The Feelings of Silence

His smile was slight, but I saw it.  There was an awkwardness between us that I didn't really understand.
"It's weird,"  He sighed.  Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other."  A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say.  We were walking now.  "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--"  He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed.  We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine.  I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it.  It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed.  It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet.  It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too.  Something we couldn't really get past.  It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words.  But nothing came out.  I squinted and asked his to repeat himself.  I watched him laugh and 'speak' again.  But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew.  He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you,"  His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness.  He tried again.  I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too,"  I brushed away tears, "I was too."

Birthdays.

Growing up, I used to think about my birthday always.  I would watch shows and movies and be in awe about how caring and loved a person could be on their birthday.  Plus there was one thing that I fantasized about.
Surprise parties.
What says 'We all love you so much and wanted to surprise you to make you feel bombarded with love' better than a surprise party itself?
And every year I would pick up hints like, "Let's go out for the day and just have a nice quiet evening at home." And of course, people not mentioning my birthday at all.
So for the entire day I would get so excited about a possible surprise party, only to feel crushed to see that there was no one.
And every year, that hope had lessened ever so slightly.
My brother's birthday and my own are a month a part, so we would go on vacation in the summer and a month after my own birthday we would celebrate both of our birthdays. But it would be on his birthday.
And my young little self always felt so defeated and sad on this day.  Because it wasn't like the shows or movies.
You see, I loved seeing people picking out these heart-filled gifts for people without having to ask the question "What do you want for your birthday?"
Because when people ask that it feels like a jab in the heart.
They don't know you.
They don't care to put thought into the gift.
All of these thoughts just jumble together and make the sad day a depressing day.
I wouldn't want to get out of bed on my birthday.  Not because of growing older, but because of how isolated and lonely I felt.
How I feel.
I love other people's birthday's.  I enjoy picking out a gift for them and celebrating with them.
But it's never happened to me.
The go to is a dinner out.
I don't like going out for dinner.
Yet every year it's the same "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
And the worst thing about this day?
How incredibly selfish I feel.
Because saying all these things seem awful to me because that isn't who I am.  Yet obviously it is because these are my feelings about it.
So it makes me feel like shit.
With telling people how I feel about my birthday, whether I say I just want something they put thought into (or even just hanging out.  I really like being with my friends) or saying I don't want to go out for dinner (in which they get sad and don't know how to respond), they do comply.
They'll say, "What do you want to do then?"
And the most horrible thing is I don't know.
If I were to say a surprise party, it would 1. not be a surprise and 2. I would feel depressed then too because I brought it up.  Not them.
So maybe television warped my views on birthdays.
I just want today to end and not talk about my birthdays anymore.

Sometimes Goodbye Doesn't Have to Last

The flower you hold so delicately
has thorns on its stem as it is not so fragile.
The way you caress the satin petals
is as though it will fall through your fingers like sand.
The same fingers that pulls through your hair
as a habit.
But the moment will come when the petals will wilt
and the thorns will grow weak.
And your hands will drop
this limp plant
and it will lay by your feet,
fallen.
But memories last
and the silk that you felt
will linger
hesitantly.

The flower you held so closely
with the thorns that broke your skin
will always reside withing you.
You'll brush your hair
with the same gentleness
that stroked those simple petals.
But there will be another.
With more vibrant colours.
Striking petals.
A stem with less thorns.
A stem without a weight on its shoulders.

But maybe the goodbye to the flower with an ethereal glow
Is not a different greeting other than that of 'Hello'.

Tragedies

She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like.  Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember.  But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan.  The man spoke.  She thought he looked rather dashing.  Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes.  Hm.  Handsome.  She had decided.
I'm coming, James.  Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house.  Rough shape?  Never.  The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman.  Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already.  It was devastating.  This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling.  It could be haunted. 
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
 They paused, admiring the home.  The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close.  She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly.  But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it?  What's wrong?  Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips.  Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing.  Oh James, I don't know about this.  I feel really uneasy.  Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed.  The pristine exterior was black and burnt up.  The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.

A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap.  She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now.  She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up.  But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor.  It felt so cool.  She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers.  It hurt, but she still had them.  They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.

Another flash crossed her vision.  She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her.  From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts.  And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room.  They couldn't get her in time.  They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.

Your Story

There are so many possible stories that occur throughout your life.
Possible choices that lead to possible relationships,
Possible relationships that lead to possible romances,
Possible romances that lead to possible loves,
Possible loves that lead to possible lives.
And each choice you make
Shifts the new outcome.
For instance,
Deciding to take a leap of faith and saying hello to someone
you for some reason find intriguing.
Even
If
You
Don't
Know
Them.
The scariest part though isn't asking them how their day was, oh no this is easy.
The scary part is seeing their response.
From how their faces will either light up or grow bored,
From the way they shuffle their feet or clear their throats.
You only have so much power.
Half the power.
They carry the other half, even though it feels like they carry all the power.
You both need to step forward.
And even that is a new possible story.
Another story is if you step forward and they step back.
Or they step to you but you pull down a veil.
The hardest part is accepting who you are for them to accept who you are.
The hardest part is very similar to the scariest part,
But the hardest part is what you do rather than what they do.
But this is the mentality portion.
You have to build up the courage to force yourself to step forward.
You have to remind yourself to breathe and to stop shaking.
That's the hard part.
But the best thing about this story
Is the story itself.
The build up to events,
The reactions they give.
The best part is going to bed at night feeling waves of content and overriding joy fall asleep with you into pale dreams of a happiness you never thought you would have at this time two, three years ago.
The best part is that the story you are in is your story.
It is intriguing and scary and hard.
But my god,
It's beautiful.

A Thought

I have always been told I am "Pretty cute" or "Pretty pretty."
And I have been told "You're pretty but..." and then have them drift off without finishing their thought.
As I grew up I always wondered why it was just "Cute" or "pretty".
Why was the glass so close to being full, but so far away?
Why wasn't no matter what I did make a person say I was something rather than partially something?
I still don't know.
And I probably won't.

To My Father

What an awful person I'm becoming,
I'm terribly sorry.
I guess I'm just in the wrong.
Always stuck between who I am
What I'm feeling
and how people want me to act.
I guess since it seems like I have been doing so well
you have forgotten what has happened
what is happening.
"But you're adult." You say.
"You can't live in college dorms.  Too many awful things happen there."  You contradict yourself with.
"I'm going to get a house with a basement quite for you to live."  You contradict yourself with.
And no matter what I say
Act
Or do
I will never
ever
be
or have enough
to convince you
otherwise.
What a terribly awful person I'm becoming.
I'm stuck
and my heart hurts a lot right now.
And I don't know what to say
because my emotions aren't proper right now
and you get angry with me
and say how I need to act like an adult
because my disrespect
is unacceptable
and I'm stuck
and I don't know what to do
and it's really hard to breathe
and I just need to get away
and you're pulling my by reigns
and choking words down my throat
so quickly that I can't answer
so I stay silent
so you get angrier
so I close my eyes
so you exhale
and everything gets quiet.
And I don't know what to do
what to say
how to think.
And you mutter something that I could only imagine
and you leave.
And I know that you've left a part of me in this room
and you won't take it back
and this will happen again
and again
and again
until you have nothing left of me
and I am nothing
to
you.

My Star

A year ago, I found you at the store
watching your little world explode out of the water.
Because I chose you, to start a life for
and now, I can only apologize.
For, I wish I had made your life a little better
rather than sticking you in a tank.
Oh, my little Luce.
People laughed at me for naming you such a thing.
"Lucifer, the angel fish."
For-- it was irony, you see.
Because Lucifer means 'Star'.
As in the stars in the sky
that reflect off the ocean, lakes and rivers.
Star is a beautiful twinkle that floods the milky way
and brings a sense of awe through even the most intelligent people.
You were a star that stood out to me
through your little glass captor.
You made it so far, Luce.
Such a beautiful name
for such a beautiful fish.
It was an honor to sing to you,
and thank you for listening to me play my instruments.
Thank you for letting me talk to you
and thank you for being there for me and your tank
in times of need.
I wish I could do more.
I'm sorry I couldn't do more.

Dreams Are a Strange Thing.

She stood in front of the mirror, but the girl who she saw was not her--- even though it was.
For her hair, it was much shorter.
Her nose, it was much smaller.
Her eyes, they were much larger.
Her lips, they were much fuller.
Her skin, it was much paler.
But it was her.
For, you see, as she lifted her arms-- so did the other girl's.
When she moved her mouth-- so did the other girl's.
But when the girl in the mirror spoke, the girl who was standing before it did not.
They girl with short hair said robotic-ally, as she poked her cheek "I am so much paler than you."
"But aren't we the same person?" Asked the original girl.
A large smile was planted on the short haired girl's lips.  "Oh no.  You'll never be me."

Unearthly World that is

I want to dip my hands in a river of stars
and pull them up through my fingers.
Watch as the black liquid drips with tiny suns
while the millions of supernovas linger.
I want to soar in a sky of sea creatures
and dance and twirl with the orca whales.
Breathe in the ocean whilst gripping my reality
but my mind being pulled like wind sails. .
I want to climb down into the depths of a cavern of light
and be consumed by the glittering crystals.
To feel my chest float with awe; ecstasy bound
as my heart becomes torn from a pistol.
I want to sing in the mountains while losing my breath
to feel the chilled air envelope my lungs.
And as I shut my eyes, I would feel the gentle kiss
from the snowflakes that perish so young.
I want to see through the rain to feel its pain
only to have it become my own.
I want to lift up the world, give it a twirl
to shake away the sadness, creating a home.
But more than that, I want to see the Earth smile
beaming like its Savior the sun.
To sense the ease it would bring, opening the sky
making this land feel like one.
But I can't do that.
And I know that.
It is most outrageous to think.
But it's not bad to hope.
And it's not bad to wish.
For this idea,
concept,
foundation;
it's a small step.
So small.
But so real.

Lucifer

Lucifer,
I wish I had spent my moments
when I was younger
praying for your pain
to dissipate into the fiery sea
that you know rule over
instead of praying
that my family would be alright.
Because I knew that eventually they would be
but you would suffer
for the rest of eternity.
I wonder if you cry
at night when people are dreaming
of their heaven
and I wonder if you
ever feel lonely in the
pit you were exiled to
and I wonder if the angels
who sided by you
ever felt like they weren't
the ones who were evil
but the ones who wanted
a change of their faith.
I wonder if you pray to
your father
trying to get him to speak to you
to tell him what you meant
and what you wanted
and how you love him
even though he threw you into his greatest creation;
Hell.
I wonder about all the people who pray to God
but never once decided to pray to the one being
who needs to be saved the most.
Not saved as in religion,
but saved from your emotions
and pain
and suffering that you go through
every moment
your lungs expand.
I wonder if you ever think about how your name means
Star.
How it's supposed to guide people through the night
and how it's a reflection of how someone sees them self.
I wonder if you ever say Star slowly
and let it linger on your tongue
because you were guiding
the angels
who wanted
change.
You were
standing up
for what
you believed
in
and
you
got
punched
for
thinking
so
differently.
I prayed to you last night.
I hope that you heard me.
For I said how strong you were
for pushing through
against your father's anger.
How you've held your own.
How you tried to do something taboo,
but when we revolt against the kings down here
they're called revolutions
and what you did was sin.
I prayed that you took a breath in
and felt pride that you went with your heart
passion
goals.
You went with who you were.
Are.
You're a Star, Lucifer.
You're a Star.

To My Mother

I don't know when I started to see you hurting so much.
I remember when I was younger, I would be downstairs with your best friend's daughters, and I don't remember you sitting with us.
I don't remember you coming downstairs smiling, in a soft t-shirt with a nice pair of jeans, nor do I remember you wanting to go out much.
But I remember your door being closed a lot, and when you'd come out you'd try to smile and pull my head to your lips.
I remember how you used to make me and my brother that hamburger helper almost every night because you couldn't cook.
I remember you gaining weight, then suddenly losing all of it.
I remember feeling the waves of sadness that you radiated, even though you would wear that red lipstick to emphasize your smiles.
But I didn't realize when I was younger that you were sad.
I was used to coming home to a babysitter, or staying at a friend's house.
I was used to not seeing you very often.
It felt normal.
And I wasn't mad at you for it.
When people asked me what was going on with my mum I would say
"She's sleepy, is all."
Or
"She's had a long few days."
But they weren't a few days.
They were years.
Mum, you've suffered for years.
And I didn't know when I was younger that you were depressed.
I didn't know until recently that you were sick.
I didn't know that it took you the majority of your living life to get the help you deserved.
And I am so, incredibly, terribly sorry that my younger self couldn't see.
I am so, incredibly sorry that even now I can't help you very much because we're trying to push each other up when we end up pushing each other down.
And I am so, terribly sorry that I make you worry.
I just--
God.
I just, I care so much that my heart hurts.
And I care so much that I can't not cry while I'm trying to explain what I've been wanting to say.

I remember,
when I was around fourteen or fifteen, when you told me about how depressed you got.
How you wanted to hang yourself.
But you couldn't because you know I would be the one to find you there, lifeless.
And you knew that would shatter me.

I remember,
when I told you about what happened
very recently,
and the fact that I had been living with the information for four-five years
and you began crying.

I remember so much, mum.
I am so sorry for so much.

And I 'm sorry for when I get such low energy, and such a low mood, that the few times we see each other,
I'm not really there.
It isn't you, mum.
It's my head.
It's my emotions.
It's the pressure in my chest.
That I've placed on myself.
That I inadvertently placed on myself.

I just need to say that I love you.
I love dad too... but I can't talk about him now.
Just like I can't talk about my brother.

Because we keep bruising each other,
whereas whenever my mood gets low around them,
it's like they're wearing a bullet proof vest, allowing my bullets to ricochet.
Our bullets don't ricochet.

A Strange, Beautiful Dream

I have a lot of dreams.
Weird dreams.
Not ones that take place in the supermarket and the can I'm looking at is for fish children.
Oh no.
It's like I'm in a different life from a different universe.
I think that's why I believe my body is sleeping but my spirit goes to a different dimension.


I was packing because I was visiting a home, and it was time to leave.  There was a boy there around my age who was getting on my nerves, and I knew I had to talk to him before I left.  When I got to his room to get my bag (I was staying in his room seeing as there were two beds, three actually, but I'll get to that) and he was sitting on his bed reading.
When I opened the doors his eyes flicked up and went back to his book.  I said meekly that I came to finish packing.  He didn't respond until I started packing.
"Do things ever confuse you?"  He put the book down.
"Yes, all the time, really."  I was unzipping my bag to put in clothes.
"Aiya, what if something were to happen?  Whether you're on the streets or not... or, here's a better example,"  He scooted closer to me, "If I were to kiss something, someone, or you, what would happen?"  His face was getting closer and he repeated himself, "If I were to kiss something, someone or you..."  My eyes were fluttering shut and dammit!  I couldn't open them!  I wanted to see this!  Why can't I open them! I felt his breath get closer and my opened slightly enough to see his lips.  I felt a soft, beautiful pressure on my cheeks, and after a moment he pulled away.
I was almost disappointed he didn't kiss my mouth, but I was so wonder-stuck I still. Couldn't. Open. My. Eyes.  I was getting embarrassed.  Finally I got them open and he was smiling at me.

The scene switched to us laying in bed (No, we didn't do anything, I knew that much)  We were simply holding each other, sometimes kissing.  But I knew I had to pack.  So I told him that, and began to get up.
He asked if I had to.
"Aiya, please."
But I tilted my head and said, "When I'm done we don't have to stress about anything."

Now, I know I said my dreams get weird, and this doesn't sound weird.  It sounds normal.  This isn't.  First off, I can't speak to guys I like.  I feel like I'm annoying them, so I wait for them to talk to me- which is sometimes.  Second, we haven't got to the weird part.

Suddenly there were bangs on the door, and he jumped out of bed in a fury, panic swept through me as I got so very confused as to what was happening.  Two ghost girls appeared (I knew they were dead because I just knew)  and hugged me.  The scene changed to a train.  We were all in a train, and the man banging at the door (I knew he was a man because he was banging on glass doors) was still trying to get in.
There were a lot of us now; me, the boy, the two ghost girls (Who lived in the bedroom with their brother before they died of a sickness, again, I just knew this)  as well as a few of my family members and closest, oldest friends.
The boy gave us this tube and told us to put it on our teeth.
Ha. Ha.  We did it without second thought.
The man was still banging, oh gosh it was scary and intense and crazy.
When we put the paste on our teeth, the green paste made our teeth- guess which colour-- Green!
We were all so confused, and the train wasn't moving but we knew we would get to our destination.
The boy who kissed me pulled me off to the side and I asked, "What's going on (I said his name, but it blurred out in the dream.)?"
He hugged me and said, "Magic and Natural power go against one another."
And then I looked at the man on the opposite side of the glass door holding a laser pen, trying to get in.  And it was melting through the glass.
Ohhhh.  It made sense now.  The boy had some kind of power (Probably intense charisma, but I never find out) and the man uses magic!  And they're enemies!

The dream ends with the boy giving us new tubes of paste to make our teeth white again, but the colour is bright, glowing white-- like when Ross bleaches his teeth.


If you've been on my blog before, you know my name is Emily.  In dreams I've never told my name to anyone, and it felt like it was me.  But in this dream, I not only told him my name, but I said my name was Maiya.  Not only was that weird, but I was given a nickname in it-- Aiya.
This is the real reason I wanted to write down this dream, because this has never happened to me before with my memory.  I thought it was incredible.
Thanks for reading, you lovely soul,
-Emily

Amen.

It seems like humanity is lost.
That's heard pretty often from people, yeah?
But every once in a while something will happen that will make your heart feel like a bit of gold is shining on it.
Like there's so many good people out there.

A year or so ago, I wasn't feeling great.  None of my friends were at school that day, I felt alone, depressed and hopeless. It was cold outside, and air helps calm my mind, so I decided I'd go outside in the cold to cry, since no one would be out there.
I was contemplating ditching out the rest of the day, just go home.  Don't even grab my bag, just go.  That's what I was thinking.  And I was going to.
I don't necessarily believe in a god.  I'm spiritual.  And before you glare at your computer screen, whip out the holy water and spray this technology while verbalising the Holy Bible and chanting what a sinner I am, hold up.  Just, fucking stop for a second.
When I was in such a state of despair, I kid you not, a shadow fell across my feet.
Empty field.
Empty courtyard.
Just me.
And as I looked up, clearly upset, I see a dark figure with the sun beams wrapping its edges so clearly she looked like an unearthly being.
I tried to stop crying.
I feel embarrassed crying in front of people.
But this girl, as she bent towards me, sitting down next to me, didn't speak.
I knew her vaguely, she was a yer ahead of me and in my drama class.  I also knew her sister, and I knew that both of them moved from Nigeria a year prior- for her sister and I got along in the classes we had together.  I didn't know either of them though.  But these girls... I can honestly say I've never met two purely whole people that cared so deeply about others.  I consider myself a caring person, but to plants, animals and a few people who I feel deserve it.  This is why I always carry change when I take the train, so if someone needs some, I can say yes.
I'll call this girl Renee.  Yeah... that's pretty, like her soul.  She didn't say anything, but turned her head to me and asked quietly, "Is it okay if I pray?"
I'm not against religion.  I love it.  I love hearing about it.
I loved that she asked this. I nodded and tried to smile.  She bowed her head, her black hair covering her face, and I can hear what she's saying.
"Dear God, I am praying to you for this beautiful heart, for she is feeling ill right now.  And I'm going to tell you why she deserves to feel better.  She deserves to feel better because she has had the sorrow for more than any person should feel.  I know this may be needed of her, but please, please take the pain away for a bit.  Please let her feel healed for a long while before she has to face what is hurting her so.  If you've truly seen her as everyone has, you'd see how she needs a break.  Just a break.  Amen."
And she sat with me for a bit, before she tugged at her scarf and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Emily, please know that you'll be in my prayers."
And she left.
I think that's one of the last times I saw her.
But my gosh, that is one of my most treasured moments.
So when you see a homeless man or woman on the street, and they're asking for change- or they're not- either way, maybe give them what you have, no matter what they use it to buy, just giving them something can make them feel that same glow, that same love and thanks.
It's an idea.
But maybe,
humanity isn't as lost as we think it is.
Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places.

Update

Hello reader.
Here I am again breaking the fourth wall.
Which is still really weird of me.

I haven't written anything in a while because I've been in a struggle.
Mentally at least.
But I wanted to tell you,
who ever you may be,
that I am planning on a short story
that will be released when I finish it.
I do not know when that will be,
but hopefully in the next few weeks.
If you want though, read my previous creations
and wait for my reveal.

Happy Halloween,
I hope it is as scary
bloody, frightful, and fun
as you wish it to be.

Another Secret

She walked down the dim road, arm wrapped around the girl whom she was best of friends with.
Her friend held her waist, and they laughed about nothing as the last light shut its eyes.
As they walked, they spoke about the future.  They spoke about the past.
And in a moment, the light from both of their eyes became solemn, and the girl let her arm drop off of her friends shoulders.
She tied her long curly red hair up into a bun, looking at her friend's deep brown eyes.
"Is it okay, that I don't tell you everything Sammy?"
Sammy brushed her black hair away from her face, letting the brisk air lick her cheeks pink.
After a few minutes, she nodded once.  "I hope you don't tell me everything.  Because if you did, you wouldn't have anything that was truly yours."
The red haired girl felt a wave of sadness slam into her gut, and she decided to simply sit on the cold cement sidewalk.
"I don't feel like anything is truly mine anyways."  She sighed.
Sammy sat down across from her, bringing her gaze to her friend's.  "You do.  It may not seem like it, but you do.  All the feelings you get when you see the boy you fancy?  That's yours.  The inhaling of icy air when you run?  Yours.  And the way you smile when you remember something that made you happy?  Absolutely yours.  Cris, you have so much that's yours."
Cris allowed doubt to cloud her eyes.
"It just seems that whatever I want doesn't matter.  A tattoo?  My mom promised it a year ago, it never happened and now she's getting one.  My friend got one before me when I have been wanting one for seven years."  She punched the ground, "Seven years, Sam."  Her hands clenched into fists.
Sammy fiddled her hands, unknowing what to say.
"Your hair is unique."  Sam ran her hand through Cris's icy red hair, pulling it out of the bun.
"It does nothing anymore."  She brushed away her hand.
"Your eyes are stunning."  Sammy was sounding exasperated now.
"They make me look placid."  Cris snapped back.
Sammy stood up, ruffling her own hair.  "Your clothes are so different and beautiful compared to others."
Cris stood up too, crossing her arms.  "That doesn't mean anything.  Everything I wear is baggy and black.  I look like a murderer, but I can't wear other clothes that girls wear! Like crop tops, or skirts or dresses or shit like that!"  Tears were pooling in her pale blue eyes now.
Sammy screamed now, shoving her friend's shoulders, "Well I can't tell you things you want to hear until you feel better, because you won't Cris!  People can tell you you're beautiful, it doesn't make a difference!  People can tell you you're talented in art, it won't help you feel better!  I can't do that for you!  I can't help, even though I wish I could!  Do you think I like seeing you so sad that you can't hold conversations well?  That you can't eat in front of people without feeling fat?  That you can't stop comparing yourself to other people?  I can't help that!"  Sammy was sobbing now, "I can't help that."
Sammy hugged Cris tightly, crying into her shoulder.
Cris didn't speak.
Sammy whispered in her ear, "That's what you need to do.  Somehow.  Remember the little things that are yours.  That make you happy.  That will help.  You can help you."
They were silent for a long time.  Letting the cool air wrap around them.
Letting them give themselves each another moment that was truly theirs.

Sleep

Lately I cannot tell
whether or not when I say
that I am tired
if it is out of habit
or if I truly am
tired.
I think I am,
mentally.
Yet I cannot sleep
without some form
of help.
So maybe this
is my mind speaking out
of how
this child
is tired.
She is tired of how
she'll blink away the
day
only to wake
to repeat.
And with this fatigue
that just will not leave
she'll fall asleep
in her world.

The Man With a Beautiful Soul

He tapped his hang drum wondrously
as though pulling you into Alice's world
scaring all your thoughts away
with a simple wrist twirl
tapping
and tapping
became melodic
and breathtaking
as though taking all of your worries
and not hiding them--
but letting them fall away into the breeze
the breeze that sang out his heart stopping notes.
The girl who was speaking solely to her brother
didn't stop to listen
until her brother told her to stop
and as she stopped
as did her breath
because what she heard was so uniquely lovely
that her eyes began to swell.
She offered her brother to give the man money
but he shook his head and told her to give it
and as she opened her wallet,
a darkness creaked into her
she barely had any coins to spare
and not a bill to give.
She tossed the coins she had
and told the man about his beautiful playing
and that if she had more coins
she wouldn't hesitate to give them to him.
And his smile was comforting
happy
purely joyous.
He said he wouldn't ask for more
because her thanks was all he wanted.
He then asked her for a hug
in which she didn't feel odd
he didn't feel odd
or uneasy to be around
and she couldn't pin point why she felt so soothing around this man.
So she hugged him
and they stayed there for a moment
letting the echoing notes stay in their minds
and as they pulled a part
his smile widened
when he saw the two stones draping from her neck.
He told her she was beautiful
and that her stones were so powerful.
He told her she wasn't just a beautiful person
but that she was truly beautiful.
And her throat caught
because he meant it whole heartedly
and she couldn't express anything more
as she left.
And as she left his notes rang out again
and she got back to her brother
they continued
and he asked her about the man
and she told him
about the man
with a beautiful soul. 

The 'Love' Bite

I remember seeing my grandmother's cat for the first time. 
Big Red.
What a scary name.
But she was so beautiful.  With thick orange fur that kissed her emerald eyes gently.  The way she strutted through the large wooden house with pride made me want her to love me.
So I wanted to pet her, love her, kiss her, hug her.
But when I asked my grandmother about the cat, she told me not to chase or bother her because she wasn't a friendly cat.
But I was young.
That isn't an excuse now, but I was just so curious.
Wanting an animal to love me.
So when my grandmother was in the garden I set out to find Red.
Once I found her in the kitchen I started running at her.
Of course she ran.
Into the living room.  I finally caught her though, feeling my tiny hands fold into her thick fur.
And then it was like a scene from jaws.
Her head turned sideways, her mouth seemed to unhinge, and she submerged her fangs  between my left eye and temple.
I dropped her.
Not from the pain, but from fear of what my grandmother would do.
I was scared she'd be angry.
I disobeyed her.
I just wanted to love the kitten.
So I sprinted upstairs into the bathroom with tears down my cheeks.
I looked in the mirror in horror.
Blood was gushing from my face, no matter how many tissues I used it wouldn't stop.
My grandmother knocked on the door after a while asking if I was alright.
I told her I would be out in a minute.
So me.
Thinking oh so cleverly.
Plastered tissue to the side of my face.
And walked out of the bathroom.
My grandmother of course instantly asked what happened, and I told her about Red.
She hugged me then.
Which startled me.
And she took me to the doctors.
I had to take pills to make sure it didn't get infected or anything.
And that was that.
It took weeks to heal.
But me and that cat...
We're on good terms now.
Sometimes if I'm lucky, she'll let me pet her.
Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, she'll lay in my lap.
She's a good cat.
I was just a bad child.

My Love For You

It is the act of not doing to save others happiness
that feels as though you are stabbing your own heart
but instead of falling into your grave
you live through the ever growing anguish you created.
So why, why harm someone you adore so ravenously
when the answer isn't as simple as you care.
It is done because my love for you goes beyond
anything I could possible imagine.
My love for you and your joy is something
that I don't even manifest for myself
because my love for you is indescribable.
Even if it seems as though I'm hurting you,
oh sweet,
If I act on anything I will bring sorrow to your heart
and you will live through it
as I live through my knife wound
and that,
is something I can not allow happen to you.
I apologise in ways you don't see
each apology runs down my face
and all I can do is let the dampness become
absorbed into my sleeves
as I wipe them away.
Because my love for you,
is something I will not let you fret about
I will not allow you to be desolate
in my hands
so I will not hold you
so you will be free.