I was busy writing with a pen and paper thin dream

Ripped, and torn and loved

Wed, 20 Jun 2007 00:43:10 GMT

A comfortable, old pair of pants
Knees pulled apart from summer excursions
Faded denim bursting from the vast expanse of laughter
And a distinctive smell of fresh cut grass.
The belt loops surrender to your thinning waistline
Charming denim
Knowing exactly when to hug your gentle curves
And showing you off nothing short of red carpet standard.
The hems become indistinguishable with miles of travel
Several states and maybe a couple countries too.
Pockets so loyally holding the necessities of life
And offering them at just the right time
Keeping safe the chapstick and twenties
Movie ticket stubs and love letters.

I can see a slow-motion image of the beer

Mon, 14 May 2007 06:11:53 GMT

Laying in the middle of the street
I found myself falling into the sky
Stars powdered with sugar clouds
The warm, thick, brownie-batter air
Laughter sweet enough to taste
Swirling down licorice-black asphalt.
Sitting on the curb
I found myself falling into summer
White marshmallow legs outstretched
Topped with cherry pink shoes
Tasting the passing minutes
Never ending gobstopper words
To compliment the jawbreaker conversation
And neither one of you could guess how much you mean to me.
Driving in a candy apple red car
I found myself falling into techno
Speeding through too many lemon lights
Everything I wanted to tell you stuck in my throat
Caramel corn kernels stuttering feelings
My sturdy knees surrender to raspberry jam
Everytime you smile.
My hand in yours
I found myself falling into bliss
Walking across a transparent jolly rancher bridge
Smelling like headlights and burning rubber
I could sit on top of the world with you forever
Dreaming of summer and popsicles.
Sleeping past baking cookies and alarm clocks
I found myself falling into black and white
A conscious stream of oreo dreams
Blankets tucked in around curled toes
Carrot cake hair sprawled across plump pillows.
Kissing coca-cola lips
I found myself falling into you.

The letter and the appointment card on the table, unmentioned

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 02:20:03 GMT

Magenta petals drift in and out of consciousness
Carried in the arms of a gentle 60 degree Fahrenheit breeze
Bare shoulders crave the desperate attention of cheap sunshine
Spattered with freckles and paint.
Sunglasses shade the saphire world, blotting out a conceited sun
Checking my lipstick in the review mirror.
10 P.M. the asphalt sparkles with warm rain and mischief
The stars are dim and subtle in comparison to bragging street lamps
And the clouds have disintegrated into the mountains.
Stability blares through the bass on the radio
Techno sketches the background noise to easy conversation
The window's down with the rain trickling in
And a hundred other people's headlights with nowhere to go.

Breaking Point

Wed, 08 Feb 2006 23:50:33 GMT

Walking, barefoot and cautious
Along a delicate rope bridge
Stretching confidently accross a distant river.
The water's muddy, you can't see how deep it goes
Or how many rocks are waiting to break an empty fall.
One foot in front of the other as the middle is underneath
As much as I've come, I have that much still to go
You're on the other side
I hope you're waiting for me
But the blank look in your eyes and the indifferent smile
Never gives you away.
For you, I will have patience because I know you don't know any better.
With each step I become more shakey, more nervous
More blurred.
One string of the coarsly made rope pulls free
Followed by another, and another
My world unraveling before my eyes
Without even giving me the chance
The chance to save myself or at least to try.
Half-way makes a good story
But it doesn't make the cut.
To you, with pleading eyes I look
But you become more distant as my eyes fill with tears and my heart with regret.
You won't give me the stability of your hand, long fingers with dirty nails
And the blank look that plants itself in your placid blue eyes
The goofy smirk curled on your deceiving lips
His words echoing in the hollow of my soul.
The rope tauntingly slackens
In the back of my mind I can see a freshly dug hole
Six feet deep.
Too bad you never loved me anyways
Too bad pretending never gets you very far
And real-life endings arrive in an ebony box.
You disappeared
From the other side of an unstable bridge
I always knew you'd never come back for me
You wouldn't give yourself away so easily.
Everytime his hand throbs
He can feel the beating of her heart in his palm.
With one last stinging strand
I break
I fall
I'm scared
I land on my feet.

Mirror, mirror

Fri, 13 Jan 2006 06:28:00 GMT

For the January days when the icy breath of wind whispers hidden promises of tomorrow
The realization that all they ever told you was lies and all you ever hoped for is lost
That driving to Starbucks during lunch with too loud music will always be a reminder of 16
That birthday parties leave giggles and allergic reactions from blue frosting.
For the February days when Valentine's Day comes and goes, and I never feel any more loved
The destiny of finding that one perfect person, who could never be perfect
The evidence that the boy you like best has better things to do with his time
Than play with your hair and take you to the tops of mountains.
For the March days when Spring Break doesn't come soon enough
And with seventeen I'll have the freedom of a blue honda
Mugs of coffee I'll never finish, and books I'll leave untouched, people I'll forget to call back.
For the April days when rain is always a friendly reminder of unused tears
And it's almost warm enough again to wear mini skirts or think about triple scoop ice cream cones
Just time enough to tease, but not to frighten.
For the May days when school finally gives way to waking up at 10 and wasting summer days sleeping in parks
A blonde a brunette and a redhead, and another chance to grow up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And when I pretend not to notice you in the halls, don't hold it against me. I just want to see if you smile. And when I don't call you around 7 every night, don't worry. I just want to see if you think of me too. And when I don't wait after class, don't look for me. I want you to know I'm still there. And when I give up on you, don't appologize. I'll get over it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More and more I'm feeling like I'm starting to fall
Failure
isn't
Flattering.

I don't know you, and I don't want to.

Mon, 26 Dec 2005 18:15:38 GMT

Liquid effervescence gently conceals your lips, your hands, your heart.
Swimming, no, floating languidly down a drifting stream
Rose petals pirouetting on the water's edge
Like tiny ballerinas, with pink frayed tutus and serious eyes.
Flourescent bubbles rise into the summers sticky air
And break with a tiny metallic pop, showering down delicate replicates.
Oh lazy day, forget about mysteries, it's just you and me.
With a lulling current and a few rocks
Smoothed and polished from generic summer days.
A small white powderpuff kisses the elusive sky
Just a little above your grasp.
But it's stained.
With dark mascara rivers and forgotten lipstick desires.
Rugged rocks with sharp edges
Use a frail mask of serenity, but they still draw blood.
Fasterfasterfaster, a torrent of guilt and pain
A mad, crashing wave of lust.
Roses to thorns turn when tenderness loses it's beauty
And the light breeze smells all too much like an easy kill.
.DROWNED.

(but you wouldn't grab my hand. im sorry. i think?)

don't wait up

Wed, 21 Dec 2005 02:59:04 GMT

Shaking from the cold, the sweetness of our foggy exhaled air blends serenely with the pineapple flavored smoke spilling from your chapped lips. It's cold, and I feel so exposed on a hill overlooking shiny roofs and parking lots, and I find myself wondering what everyone out there is thinking, what hides behind every scarf and pair of dusty sunglasses. Tomorrow's the shortest day of the year, and the days get longer from there. Maybe then, dear old summer warmth, you won't be so keen to turn your back on those who pray. And maybe then, you can speckle my face with freckles, and leave me in a park to waste my life away counting clouds and drifting lazily into sleep. I wish we'd gone somewhere else, maybe just for coffee, or Arby's like we had craved. But it's too late now, and we'll do something better on Thursday. For now, it's okay to sit in your minivan with the heat on high and talk about nothing important with your head on my heart and my hand in your hair and the world spinning without us.

i still don't know why.

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 05:31:08 GMT

And I know that you're perfect, I really do. But the way I can talk to you, the way I can see your world from your dark brown eyes, the way I can buy you hot chocolate and give you my coat, is just too simple. And you, on the other hand. I don't understand you, not in the least. I can't talk to you, I can't hold your hand, I can just try for you, I can hand you my tender heart in crinkly tissue paper, I can leave salty warmth on my pillow at night. And all these things I feel when I'm around you make me real. Then I know who I am. And the challenge of winning you, of convincing you to love me keeps me occupied on lonely winter nights. And I missed you both tonight, but you couldn't go out, and you had to go to dinner, but I thought about you, sipping coffee in a starbucks cafe, where people tapped on laptops and talked about the future. But while I know you're perfect and I would be happy, I love you. And I just don't know why.

im fixing a hole, where the rain gets in

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 05:14:18 GMT

Hello you. This time, I hope it's the real you, and not just a picture cut out of a magazine with uneven edges and words on the back. Maybe it's love, the kind where summer days slip out of slender fingers like sand. And with another chance, I'll try not to be afraid, and try not to believe you're aching to shatter my world, 7 years of bad luck and a broken heart. I want to try for you because I care, but you have to tell me how. I can't read your lips when they aren't moving, and I can't feel your arms when they're not there.

Thank you for holding my hand
Thank you for getting me through
One more time
And thank you for standing outside in the cold
And sitting in a parking lot
Thank you for being my better half.

Let's play a game

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 01:39:49 GMT

Let's play a game called insecurity, and let's see where it gets us. (annorexia, makeup). Paint your face up pretty, greens, and blues and pinks so you can look just like them, just like everyone else who wishes they were somebody. Let's play a game called gossip, and let's see where it gets us. (rumors, hurts). Go ahead, it's okay, talk to my face like we're friends, but I won't get mad about the stains of blood when you stab me in the back. I hope they'll accept you now. Let's play a game called pity, and let's see where it gets us. (compliments, sympathy). Sure, if you dig deep enough you'll hit a nerv, a vain, and then they'll tell you what you want to hear just to get you out of the way. But maybe that's what you always wanted. Let's play a game called hope, and let's see where it gets us. (destiny, desire). Give me wings and lift me to the heavens where it's okay to dream and people know you by name, and then let them break, and I'll fall back to earth where pretty things are only illusions and people keep their compassion in wooden boxes with frail gold keys, eaten away by rust. Let's play a game called life and let's see where it gets us. (happiness.everythinginbetween.sadness). Living day to day, remembering the past, and hoping for the future, but by the time the present finally catches up to you it's too late. Let's play a game called love, and let's see where it gets us. (). Absolutely nowhere.

When little Stacy Q, doesn't know what to do

Sat, 10 Dec 2005 05:19:55 GMT

A message on the phone, but it wasn't you. I'm not sure where you are or what you're doing yet. But maybe a Saturday in the middle of December can put everything right again. Tonight was just what I needed. A bench in the mall to sit, and talk, and pretend no one else could here. Chinese food, and ice cream, at a little table, filled with people. You can look into each face, and see the color of their eyes, but know you'll never know what's inside. They're blue, with streaks of dark blue, and they dart back and forth when you talk. And your eyelashes are blonde but get darker on the ends. I think I'm starting to see a little farther, but it's hard to tell yet. Let's just keep that between me and you.

Wed, 07 Dec 2005 02:14:31 GMT

The quiet reluctance of snow, covering footsteps of long ago, and masking the summer days that once took my breath away. The bitter cold has the overwhelming power of tearing one apart, and leaving them, bleeding, leaving them for dead. Let my lips go numb so that I can't say everything that I'm feeling. Let my heart freeze over so I can't sense your presence. T....I.....M.....E...not mine anymore, and sometimes I still pretend it is. But what good is pretending when you're so far gone, and the street ligh burns out. I can't see the lines on the street, which makes me wonder if they're even there at all anymore. The stars are cluttered like an empty room. Full of memories that once were my life. And now they're dusty, and pointless, but I still try to remember. Sometimes I think my heart is b/r/e/a/k/i/n/g/...but the snow still
f
a
l
l
s

where are you now?

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 05:25:02 GMT

And how many dreams (hopes, desires, needs, wants, lives, hearts) have to shatter on the concrete (linoleum, wood) floor before I can call it a night (day, year, week, month)? How many times do I have to cut my fragile feet (hands, knees, arms, legs) on the remanents of the discarded past (present, future) before I re-establish (heal, re-create) myself for good? Lost (alone, discarded, isolated, lonely).

leather couches and the middle of november

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 06:02:44 GMT

It's winter, really, definitely, finally, and the air is cold and bitter. I can taste your words on my tongue. Muddy converse leave perfect, pure footprints in half an inch of snow that fell sometime within the last year, and now lays between us, untouchable, fragile, forgotten. Using too many discriptive words in a sentence brimming with sarcasm, and a mind drifting in love, and thoughts of cappucinos in a dirty diner on the side of the road. Maybe in California, because it never snows, and the ocean always sparkles when the sun hits it at an angle. Falling asleep with his arms around you, head resting on a heaving chest, ear silent against a quivering heartbeat, hair tangled around your pretty face. And isn't it just the definition of intimate, and isn't it the definition of innocence. Sometimes when the weather's coldest and the nights are longest it's good to rest assured you're not alone. And the world is bigger than I thought, and the universe is bigger, but a medium sized leather couch, not too hot and not too cold is beautiful when you're here too.

Fri, 11 Nov 2005 04:12:37 GMT

It was p e r f e c t. A sunny day in the middle of November, a hint of fall fantasies in the air. A winding road that I may have walked down before, but I can't really be sure. But it all felt right.

a day

Thu, 10 Nov 2005 03:55:04 GMT

It was a day. Just a day. No promises, no whispered secrets, no hidden embraces, no snow on the ground, no cherry lipstick, no stars, no pens with blue ink, no unlined pieces of paper. Because, it was just a day.

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 19:47:09 GMT

I'm so bro ken. A lifeless body of a once beautiful thing, crumpled on a sidewalk in the middle of nowhere, but the snow still falls. The trees are proof that what is now forsaken, was at one time strong and vital. The sky is gray and the world doesn't move anymore, it's too cold. Embers that used to glow with warmth and love are black and dead, forgotten. Do you remember when the fire raged, when we drank hot chocolate out of mugs and I never knew a home besides in your arms? Of course not, and I wouldn't expect you to. Beautiful darkness, forgotten someone, pieces of nothing, memories of difference. Walk on fragile leaves, hear them crack and fall apart under your weight. Like a body...broken on a sidewalk. A fragile shallow body. Broken because there's nothing left. And sometimes that will have to do.

criss crossed letters

Thu, 27 Oct 2005 02:45:03 GMT

I wish i could write pretty words in beautiful sentences with criss-crossed letters. Tracing secrets into the asphalt, and rearranging the pebbles on the sidewalks until they make sense. Lay in the long grass, and dream on shooting stars, that just maybe we'll be okay. I'm letting myself slip, away from reality, but I don't mean to. I have to get better, I have to make myself better, I have to be okay. Perfection is a looking glass, with smeared red lipstick words. The "I love yous" of forgotten days, when playing solitaire on hardwood floors was just another way to waste a rainy day. I haven't taken my shoes off since I've been here, I feel like I always need to be running to keep up. And truthfully, I do. I realized that what we have is deeper. We can't hold hands in the hallways without blushing, and it's so easy to stare into your blue eyes forever, and I'm still afraid of what you think about me...because I'm still not perfect. And I'm just as breakable as a porcelain doll, and my hands are just as delicate. I don't think you've ever kissed me on a mondaytuesdaywednesdaythursday. I still like to wear rings on my fingers and fake pearls around my neck that rustle when I skip. It's still okay to pick four leaf clovers and pretend that I'm lucky. I just want to put my hair in pigtails and dance in the rain, and let the mascara run down my face and mingle with salty tears, and eventually run into the ocean. Is that where it all started? I want to paint my face with pretty colors and look in the mirror...the one stained with your red lipstick. I want to see myself in perfection, and maybe just tie up the glitches, the little things, slip them unnoticed in an envelope, and ask you to bury them in the rosegarden, where they can't hurt anyone. Drawing little circles on a paper sketched with lines. Swerving on a dark road when the moon forgot to shine. Feeling my heart pound in my chest when I've seen better days. Forgetting to smile...but just this once, because sooner or later it will all be okay, right? Can you promise me? A blonde a brunette and a redhead, and a coming Halloween.

.

Sun, 09 Oct 2005 03:50:22 GMT

Outside, it smells like fall and tastes like autumn.

Seconds...minutes...hours...days

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 04:05:18 GMT

How could you pretend to be so perfect and yet your reflection in the mirror reveals something so terribly wrong and off-center. Your delicate hands with crepe paper fingertips. Your precious heart, locked up in a dusty display case. Oh yes, you can look, but don't touch...I'm fragile. Do you believe me? Do you believe that even hearts made of gold can break? I've seen the way you look, around me, and through me but never at me. Are you afraid to vanish in my eyes? Once you hold me hand, can you ever let go again? Knowing that I fell for you after one kiss? The computer never catches your mistakes, even when you spell my name yourmine. It's funny how hard you try and it's not trying at all. I'd laugh if I could stomach your involuntary perfection. But why try, it will only waste the seconds on the clock, they disappear to quickly anyways. It's easy to turn the dial ahead, and impossible to turn it back, but what's so hard about leaving it alone and watching it tick. Because you know, this is your life...or hadn't you heard? It's alright, now you know, and now you can deal with it, because no one else knows you like you do. I can hardly tell the difference between the infatuating dew cradling green strands of grass and the precious tears that trickle down my face. I keep them on a jar on my windowsill. And when the light jumps through the glass it makes rainbows on my wall. I'll leave you a jar on your doorstep, and you can put whatever you want in it. But I won't take it back...I know better. Two more days and then I can be anything I want. And even though it takes up my time properly, these words in boxes in screens in more boxes mean nothing to me. Only from a select few. And Friday is good. Good Friday...get it? I want to surround myself with you. And I want it to be just us...because it was so wonderful, and the pictures came out exactly how I wish I could plan my life. I'd like to come, I'd like to hold hands, I'd like to feel your chest move up and down and fall asleep next to you. But I don't think I should...not this time. But I understand you I hope. And you'll be okay because you always are though sometimes it's a miracle. I hope it's fun. And maybe some other time I can watch out for you, but I think this time it wouldn't be right, but tell me if I'm wrong, I want to make you happy. I want to be your girl.

All I want to hear is static

Wed, 05 Oct 2005 04:08:19 GMT

It's okay to be out of the norm, and out of the loop, because where does it get you eventually? A Halloween store, filled with masks and costumes and awkward things, and it's okay to disguise yourself, but just for a night, because more would make you seem superficial. You know? And even if you don't, it's okay, because I don't think I do either. And the striped pants that were a size too small. Pictures. So many pictures. And I'll smile because you'll put your arm around me, and it's so much fun just to be, and be happy. Happy is so general, but I don't know how to express myself in long words with ornate meanings, because it's late. And sitting at a table in the middle of an empty resturant, sharing cheescake with a silver fork, and watching you blossom. Realizing that I love all of you, just for being yourselves because that's something that's hard to fake, and I don't think you would. And why didn't you call? Just because? And why would you think about driving? Are you really that irresponsible? I didn't think so. Please remember to try, because I love you, thanks. Your words typed neatly on your red page are so beautiful I almost don't know what to do with myself. And you're such a good friend, you both are, how do I get so lucky sometimes? And I started off hating you, because you can walk away so easily, because you can push me away like I'm the still air in your bedroom at night. Because I can like you so much it's almost love and you can pretend so well not to care. And you can barely notice me at school, but hold my hand on the weekends and lay with me in the grass in the middle of the night. Do you talk to me as you? Or as someone else? It's hard to tell. I almost don't want to type your number into my phone, but I do and almost hope you won't answer because all I want to hear is static, and all I want to remember is the good times. Is this going to be it? The last night? Were you waiting for me to call because you answered after only one ring? I don't know, you confuse me. And I wanted so much to be mad at you, to tell you that if you didn't care, well, neither did I. And somehow, I just couldn't. Is it because you told me I was beautiful? Or played guitar for me over the phone? Is it because you really do care even though you don't know how to show it? Or maybe it's because you can ask, but remind me that it's really okay, and you'd be find just spending time with me because it's me and I love it when I can rest my head against your chest and hear your heart pounding. And hear your breathing in the middle of the night.

speed bumps and teenagers in cars

Thu, 29 Sep 2005 01:53:33 GMT

Is it going by too quickly? Am I growing up too fast? I don't know, maybe so. I hope you'll never have to be ashamed of me, either of you. Too many people in the car, going too fast over speed bumps, but it's alright because we're young, and we have cake with blue frosting. And other people are there too but I don't know them as well and I'm not sure I'd want to take the time. Car in the garage. And it's our night, because we're teenagers and we can. Popping caps, letting the smooth liquid burn in your throat. Sipping, casually, taking pictures just in case we need evidence. Another, and another, and just one more or maybe two, it's all the same by now. Words slipping easily out, because I'm not afraid. And your smoke rings curl thickly into the cool night air, and the stars are a little brighter. And all of your smiles come so easily now, but blurred and my face is numb. And we go for a walk and it's nice out and I feel more defined as my feet stumble along the pavement. What would it be like to sleep on top of a mountain? And I'll be just fine here, sitting on your lap until the colors stop racing and my speech stops slurring. Are you okay? I know I'm a mom but so is he, more responsible than I thought. And I fall asleep in your arms, but wake up to your crying, and I sit with you for hours and make sure you're okay before I go back down the stairs and who knows what you're doing, but I'm happy for you, I can only hope this is what you wanted. And I guess I'll be okay, sleeping here next to you for a few hours, until you drive too fast on the highway, and talk too much on the phone.

95 on the highway

Mon, 12 Sep 2005 02:00:20 GMT

I miss your picture on my paint stained wall, and seeing your breath in winter in the middle of the night, while we're curled up by the fire. With my favorite passage from my favorite book. And hot chocolate. But it's too late, and maybe I should just give into the sleep that I know craves my attention. Don't look over your shoulder, why give it the chance? Let the snow burn on your cheeks, the rain drops lay on your eyelashes and shatter the sidewalks. Do you want to know how many times I've walked there and back? About a few more than I can count. And do you want to know all the lyrics to all the songs that remind me where I am? Then turn on the radio while you're driving 95 on the high way, and your hair's blowing in your face. And do you want to know why I'm smiling? Because you never can. I'm choking on your honesty and matter-of-fact opinion. How would it feel to sleep alone tonight? Could you stand it, because I know I'd miss the indentation in lavender sheets. How about you tell me this time, what's on your mind? And it's him and you and him and back to me again. Pictures on a screen, so unrealistic, and yet so perfectly formed. Like your lips. I think I can count all the stars tonight (123456789) because I can see them all. It's cool, but not cold, and it's beautiful, for the first time. Loud, relentless, thumping...like my heart. And you're falling and bleeding, and I'm falling for you in a different way and bleeding all the same. I want you to try for me. Just for me. I want the microphone, I can't listen to you sing, because it brings back photo albums, and aspens quivering in the wind. Wrap me up in pretty paper and give me away. I can smile now and be half genuine about it, I can hold hands and see through bangs. I still need a dress, and a mended recreation of something that was once so tangible. Tell me my answering machine can record more than your voice? No, it's okay, because it's dark out anyways, and my flahslight's out of batteries.

It's too late to talk to you
And it's too soon to say good-bye
Listen where ever you may be
You still live inside my mind

Something tells me that you are free again
In a place that feels like home

It's never easy to understand
Why memories hold our hand
But people let go

louder

Tue, 30 Aug 2005 03:38:36 GMT

Don't whisper, if you have something to say, scream it to the world. It just doesn't cut it anymore. You try to get me where I have one foot in the fire and one off a cliff, and either way I'm dying. Or at least you might hope so. But I know better, I think. I just want a cold shower, and a hand to hold on to. I want to eat an apple and lay under the trees, and imagine I'm perfect. whycantbeingperfectbeaseasyasyoumakeitseem? And how much can I try before it gets to tedious, and I can't hold up my end of the bargain? Can I lie in the stars, and feel them cold and sharp around me? Can I swim in the ocean at exactly midnight and pretend that my carriage will never be a pumpkin and that the last chime will never come. How about the sands of time, is that okay with you? Why so cliche tonight, hmmm...maybe it's okay. And I wish it was back to Saturday night, when it was just us, and it was so pretty. And I want to talk on the phone for hours, but it's too late now. And maybe this weekend.

maybe?

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 03:01:54 GMT

Do you think it's impossible? And now I'm 18, and now I'm 21, and my world is spinning and I don't think it's you, not this time. And I'd like to tell you my name, because maybe it fits, but remaining a.n.o.n.y.m.o.u.s. creates security. One perfectly brilliant summer, and that part of my life is over, but add a Y and I think it's the puzzle piece you were missing a few years ago, remember? Let me walk with my arms outstretched and my eyes closed, let me feel the crunch of leaves under my bare feet, and the moonilight glow on my cheeks. Tell me how it would be if I was okay, just once more? And I love you both, and I don't know what I would do without you two, because you're the ones who always make it okay somehow...I wish I knew how. And you confuse me, and so do you, and you and you. But I think I understand you, and I think you should get your writing published, because it's beautiful, like something natural and right. And the stars are wonderful from this angle, and the trees do make faces, you're right. And it was nice to be cold, but only because I knew I could get warm again. And I'm amazed we made it this time...and thank you. And I don't know if I can do it again, but I can try.