Along the Lines of Solitude

The ocean swells, slow but sure
A wind blows chill, unsteady,
The sky above so clear and pure;
It calms my heart already.
This my little solitude
Turns my fears away
From ocean to the coast so crude,
It called me back today.
In this corner of security
One place to call my own
To leave the world's impurities
To go to be left alone.
I come to think of everything
And nothing all the same
To turn my thoughts to other things;
Things too broad to name.
And in my patch of solitude
I look for strength to rise
To face my life and people rude
Full of secrets, friends, and lies.
So when inside I'm dying
And lose my will to be,
I pretend I'm flying
To my place beside the sea.

Along the Lines of Home

I think everyone has that one person that is home to them. Maybe some people have many.  For me, a very slim few stick out in my mind.

Last Wednesday, a friend came down to visit. He was at my house after school and we spent about six hours together. It was undeniably the best hours of my life.

We found the only cafe in town and had dinner, talking for about three hours before we decided to go find somewhere else to be. Driving around the city with him was perfect, being lost with him was perfect, and the feeling he brought was perfect.

He is everything that is home to me, and has been for as long as we've been friends. It was amazing to me how completely okay I was with life when he was here. How alive I felt.

At one point we tried to find this canyon where a bunch of million-dollar homes are built, and we ended up on a single lane road driving down a completely different canyon. We found campsites and just kept driving, him talking about how beautiful it all is and me just soaking in the sound of his voice, watching him, and trying to remember every last detail. When we got to the end of the road, we turned around but found our way back. The second time around, there were three deer at the end of the road. Miraculously they didn't run off, but stood there watching us as we stopped the car. Neither he or I could breathe. After twenty minutes or so they ran off, and he and I got out of the car to walk around and just be outside.

Like everywhere here, it was quiet. There wasn't the sound of a freeway, a car, nothing but the soft trickle of a stream nearby and our own breathing. We didn't have much to say, but we didn't need to. Leaning up against the trunk of his car, we thought and occasionally voiced what was on our minds, but mostly it was just quiet. He put his arm around me when he noticed I was shivering, holding me close and trying to keep me warm.

That hug... God, that hug healed me, stitching together all of the pain and anger and hurt I've felt ever since graduation day. I could breathe easily in his arms, it was safe, and I was home.

The things we talked about and did together in that little part of nowhere will stay between us, at least for a very long time.  It was all so... us, and private, that it'd feel like sharing something sacred with someone else.  (No, it wasn't sex or anything close to it, for those who're wondering. He's not like that, even at his weakest.)

On the way back to the house we noticed his tire going flat. He'd driven through construction and we later found a nail embedded in his front passenger tire.  Because of the potential dangers of driving fifty minutes on the freeway with a dying tire, he said he should probably leave sooner than planned to try and keep the tire alive.

I could feel the stitches starting to loosen, threatening.

He stayed and talked to my parents and me a little longer, and we went out on the back porch. It was then that he asked me how I'm really doing, and I wish I had been able to tell him how hard it is, tell him the things that make me cry myself to sleep, let myself break down and show him what goes on beneath the smiles.
But I couldn't... because he was there, and everything was okay, even if only temporarily.

Finally, he really did have to go. I walked him to his car, and he commented on how he felt like he should be taking me home. I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I just let him hug me. It was tight, and close, and we both started to feel reality sinking back in. He held me closer and tighter for a split second before opening his door, smiling a sad smile, telling me to keep texting him, and got in the car. I couldn't say anything, didn't trust myself to, because when he stepped back and I knew he was leaving, all of those stitches he had put in place that afternoon tore out, taking everything with them. Turning around, I walked through the door, locked it, and tried to go down to my room, but found myself watching him drive off, watching even after I couldn't see him anymore. I was shaking, and the pain was so unbearably real... I made my way downstairs, locked my door, and cried.

I didn't know something could hurt like that. I've been through divorce, and breakups, and moving, but everything I've ever been through doesn't add up to that feeling. I fell asleep crying, and woke up to find tears already fighting to get out.

The pain comes back, breaking through my forced anesthesia. It hurts, unbearably sometimes, but those five hours of home... I would take the pain just to have that back, no matter how brief

Today, this same friend, this same person who is Home to me, informed me that he's filling out his mission papers.  He's going to leave, and I don't know what I'm going to do without him. 

For a few minutes, again, I couldn't breathe.

Along the Lines of Poetry from the Past

A song for a lover
Is never quite the same
And when you hear those lyrics
You cry and curse his name.
A lover almost never lasts
So what's the point in words
To make you stop and remember
All the things you saw and heard?

So here's a song to a brother
One who will never go away
Here's a song to someone
Who I hope is here to stay.
Here's a song to someone
Who will always have a part
In this torn and growing space
This place that's called my heart.

Here's to a brother.

A song about a friend
Who's almost always there
It brings back those memories
Of the times you used to share.
A friend is never certain
Of which side they would choose
And every word could remind you
Of what you had to lose.

So here's a song to a brother
One who'll never go away.
Here's a song to a brother
Who I hope is here to stay.
Here's a song to someone
Who will always have a part
In this torn and growing space,
This space that's called my heart.

Here's to a brother.

A song about a memory
Is either happy or it's sad
And oftentimes it changes
As you realize what you had.
A memory is special
Words and pictures can it save,
But the pain is hardly worth it,
for your heart, to it, you gave.

Why sing to a lover who disappears
Why sing to a friend's false guise,
Why sing to a memory of that day,
And the sunny summer skies?
Why sing to all these different things
That never again will be?
Why sing to things that go away,
To loves that cease to be?

So here's a song to a brother,
One who will never go away,
Here's a song to a brother
Who I hope is here to stay.
Here's a song to someone
Who will always have a part
In this torn and growing space
This place that's called my heart.

This love for a brother
Is different in many ways
This love is unconditional
And will last beyond our days.

So here's to a brother.

This song is to you my brother
Please don't ever go away.
You're the single person
Who I hope will always stay.
You're the only person
Who will always have a part
In this torn and mending space,
This place that's called my heart.

Along the Lines of Disappointment

The more time that passes, the longer the time since I last talked to him, the more I feel like I was used. As distance grows, there's just something... unsettling, something that makes me feel like it was nothing to him.
I wonder if it really meant anything, or if it was just late at night and alone. I wonder if he really is the jackass a coworker says he is, or if he really doesn't have any way to contact me. It's hard, because I've been trying to figure out what to classify us as, and I've only been able to come up with friends with benefits. At the time, I was completely okay with it, and I think I still would be. I just need him to tell me where we are so that I can stop making excuses for him in my head and see him in the light I should, rather than the rose-colored glow of my daydreams.
If he wanted to see or talk to me bad enough, wouldn't he take the time to try?
I'm still trying to figure out how I felt that night, if I felt anything at all. I wanted so desperately to be his, still do, but I would take whatever he would give me, just as is the case now.
Does that make me pathetic?
Does that make me the slut my mom thinks I'm turning into?
Does that make me weak and vulnerable?
I've tried not to classify myself based on other people for the past four or five years of my life, but there's a hole, and something's missing, something that has always been absent. For that one night, he filled so much of that hole... and now it's gone again. I don't want to need people to define who I am, but it's hard to know who I am with that empty space. I can't know exactly who I am with a piece of the picture missing, but how do I find what I don't know to look for?
I wish I could talk to him. I need explanations.

Along the Lines of Endings

A friend of mine wants to write a book in which the main character is given twenty four hours left to live. At this point, he has the choice to either relive twenty four hours of his life, or to live twenty four hours in the present. Either way the character will die at the end of the twenty four hours.
Quite frankly I don't know which I would choose.
In a lot of ways, I feel like the character might if he didn't have the choice, and knew he was going to die in a matter of twenty four hours. I am not dying, as far as I am aware, but I will be leaving everything I've ever known in two days' time. I know what I would fill those hours with, if it were up to me.
I would have him with me for every second, holding my hand or holding my waist, and giving me the strength that he always does. There would be two others with us, close friends that I will always cherish and who have stood by me through everything. I would want to see everyone I am leaving behind, and let them know I will miss them. I would take pictures of each person, and pictures of places that hold happy memories.
I would spend the rest of the time with just him, alone like we were that one night. His lips would caress mine, and his strong hands would hold me close. His softly whispered secrets would make me smile and make me cry, and we would make each second we had together last in the most beautiful way. He would laugh helplessly when my hands brushed his back too lightly with a smile that will forever be engrained in my memory. There would be precious moments where we just lay there, his cheek against mine and our fingers laced together, the silence wrapping around us like a light in a cave. We would share what we could with each other with no worries of consequences because now was all we had. He would touch my face and run his fingers through my hair, his soft lips touching my cheek, neck, and shoulder. His breath and fingers would trace patterns on my skin, leaving tingling paths in their wake. Every last second would be spent in his arms, sharing myself with him in exchange for bits of himself.
And when it came time to say goodbye, he would kiss me fiercely, sad and upset and longing to keep me longer... and he would promise me something. He would promise to see me when he could, and to wait for me. He would promise to wait the one year that is going to separate us, and when that year was up, I would come back, and we would share our last hours together all over again, only this time... they would be our first.

Along the Lines of Exhaustion

Tired

of fighting

Tired

of pointlessly hoping

Tired

of being someone I'm not

Tired

of not living up to what I should be

Tired

of trusting in someone who believes in God

Tired

of not being able to be who I am

Tired

of living day to day in vain

Tired

of not knowing

Tired

of life

Along the Lines of Paper

It's ironic how a single sheet of paper can alter your world completely. If the words had been rearranged in a different order, or some had been deleted all together, the meaning would have been entirely different, and that paper wouldn't have had any impact at all.
With a single sheet of paper, a divorce is finalized. Another innocent page joins two people in matrimony, through sickness and in health, for better or for worse. A single sheet of paper will let you know that your water has been shut off until further notice.
My particular sheet of paper only finalized the inevitable.
September 1st is the expiration date.

Lines of a Song

Whenever You Remember, by Carrie Underwood

When you look back on times we had
I hope you smile
And know that through the good and through the bad
I was on your side when nobody could hold us down
We claimed the brightest star
And we, we came so far
And no they won't forget

Whenever you remember times gone by
Remember how we held our heads so high
When all this world was there for us
And we believed that we could touch the sky
Whenever you remember, I'll be there
Remember how we reached that dream together
Whenever you remember

When you think back on all we've done
I hope you're proud
When you look back and see how far we've come
It was our time to shine
And nobody could hold us down
They thought they'd see us fall
But we, we stood so tall
And no, we won't forget

Whenever you remember times gone by
Remember how we held our heads so high
When all this world was there for us
And we believed we could touch the sky
Whenever you remember, I'll be there
Remember how we reached that dream together
Whenever you remember

We claimed the brightest star
And we, we came so far
You know that we, we showed them all
And no, they won't forget

Whenever you remember times gone by
Remember how we held our heads so high
When all this world was there for us
And we believed that we could touch the sky
Whenever you remember, I'll be there
Remember how we reached that dream together
Whenever you remember

Whenever you remember

Oh, whenever you remember

Along the Lines of Secrets

God, love, sex, family, life... there are so many secrets, and everyone has at least one. Mine have accumulated over the years, piling one on top of the other, all trying to find their own place inside the cramped space called "me." There are new ones, more recent ones, and these fresh secrets excite me.
I need secrets to function, though many people would disagree and possibly recommend a shrink. I need their safety, their calm reassurance that no one really knows everything about me, that those bits of knowledge will always be mine, and only mine.
Some of these secrets scare me, and they show me just how out of control of my life I am. A part of me yearns to let someone in completely, yet I would never let myself.
There are the secrets that you wish someone would see, the ones that make you yearn for a listening ear and an understanding heart.
There are the secrets that crave attention of any sort, make you someone you wish you weren't.
There are the secrets that make you sad, make you cry, and you only face them in the darkest hours of the night, curled up and alone.
There are the secrets that hurt you, that you wish to give to someone else, but you know that you can't.
There are secrets that you wish you didn't know.
Regardless of what kind they are, they are your secrets, and belong to you and only you.
These secrets... they're mine, and I find a strange sense of calm in them.
In these words there are so many other secrets, and they're still mine.

Along the Lines of Beautiful Nights

The near-black sky tonight is so beautiful, all speckled with dimly winking stars. Fading darker as it goes towards the "center" of the sky, it really does give you the illusion, or more so the reality, of a dome.
Standing outside, the cool night air breathes on my skin, and I can't help but feel myself open up to the night, trying to release all of the energy, emotion, and noise that's inside of me, screaming to be heard.
It's the nights like these that are the hardest for me. The beautiful, calm, and peaceful nights. A summer rain shower are also difficult, but for now, all I have is tonight.
There's something about the dark sky, the whispering crickets, and the unseen wind that pulls at the core of me. Everything contained inside of me starts to pull and claw its way out, and no matter how long or how hard it will dig, it will never reach the surface.
The night protects me.
It offers me a cover, a safety, that just surrounds me with blankets of comfort.
The night listens.
It's still, and hears everything I dare not say. The crickets distract any listening ear as my heart pours out its secrets and begs for relief.
The night heals.
I am taken away into a corner of the world that is mine, and only mine. I am alone to breathe, and the chilled air fills every cell in my body and replenishes what it can, offering what it can, and taking what it can.
The night rolls over and through me, opening me up and removing the walls I work so hard to build.
These nights... they heal and they haunt. I long for those I love, to hold and be held by warm, protecting arms. The night offers the empty whisper of a touch. I miss those I've lost, and the night gently reminds me that they no longer need me, though their memory still lingers in me, irreplaceable, quite unlike what I am to them. The night lets me feel everything while I wish the opposite.

It's on nights like these...

...that it feels as if everything I want and need...

...are just right there...

...right behind that thin curtain of black...

...and just as I reach out to touch it...

...I find that it was never really there in the first place.

Along the Lines of Roses

Roses are beautiful things, so rich in color. They represent love when red, friendship when yellow, and purity when white. Chosen for their beauty and innocence, they are the background of many pictures and adorn weddings, funerals, and other occasions.
They sit in vases on our countertops, soaking in vitamin-enriched water. Slowly, the life is drained out of them, and for our pleasure. We hold on to them, knowing they will die soon enough, and when their time comes and they are exhausted and wilting, we will throw them out, and find a new replacement, but at least we enjoyed their vitality while it lasted.
They hang from a noose made of ribbon, the life also draining out of them imminently. While they will die just as the others, their beauty will be preserved in part. Their jaded, dead shells will sit in empty vases, hang on walls, or be tucked safely on a shelf as a tribute to the memories that brought them there. But the life is sucked out of them, yet we hang on tightly to them, to the memories, because we're too scared to let them go.
There are so many things that are exactly like these roses. We choose to either enjoy their beauty while they last, or we keep the dead shells because it is too hard to let them go.

Along the Lines of Depression in the United States

Big Sister at work came up with the following insight on rainbow-colored sprinkles:

"Some people are just depressed and they need to eat colorful wax to make themselves feel happy."

Along the Lines of My Co-Workers

Working at a place whose full line of employees consists of mostly high school and recently graduated students, it's inevitable that a number of them will have to quit come late August and September. It's rough to acknowledge these imminent changes, but we have no choice but to accept them.
One of these people happens to be one of my closest friends, mentor, and sister-like figure. She's moving out for college in just a matter of weeks, and it's hard to imagine life without her, without her being in a twenty minute range if I need her for anything. She's guided me through the past four years, and has been there to protect me, to listen to me, and to give me advice and show me how to truly live my life. I can't imagine DECA without her; I'll miss her confident calm, and her faith in me to do well and to go farther than I ever could have guessed. Her knowledge and skill helped get me to Nationals, and I can't imagine going without her. Next year, it will be me who is the mentor, the one who has been there before, and quite frankly, that's terrifying.
Next is the "only good-looking straight guy" and "the five-year old who never grew up". He is moving to a city whose population is smaller than the student body of my high school. None of us are really quite sure why he's going there, since it's kind of known as the town that you move away from, not to. As he explains it, he's moving there to get away from everything, and as crazy as we all think he is, I think it will be good for him. He's going to grow up a little (we hope) and maybe get his life in order for what he wants for his future.
Then there's the quiet Mormon girl, who is also moving away to college. She hasn't worked here long, but we've all sort of grown attached. She's a sweetheart, she really is. I hope things go well for her; she deserves it.
And the oldest of us all, and recently returned from Scotland for study abroad. She's been here for three years, and it will be strange for all of us to see her go. Like everyone else but so much more so, she's family, she's the big sister. There's a slight chance that she'll come back next summer, but you can only work quick serve for so long, and she's talented enough to get the work she wants in photography.
Our dear father may or may not be leaving. He's even older than big sister, but still young to all of us. Having been here since our opening day, he has a permanent place in our family, but again, you can only work quick serve for so long.
With school starting, none of us are really sure of who else might have to leave, myself included. I don't want to see more of us go, but it's a possibility.
All of these people and the rest of our family make work my home. It's safety, a place to hide, and somewhere to be yourself and be accepted as such. With the upcoming changes, I don't know how I would feel about adding another brother or sister, changing the parenthood, and just... watching them leave. It will be hard.

Along the Lines of a Friend

Eight months is a long time to be with someone, a long time to love someone. With this particular story, the couple went through so much, overcame so many obstacles, and climbed so many mountains together that for many it was a surprise to hear of their romantic ending. I guess it's safe to say that no one really ever expects a high school relationship to end, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with.
His drug problem was their first battle together, and they pushed through the ankle-deep mud onto soft, dry ground. To this day he hasn't gone back, and she will always be proud of him.
For her, her life was full of instability. With the pending divorce (which would solidify in May), her family life was breaking apart. No one in her home had an income, and the bills would go unpaid until the point of foreclosure. There was no place to go when that happened, and even still her and her sisters are waiting for the eviction notice.
Her dream was to travel, see the world, never settle down for longer than a year in any given place. She planned to go to Boston for college, and despite the almost certain knowledge that she would be denied, she had ambition enough to apply for Julliard and other top-rated schools of music in the country.
His dream was to settle down, start a family, and take over his dad's business. College for him meant the community college down the street, as his grades were only barely good enough to get him to graduation.
They shared so many memories, and she prays he is trying to hold on to those as much as she is. There was their first dance, the girl's choice formal dance at the public high school, followed by every dance the school had to offer. Senior Prom was both his and her first prom experience, and they rode in a limousine to the state capital. Dinner that night was supposed to be at a fairly nice restaurant, but ended up being the food court at the mall. They went to countless movies, and watched just as many at home in front of his fireplace. When spring came, they went to a small, local amusement center and played miniature golf and drove go carts. They went to Applebees at least once a month, each ordering the same thing each time. He introduced her to Indian food at India House the night of one of their formal dances.
Summer drew closer and she watched him graduate, sitting with his family and watching him accomplish something that no one thought he could do. Somehow, though, she knew they had limited time left.

He broke up with her the day after their eight month anniversary, in the parking lot of the public library. They were both crying, and neither wanted to let the other go. In the end, I think they both knew that, deep down, it's what they both needed, even if it wasn't exactly what they wanted.

The first night was utter Hell for her. She cried herself to sleep, alone in an empty house. He called at some point late that night, and they both felt the other's desperation. As a few days have gone by, she realizes that the days get easier, but the nights will be a recurring fight. Whenever the sun sets, or she listens to those songs, she can't help but feel as if her lungs have shrunk in size and increased in density, and that her heart is being compressed into a space half its size.

She remembers each kiss, each touch, and each laugh. She misses him, longs for him, and wishes the best for him. She hopes he remembers her, although she knows that at some point in his life he will find someone who will love him as she did, and hopes the best for them.
She hopes he misses her, but knows that she will be okay. She hopes he will be okay, and will continue to push forward and live the life he wants, and to show them all that he is so much stronger than they thought he was.
A part of her wishes that she could be there for him, now and always, just as she promised. She knows that she isn't what he needs, but she wishes that she could change herself and fit that desire.
He misses her and still can't imagine life without her. He can't picture himself with anyone else, but he can't picture himself with her.
They discussed this a week or more before the break up, and even then she felt as though she had lost him, that she had to let him go. Then, however, they decided to work things out, to at least cherish the time that they had, and everything was going to be okay. She was okay, and moving on, and letting herself love him to her full capacity.
On the Eighteenth of July, however, all of that changed, and she had to let him go, this time for real.

It's this type of pain that people just don't understand. I don't believe that anyone can truly sympathize with a broken heart, because the pain is never the same for two people. Yes, the thought and the understanding might be there, but no one can empathize. There is nothing really to say to one with a broken heart, and each has their own needs and ways of healing.

Until you've experienced it, heartbreak is a concept that is hard to grasp. It's eluding and incomprehensible, and when you're heart broken, no one really, truly understands your pain because we all feel it differently. Heartbreak will hurt in a different way for me than it will for you, and it's no surprise that we all feel terribly alone.

Along the lines of Expiration Dates

Milk, peanut butter, tofu... Hopefully everything in your refridgerator, freezer, and pantry has an expiration date. In regards to food, expiration dates are important, good even. They keep us safe and healthy.
Other things have expiration dates as well. Utilities bills, foreclosure and eviction notices, and sometimes even lives. Whiles these are just as necessary, they are so much harder to cope with. You can't just throw them out when they go bad, go to the grocery store, and get a replacement.
Many relationships have expiration dates. It's hard to say whether or not those are the hardest kinds of expiration dates to deal with or not. At least there will always be the possibility of another one, and hopefully won't land you in a grave.
How are you supposed to let go? Each hug, each kiss, each simple touch... hurts. You miss them prematurely, you miss them when they are still in the seat next to you. How are you supposed to let yourself love them more and more each day until it ends? Is it worth the pain?
Regardless of how hard you try to hold on, sometimes you can't change the day it expires, just as you can't change the date on yogurt; it will go bad at the same time, no matter how hard you try.

Along the Lines of.... Chinese Food

There is something deeply satisfying about a take-out order of Chinese food. It might be the square-ish shaped box with the little wire handle, or maybe it's the comfort of fried food that isn't American.
Tonight's order was pressed almond chicken and ham fried rice, which came with a small container of sweet and sour sauce and another smaller side of white, steamed rice. Now this food isn't your regular Panda Express or Rice King food; it belongs to a higher group of take out: Golden Tree Cafe. If you have yet to experience the glorious food that springs forth from these kitchens, I encourage you to take whatever transportation is necessary to partake.
As I said earlier, there is just something about Chinese food that satisfies the deepest of cravings (except, perhaps, that of crystal methamphetamine and other such illegal drugs). It was particularly satisfying to change into my pajamas, open my laptop, and scoop small spoonfuls of ham fried rice into my mouth after a long day/night of work.
You know, I have this vision of a date I would love to go on. The basics are the same, but with one variable. I would love to get Chinese take-out and watch re-runs of I Love Lucy by a fireplace. Any old television show or movie would work, really. As for that variable I was talking about, it would also be enjoyable to enjoy that same Chinese food at a drive-in movie. Picture cuddling up together in the bed of a truck with a blanket draped over our feet, delicious food in our hands, and a movie out in the cool, summer night's air.
Wonderful, isn't it?
And now, my paper container of fried rice is now depleted of it's contents.
Good-bye, my dear ham fried rice. I shall miss you.

Laugh Lines of the Day

"Please Pharaoh Tuten-Ramen-Noodle! Let my people Go-Gurt!" - Stephen Colbert

"If you're staring at me, it better be because I'm the suspect. If not, get back to work or I swear you're all demoted to something that involves touching s*** with your hands!" - Eagle Eye

http://www.noob.us/humor/the-office-kgb-knock-knock-joke/

Lines

"There's two dates in time that they'll carve on your stone, and everyone knows what they mean. But what's more important is the time that is known - that little dash there in between."

There are so many types of lines in this world: life lines on a TV game show, mile-long lines at the mall on Black Friday, and old, worn-thin laugh lines. There are also the lines that you'll find on the page of a novel, arranged in odd patterns and designs to make up words. Journals are filled with these same kinds of lines. Dancers follow lines of the body, and musicians, lines of music. And, of course, there will be lines that create the two dates on your headstone, and the small dash in between.

It doesn't really matter what sort of line it is, a line can change or at least influence our lives in the most unimaginable ways possible. A line on a road that is ignored can change your life drastically. A line that is out of place on an ultrasound can be devastating. Medically speaking, lines can be very bad things. Red lines on a snow-white wrist speak novels for themselves, and seeing those lines can alter a life perhaps more drastically than the person who put them there.

Lines also have the fantastic power to alter a life positively. Comfort and wisdom can be found by the lines in a book. Guidance can be left in a letter. Lines of stitches can seal together wounds that would have otherwise been fatal. Emotion is express in the lines of a wedding vow, and hearts are reached by lines of actors and religious leaders.

Faint outlines are already in place for different aspects of our lives. Our personalities create some of these outlines, and we know what we personally can and cannot do. Dreams and aspirations also give us outlines; they are not always permanent, but they are there when we need them, and slowly fade as other lines grow into place.

I know the course that I want my life to follow, or to use the theme of this post and my blog, I have drawn out the lines that I want my life to follow. For now, these outlines mean freedom, hope, and a reason to keep pushing through whatever it is I am facing. I've watched as people have come and gone in my life, some leaving more lines in my life's book than others, but each person is there regardless of how faint. I've watched as the chapters of people's lives, the ones with me in them, have ended, and they have started writing down the new lines in the next part of their story.

I don't profess to be someone who is going to change the world. I just hope that along the lines of my life, I can be a few lines in someone else's story as well.