Flight

Your friendship to me, is how I imagine air feels to the birds. All birds that take flight, that is. A soaring bird is a majestic sight and bird cannot soar without air. Can you imagine a bird that could not fly? How it would be humbled; awkward and weak. Birds are the kings of the sky, empowered by flight; empowered by air. They ride on the currents, as if in control. But do they realize? No. They are too often in the air to appreciate it. They do not feel the breeze under their wings and count their blessings. For birds have never been humbled by the loss of flight as I have never been humbled by the loss of your friendship. They are spoiled by air, and I am spoiled by you. When I turn and see you there, holding me up as the air does the birds, I am reminded. I think of those birds who have lost that which is so unknowingly dear to them and I am humbled. I am lucky, for I can return once more to the skies and regain my ignorance of your presence, unlike those birds. The birds that will only ever fly in their dreams.

His Hands

His hands grasped the rope tightly, pulling. The knuckles protruded from the pale, stretched skin and his fingers were starting to turn red. Veins popped up on the backs of his hands, as he tightened his grip. He fought the weight on the other end of the rope and the veins bulged, travelling up his arm. His hands were wide and strong, but gentle. They did not have the plumpness of a childs nor the elegance of a womans hand but they were desirable. The kind of hand you wanted to hold. A hand that would hold you. A warm hand.

His nail beds turned white around his short nails, the tips of his finger carved with small cracks, inconsistent with the smooth skin that stretched over the rest of his hand. Each crack was black with impermeable dirt from years of working tediously. The rope started to move. He used the new slack to quickly, pefectly, loop it around itself and tie a strong knot. The rope was forced to hold itself and he let go. His hands relaxed and returned to their natural olive colour.

She's going crazy

She thinks too much
She can't keep the thoughts away
Each action has a billion possible reations
And she thinks of them all

And then she focus' on the ones she doesn't like
She thinks until they are real
And then they won't leave, and it's all she can see
Regardless of reality

The boys she likes will never know
And those she doesn't will fall
Head over Heels
And she thinks its her fault

The friends she can't stand
Will keep inviting her to their plans
And she'll never say a word about how she feels
Because she can't

She can't because those thoughts got there first
And she sees herself alone and unwanted
She cannot see another possibibilty
She cannot see the truth

Auld Lange Syne

New Years, sweet, sweet New Years :) 2010 has flown past, I can't believe it. Such a significant year, and it's over. It's a hard concept to grasp. I remeber when we were younger, and summer break lasted forever and the days waiting for Christmas made you feel older. Each year goes by faster. Too fast. I keep expecting them to move slowly like they used too. I've heard it keeps going; flying by with more speed each year. I'm telling you, it's a weird, weird idea. A year, is not so long anymore, not as siginificant.

So heres the good stuff, my new years resolutions (on the spot):

1) Be Less Depressing-I promised Ainslie I would stop texting her all my woes and worries and so, I'm going to look on the brighter side.
2) Stop cracking my knuckles-it grosses people out, and isn't very lady like (says my grandmother)
3) Make New Friends-I love having new people in my life. So there.
4) Schoooool Work-gotta get into better habits...

Ahh that's enough :)

OH SIDE NOTE:
I was informed, by a reader, (Anne ;P) that my blogs are sad sounding. SO I would just like to point out that yes some of them are (because who has time to blog when they are having the time of their life) but most of the "sad" ones are just stating facts and I feel neutral about the subjects etc.
JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Dreams

Dreams confuse me. I had a bad one last night. But I know where it came from. I was thinking about a senario and then, it played out in my dreams. Which unfortunatley furthers my suspision and paranoia. Hmnmppppffff.

And now I've got to get that image out of my head. Oh how I hate those dreams that stick with you.

And Now

Christmas was over, and it was a mighty fine Christmas :) One of the best, I think. I worked my bum off and I'm very pleased with how everything worked out. Plus I got a billion and one pairs of lovely earings :D.

And now, social plans? Oh and a poetry project...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................


Which I left everytthing I need for at school. Because I'm silly. Bah hum bug.

Ah welllll, poem writing, here I come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Take me into your confindence, with confidence..

What is the point of having people to confide in, if you can never really confide everything to them. Sharing a little bit of what's going on inside, makes you want to share more but the more you share the farther away your listeners get. How personal is too personal? And why is spilling the beans so addicitive?

Everyone knows it's enthralling to talk about other people, but everyone (in different degrees) likes to talk about themselves. It ranges from those who like inadvertantly letting everyone know how much they drank last weekend and how many people they hooked up with to those who only share little tid bits, like finally sharing the name of the boy they've been crushing on with there friends. Everyone who tells, is looking for something in return: a high. A high they get of the attention, and the excitment, whether it's good or bad. Person number one doesn't care if everyone is calling them a slut, at least they're talking about them. And person number two loves the big grins that spread across they're friends faces, and the exclamations of "aww you two would be so cute...". But the more you share, the less exciting the reactions become. People stop caring and you and your drama become old news. But you're addicted, so you keep sharing, trying to tweek someone's interest, until you have no more to share. Nothing more to tell the world about you. And you feel kind of empty. They know everything about you, and there's nothing left inside, because they don't care anymore. The slut can get no sluttier and the timid one no longer excites with her news,, because it's not news. But they just keep talking. Sharing every thought that goes through there head as they waste away. And eventually they leave, they find someone else to confide in, someone who doesn't know anything and who will feed the monster inside.