marked HANDLE WITH CARE and for a few weeks you're allowed to cry but somehow, those million water drops filled with the secrets of your pain don't seem to be enough and it starts to scare you because you've never cried this much your skin must be melting everything is absorbing in it oozes out at the worst of places disgusting, this messy thing you have become beseeching people pathetic desperate, please please help me and no matter how kind they are, sometimes its just not their place to care you don't want to be that kind of person, who spills their life on the floor for perfect strangers you feel so out of control and no matter how many times you change your clothes, no matter how many hot showers you take there is still a cold that lingers in your bones and you know its ridiculous and illogical but you can't deny that it's there, that the discomfort is pressing that its NOT something you can deal with wake up make up pretty smile for the rest of your life when there is such an aching absence of something warm when you've been on the other side and seen what its like to have someone hold your heart I know because I've been there for a year i was a puddle a pair of feet, so weak for every climb and it got worse and worse and worse until i realized i was the only one who was going to make it better i watch grace and i feel this tenderness we're both just doing the best we can to carry around this unspoken weight is so tiring, but there is still so much other good and the way i've coped is no worse or better than anyone else's but its so easy to criticize to hear the critique and wonder "am i doing the right thing?" but there's no answer maybe there never was even when you were together and it all seemed so perfect, maybe it was just wishful thinking maybe if you weren't so young, if he wasn't your first, if he hadn't promised forever i take all the variables, add and subtract, a nonsense equation of things that never happened, and chances i'll never take and i wonder still if i could be happier if i ever will be? or is that the best i'll ever get and all i leave with is a memory?

it's not that i think it isn't too much, i just don't know if there's an exactly enough the point is there is no point that's what the drugs have taught me, have allowed me to treat my life like an adventure, like i am floating in a sea of an incomprehensible amount of time and for now, weed is my companion it follows me quietly, a little secret smile practice makes perfect, and i am the master nobody knows unless i let them total control, channeling energy gathering of the vibes and i still see the energy dots everywhere, a blurring of rainbow light at the edges of everything nothing is real, or at least nothing is realer than anything else truthfully, we're only chemical reactions i do drugs for the same reason people shop or eat or have sex its a good feeling, a rush, but it doesn't leave you empty the remainder of a beautiful evening can cling to your skin for weeks if you let it more more more i have nothing else better to do anyway i used to say watch the sky whenever life got lonely things are always changing, the rain can't go on forever but now, that seems powerless i am more in control of my happiness than that if i choose,i can ride out the storm or i can pack up and jump on a plane to somewhere where there's warmer weather the point is, there's always a choice no one cares who you turn out to be a fraction as much as you and even though you might have to search it out, find some bizarre sect of counterculture normal you would have felt embarrassed to even know about, your true self learns that ringing certainty of home is worth any amount of awkward explanations

"I am so special" that's what she said, just those four simple words the spark of light, golden fireworks burst through them the energy was so strong i could see the color dots dancing around the room, hiding at the edges of everybody's smiles I am so special and she was, now more than ever we all were here in this home at the end of the world come in from the cold, breathe in until you're gasping how could we have ended up any where else? if you have never felt entirely yourself keep searching for the feeling being in that room of the artists, the dreamers, the brilliant minds of a lost generation made my bones hum in a way i couldn't even imagine i was there and i was someone we all had our stories you could tell from the colors painted on skin, from the beads in hair, from the fabric that glistened and sparkled everything said "here i am, existing" making a space for myself in the world and the conversations nobody was talking about other people all of it, just the short bits and snatches were ideas, events,brilliant philosophies we stood and we locked eyes and we knew without words we had once again stumbled into that beautiful world and the best part was, it wasn't just random all the choices, all the decisions, all the thoughts and feelings of the people we were growing into had led us here to the perfect moment there was no fear of an ending because we could always come back this world was getting realer, closer we were finding it more and more often the girl i was dancing on the drugs was starting to make her way into the ordinary this was not a role, a persona i adopted maybe it had started out that way, but now it felt like the truth i could taste it, clear like crystal water running along the back of my teeth this was me at my center i was not an observer, but an actor you cross this line where you're no longer playing dress up at first, you do this drug thing like it's temporary some phase you have to get out of your system you're young and bored and trapped in time you've only seen the showroom model, as though the only way to do this drug thing is get in and out before you're trapped but then, a veil is lifted there is the good side, the psychedelics, the spiritual awakening you meet the people and it's nothing like you expected they are not sick, or starving, or desperate they don't smell, they're not poor or hopeless or going nowhere mostly, they seem gentle and strange, the children of a different age and even though you look around and you can tell that some people, like your parents or your friends from high school might feel uncomfortable you have never in your life felt more at ease nobody seems to have any hidden intentions the atmosphere is so open the conversations lack an ordinary sense of obligation, a duty to keep exchanging words even though all has been said we see a guy doing yoga in a corner, all alone, his limbs like clay, dancing, cutting gracefully through the air he sees us staring and he smiles and the energy flies straight to his eyes, light blue, wide wide open i ask him where he is from, even though normally i hate that question because it ends up meaning nothing but with him, his smile, his dancing arms, it matters because i care he tells us about the earth, your bare feet on the dirt, just wakes your whole body up like BAM! and organic food and yoga and then back to that earth, it's all about nature man, all about going back to the basics every words is flushed with this lighting, this color, i feel my heart gripping onto every word, digging out every ounce of meaning "you're so smart" it's just a fact, it goes with his passion and insight, spilling over into infinity never in my life have i had such a conversation, total passion on both sides it was like that with everybody my heart rose inside my chest and i felt so full me and grace, we were experiencing this together the next night i cried as i lay awake, sending all the positive energy i could find in my heart back out to the universe in gratitude this was going to be the best year of my life and i knew it with a certainty, pulsing in tune with the songs in my head at 20 years old, i had found my home at the end of the world i was making it my reality, my choice and now, it is my job to write and remember i am so special i am on a journey away from the common conception, a journey to happiness, a journey to enlightenment someday i will capture it all in words, every last second here is another piece of the guidebook here is another step closer to the secret of infinity

The funny thing about happiness is that you’d never believe it’s invisible. When I was younger I used to dream for hours, of singing larks and haleleuas, of smiles so bright they burnt through your skin. But strangely enough, I never gave it a face. I had this idea, this theoretical concept, of a feeling that had been taught. And in moments I believed I had discovered it, but still I couldn’t quite track it down. I saw only random lines, moving squggles, a hand dancing too fast across the page so I missed every word keeping track of the letters. But this abstract thing, it became real. It became something worthy of capture. It became a dream a promise, a shooting star hope. And I allowed this to happen because I was afraid. Because I did not like the colors I saw in front of me. Because for years I thought if I just plotted the escape, I could magically divine a place to run to. It turns out it is not so simple. I had escaped, but I still felt trapped. I had never in my life felt so invisible. Trying to be a person took up all my energy. No matter how badly you may want to leave yourself behind, erase away enough and you’ll have nowhere to start. I took the colors out of my hair. I didn’t do gymnastics. I didn’t have anyone who knew how to save me. And the me in my head and the me in the world felt so tangled, the wrong notes from different songs trying to out play the other. How could I express myself in words without giving away everything I wanted to hide. My skin felt like a raincoat. The tears soaked through and drowned my heart. And then I went away and I stumbled on a fantasy. A place in 21st century America embroidered with genuine peace and love. Camp Bisco changed everything. I had never even allowed myself to dream that such an enchantment could be part of real life. That there were people out there who also weren’t satisfied. People who knew the risks and worked around them, who managed to live harder faster, clinging to the edge. And suddenly I understood what you said. About rapidly burning through all your life force. About moving through space and time with a purpose, a sense of engagement. Not feeling like a pawn but the hand of the master. Lifestyle design. A few pieces of paper melted in my mouth and I saw the world as it is, without any expectation. This was what I wanted. I wanted to be experienced. I found my happiness in the fullest of rooms, bursting with life and dance and intoxicating energy. I no longer felt too small. Even as hundreds of people moved around me, everyone demanding space, I finally learned to fight back. I jumped and jumped until my lungs gave out. Until I was three rows away from the best and the brightest and I just put up my elbows and demanded a presence. I had just as much right to exist as anybody else. And as I kept buying tickets and swallowing pills, and blasting music and moving and breathing, I found a moment to think of you. I didn’t wonder if you were ok, because that wouldn’t be enough. I wanted to know if you were fucking ecstatic. If you were caught in some haphazard, mind bending ride of your own. I pictured us in our own separate orbits, bursting at the seams, with a blinding light that can’t shine forever. And the thought made me smile, because I thought you’d be proud at how far I’ve come. You will never be a memory. I carry you in my heart every day. How strange we had to part ways to discover all that this world has to offer. But now I know the secret. You are the master of your own universe. No one cares what you become a fraction as much as you do. It doesn’t matter that we are a generation lost by a failing economy and social networking. You can simply walk away, opt out, say thanks, but society’s idea of a fulfilling life is just not enough for me. The journey away from the center is one marred by the pain of betrayal. There is nothing that describes the loss of staring into the eyes of old friends and seeing only empty misunderstanding. Not everyone will follow. Our relationships are so precarious. Throughout my life, I had left behind so many people, usually just out of convenience or time, and I was never sure who in my present was truly there to stay. But I think I can count on you. You who has seen me in every sense of the word. I treasure that. I thought you might understand.

When you’re a little kid, the world just can’t turn fast enough. You can’t wait to grow up, have a job, start a family. You imagine yourself serving cookies for breakfast. Water slides every day, no bed time, no homework. Your parents laugh when you say it out loud. “You’ll change your mind about that when you’re older” They always sound so sure .Rules stacked up so tall you can’t even see over the top. At first you don’t mind so much, because the rules keep you safe. They create balance, something you can depend on. Everyone goes to bed at 8 pm on school nights. Everyone eats their broccoli to grow big and strong. Or at least this is what you assume because you don’t know any better. How could you? You were raised inside a bubble. You sit in a classroom while a man in a uniform tells you to never do drugs. They show you pictures of cancerous lungs. “Just one cigarette is enough to get addicted” he says. And you look around wide eyed at your classmates, wondering why. Why anyone would do such a silly thing like drink alcohol or smoke a cigarette. Not you, you think. You’re a good girl. A quick little buzz of an altered state just doesn’t seem worth the risks when you have such a nice family and you get such good grades. But then, as you get older, you start to notice how the rules aren’t working. How even though you studied for hours, the test is covered with only trick questions. You read the news and you see big headlines. USA GOES TO WAR. MAN MURDERS WIFE AND CHILDREN. So you try to make sense of it. It’s easier than rewriting the whole system. You start to ask questions, but there’s only one answer. “Sometimes life isn’t fair”. You take this into account. It becomes the key to handling disappointment. “Sometimes life isn’t fair”. School work is starting to take over your life. Millions of hours spent studying the battles of the civil war, or calculating imaginary electrical currents. And even as you put in the time and effort because really what else could you be doing, something isn’t right. At first it’s just this lingering cold, this resistance that fills your bones as you convince yourself to get out of bed. You suspect it will go away within a few weeks, but it doesn’t. Soon you feel it in your heart. When people yell at you it stings in a new way, a resounding echo of a gong in a room filled with air. From that echo, you catch the edges of words, skirting like spiders at the back of your skull. Matter. That’s what they’re saying. Something about matter. And you learn all the technical gibberish, about objects taking up space, but the definition doesn’t feel comprehensive. You know you are not made of matter. Otherwise you would feel more solid. You’re bones are made of silk scarves, and your skeleton is dancing, held up by strings. So you listen more closely, and your heart chokes and coughs up a sentence. THIS doesn’t matter. You are not sure what this is, exactly, but it seems to encompass everything. You feel trapped, but deep down you realize you have always felt this way. You just didn’t dare to dream of freedom. The doors at the front of the school are always unlocked. We could all just get up and walk outside. There are no alarms or cages are stopping you. It’s only in your head. You go to college thinking things will be different. You are finally on your own, away from all that coddling. People don’t seem to expect very much of you. They hand you an excuse for why you’re still not happy, why you’re still not having fun. “I’m adjusting” you say. But even after a few months you still don’t feel adjusted. The people who surround you aren’t exceptional. They’re not especially kind or warm or welcoming. Aloneness takes on a new meaning. You become your moving feet. But then something remarkable happens. You take a chance on an adventure. You swallow a piece of magic paper and the ground becomes alive. It brings you back to your childhood self, this illumination of innocent laughter. You remember why you wanted to grow up so fast. It’s a combination of words you haven’t put together in years, and it feels deliciously foreign spilling from your tongue. It was so you could do whatever you wanted. No rules. Total freedom. And the purity and simplicity of that revelation is overwhelming. Tears pour from your eyes and you sink to your knees and your mouth just can’t stop laughing. You are here. You are an adult making decisions, disregarding the world you know. And not just for now, but for always. That’s the best part. The sense of control hums inside your very core, an everlasting melody. If you know how to make yourself happy, the rules don’t really matter. The point is there is no point. The only aspiration worth having is for meaningful experience. And even though you are ecstatic in light of this new discovery, you have to wonder what went wrong. How did the responsibilities and the unfairness flood over everything? In the moment, it seems so ridiculous. You chalk it up to a glitch in the system. Maybe you are special. Maybe for most people the race trumps happiness, trumps freedom. It’s terrifying to unravel the blanket of your history. To go back and see yourself struggling, yanking so hard on all the wrong threads, weaving the picture that came with the instructions. Let go, you think. You have rediscovered the dream from before you were marred by all the worlds’ tragedies. And the prospect of growing up, of all the mountains and mountains of time you have stretched in front of you becomes enchanted, flushed with a magic that catches in your mind. You are the master of your own universe. Paint yourself a picture where fear is unwelcome. Here is a world, entirely of your creation. What could be better than actually living in it?