Along the Lines of Parting

I've been trying to figure out what to say for the past few weeks. 

The truth is, I'm okay.  

The truth is, it's been roughly ten months, and I've changed.  In those ten months, I have:

Dropped a pant size, run a leadership conference, spoken in front of one thousand high school students and teachers, gotten a piercing, joined an advanced conditioning class, won first attendant for the Sweethearts Royalty pageant, went to Kentucky, took a state title, went blonde, went back to a deep brunette, had someone ask for my number and later ask me out to dinner, had someone give me his number and take me out to coffee the next night, felt secure, lost my sense of guilt, took an advanced conditioning class, regained my self, been accepted to college, celebrated my eighteenth birthday, moved houses, read some fantastic pieces of literature, performed in The Scarlet Pimpernel, been chosen as the editor in chief of the literary magazine, ran away for a weekend, fallen asleep on someone's shoulder, designed a tattoo, written the highest-scored papers in my AP classes, gotten to the point where I can bench more than I ever have before, finished my Sterling Scholar portfolio, written a business plan, taken up kick boxing, started working on my bucket list, got a job, quit my job, made mistakes, made some fantastic choices, watched my mom crumble, had two siblings get in trouble with the law and be suspended from school, attended the wedding of someone I don't know, tried Thai food, went to New York, ate lobster on Pier Nine overlooking the Statue of Liberty, been to the Top of Rockefeller Plaza, cried on the flight home, driven more hours than I want to count, sliced open my finger where I now have a scar, written a short story, written a song with a melody, written a poem with a hip hop feel, bought Anna Karenina, lied to my parents, was brutally honest with my parents, talked someone out of suicide, felt lost, found my way, met some incredible people, saw Inception, spent New Years up at the cabin, had family dinners with a family other than mine, had someone ask me how to prove how much I mean to them, felt like I was suffocating, felt the ease of a breath of fresh air, watched my sister's heart get broken, kept my tears back and appeared cold-hearted when I was only meaning to stand my ground, unknowingly served as a muse to an artist, and...

So much more.

I've changed.  My path was joined with yours for a while, and then you chose your God over me, and I continued on my own path.  I chose the fork to the left, and you chose the fork to the right.

And as we continue on, the space between grows larger, a space filled with the changes both of us are experiencing, and we are left with only the idealized visions we have of one another in our mind.  I like to think I know you, but I know who you were; I am not there to see the changes you are making, just as you are not here to see mine.  The paths I am choosing may bring our paths back to cross at some future point, but my road is much less traveled and yours is relatively set and rutted out for you.  There is nothing wrong with that at all, but it is not the life I want for myself.  Even if it were, I wouldn't be happy subjecting myself to the path you are seeking out.

You chose your God, and I am choosing mine.

The only truly difficult part of this process is knowing that I will disappoint you.  There is no changing that fact, and you are one of the many that will be disappointed in me.

I am okay with that, and wish you could be as well.

Along the Lines of Coffee

There’s the couple in the corner

                Her blush makes him feel like he’s won

She hopes he’ll take her back to his place

                On this night that’s only just begun

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes her rounds

He brushes her cheek by the wall

                The glow of the low lights catch her smile

Her heart is racing more than he knows

                As they share secrets and indulge for awhile

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes her rounds

It’s just a chilly winter’s night

The buzz is low and the lights

They’re even lower

His and her lips whisper

And their hearts are moving closer

As I sing my coffee shop song

There’s the girl who bought him dinner

                His heart is breaking with the tick of the clock

He can’t bring his gaze to her eyes

                Her own tearing as their fingers interlock

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes her rounds

The man at the bar’s grown old

                He tries to picture each line of her face

He’s been alone ever since I can remember

                Her memory fading, the pain he tries to erase

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes her rounds

It’s just a chilly winter’s night

The buzz is low and the lights

They’re even lower

His and her lips whisper

And their hearts are moving closer

As I sing my coffee shop song

(BRIDGE:)

I’ve seen the faces change

The young ones that come and go

I’ve felt the way love grows

As they sit and sip so slow

I’ve listened to the silence

I know the stories the coffee can tell

The way these lattes take you to hell

And the secrets the mochas will sell

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes her rounds

It’s just a chilly winter’s night

The buzz is low and the lights

They’re even lower

His and her lips whisper

And their hearts are moving closer

As I sing my coffee shop song

I used to sit in the far left corner

                With the boy with dreams in his eyes

Now I sit here with my lonesome guitar

                Playing my soul with songs as alibis

And the bass is low in the background

As the barista makes the rounds

It’s just a chilly winter’s night

The buzz is low and the lights

They’re even lower

His and my lips whisper

As our hearts are moving farther

As I cry my coffee shop song

Along the Lines of a Friend's Writing

Because sometimes my own words aren't enough.

"summer of two hearts"

"A short blissful time it was, a long romantic date was what the music played. They yellows and blues played a perfect harmony for the two hearts that danced in the red of the fading summer sun. Joy was found, sorrow came around. One cannot move on but will always wait for summer to come around. To sit in the car and cruise the town counting down the days that the second heart may return. Closing the eyes, the harmony begins to play once more for the two, always can one visit the night of dancing hand in hand, walking the carnival, seeing that love was locked up tirhg hand in hand, but summer has to wait to come around. The days were never so long, the nights have no meaning, to hear the waves crashing, echoing the sounds of summer coming around. Close the eyes in the car driving the frozen town remembering spinning around cherishing the summer that came around. But the board walk next to the ferris wheel stays silent, screams of laughter are silenced when the heart realizes that it ends, that summer has not come around. For long years one has counted the days until the second heart may come back to walk hand in hand and kiss the mouth of the summer that came around. "

Along the Lines of Atlas

"I'm thinking of the fifteen years that Sabastian d'Anconia had to wait for the woman he loved: he did not know whether he would ever find her again, whether she would survive. . . whether she would wait for him.  But he knew that she could not live through his battle and that he could not call her to him until it was won.  So he waited, holding his love in the place of the hope which he had no right to hold.  But when he carried her across the threshold of his house, as the first Senora d'Anconia of a new world, he knew that the battle was won, that they were free, that nothing threatened her and nothing would ever hurt her again."

Along the Lines of Sighs

In these moments when the video games downstairs are too loud and the piccolo in the background pierces through each whisper, I miss being myself.  I miss the hours I used to spend with a bow perched between my fingers and the draw of the strings pulled me together.  I miss the lives of the characters I used to read about and their stories that made living just a little more enjoyable.  I wonder what happened to the flow of words from my fingertips and miss the power that writing fiction has to heal me.  

November starts in three days, and I can't wait to be myself again. 

Along the Lines of Letters

Not just one but two letters in the mail today, and it doesn't matter that one is a single page and the other is more like eight, they both made my heart skip beats and my smile last for hours for their own, independent reasons.  

It's feelings like these that tell me I've found something truly beautiful.

It's nice to know he's in love with me, and not just the idea of me.

My dearest little sister,

It's exciting and scary to watch you fall in love with someone.  You and I both know that it's not a petty crush either, and we both know that we don't really know what it is, for neither you nor him.  There's a lot I wish I had the words to say, but for things like this, there just isn't.

I hope you always come to me and talk like we do now. I've grown to value our friendship so incredibly much, and I can honestly say that you're not only my sister but my closest friend.  We've been through hell and back, we both know that, and we both know it's not going to be easy these next few weeks.  But we'll keep fighting, and we'll only grow stronger because of it.

I suppose the reason this is so odd to me isn't the fact that you're in love with him, but that it makes me older to see it.  I look at you and I know what those little touches do to your heart, and the way his smile makes your breath stop in your throat.  I watch you with happiness, and a little sadness, knowing that he, too, will leave on a mission and you will go through what I am.  It's not something I would wish on anyone, but I know you're strong enough to make it through; we both are.  It'll be rough, just as I know you understand, but I hope you know I'm always here for you, even if it's two in the morning and you're still up crying because the world is simply too vast.  Remember that I've been there, and remember that I am still there sometimes.  Maybe I can offer you the comfort I've come to know, and the understanding of what love can really do.  I hope you don't give up on him, either, like everyone is telling you to do, because I know that look, and I know that it's not something that will go away easily, if ever.  Don't listen to them; even if they're right, take what makes you happy and run with it, because it's no use dwelling on the negative outcomes of what-if.

Dearest little sister, I love you and care for you and hope the best for you.  We're both long old enough to make our own decisions and understand the complexities of our hearts, but know that I will always do what I can to help you.  Unlike so many people in the world, we've found what it truly means to be sisters, and I cherish that more than you know.

Take care sis.  I love you much.

Along the Lines of Playlists

If you are reading this, I'm sorry.  I don't want it to hurt, for either of us.

I dreamed about you last night.  You were here and you were mine, and you had me wrapped in your arms and I didn't have to be strong anymore because you were fighting for me.  

It wasn't the dream that hurt; it was the waking up alone, all too aware that you are hundreds of miles and eighteen months away.  It was the desperation to go back to sleep, back to that dream, so that I could be with you again, that hurt.

And now it's time to sleep again, and I am terrified to dream.  I am scared that I will dream about you and go through the waking process once again, and yet... I am almost more scared that I won't get to see you again tonight.

"When you're dreaming with a broken heart 

Then waking up is the hardest part 

You roll out of bed and down on your knees 

And for a minute you can hardly breathe 

Wondering was she really there? 

No she's not 

She's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The giving up is the hardest part

She takes you in with her crying eyes

Then all at once you have to say goodbye

Wondering could you stay my love?

Will you wake up by my side?

No you won't.

You're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

Now do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?

Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?

Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?

Do I have to fall asleep with roses, roses in my hand?

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

Then waking up is the hardest part."

Again, if you are reading this, I'm sorry.  I don't want it to hurt, for either of us.  

Along the Lines of Outside

It's odd to be on the outside looking in
As his life is turned inside out and upside down
Instead of being the one who is exposed.

It's odd to be on the outside looking in
When all I see is what has always been there
While they view something I've seen all along.

It's odd to be on the outside looking in
Wishing things were different for him, for me,
While I know that some things just aren't going to change.

Along the Lines of Disney Land

Whoever wrote

"It's a Small World"

is a liar. 

The world

is much to

vast,

and

on nights like these,

I want

to mourn

over just how big

it really is. 

I wish

far away

wasn't quite

so

far away.