Along the Lines of Seconds

If we only took a second to breathe
We might realize
We are so much worse than we seem
We might realize
We are lying through our teeth
If only we took a second to breathe.

If we only took a second to feel
We might realize
We have turned into dark cold steel
We might realize
We don't know what's real
If we only took a second to feel.

If only we to a second to hear
We might realize
We are turning into all we fear
We might realize
We have cried our last tear
If only we took a second to hear.

If only we took a second

And stopped.

If only took a second to breathe
We might realize
We are so much stronger than we seem
We might realize
We have stopped lying through our teeth
If only we took a second breathe.

If only we took a second to feel
We might realize
We have melted our hard, cold steel
We might realize
We understand what it means to be real
If only we took a second to feel.

If only we took a second to hear
We might realize
We can overcome our deepest fear
We might realize
We can smile and save a tear
If only we took a second to hear.

Along the Lines of... of...

It feels like ages since I last wrote something beautiful.  Words have been tumbling out of my mind and hands more like a mudslide rather than silk as I'm used to.  It's frustrating, especially as I try to formulate some sort of a plot as November looms ever more imminent.  

There are two stories I've been mulling over, and as brilliant as I think they have the potential to be, I do not feel like I have the... wisdom?  Experience?  To write them.  Both would be huge challenges, but have such potential.  Since I am at a loss of words for anything else at the moment, I'll try to spell them out a little.

The first would take place either in a restaurant or on a bus or train.  Each chapter would be the story of how one person in that setting came to be where they are, and, if it were a bus or train, where they are going.  It would be the short, individual stories of otherwise insignificant people, were it not for the fact that they were there, in that particular place.  The ending would be challenging, and I still haven't clearly decided what it would be, and I don't want to spoil it if anyone decides they'd be interested in reading.

The other plot I've played with would be written from the view of an apartment.  Most stories give you the interactions, the conversations at work, the monotony or the extraordinary circumstances that the characters live in.  Mine, however, would give you the little pieces in between.  You wouldn't know what went on in the character's day, who they encountered, or the significant events that brought them home.  It would be a story open to the reader to piece together, as the small, "in-between" parts would be the only thing revealed throughout the novel. It would examine what makes us continue on when we seemingly have nothing, it would show the integrity of the characters, what they are like behind closed doors. Characters would come and go, sometimes in a small family of three trying to make ends meet or a single college graduate looking for the next best thing.

Maybe they sound more promising in my mind.  Both would be challenging in their own ways, and as I said, I don't know if I am the most "qualified" to write either of them at only eighteen.  I guess my worry is that either piece will turn into a more commercial piece of literature rather than literary fiction.  I want to be more of an Emily Bronte than Stephanie Meyer, and I'm worried I just don't have it in me right now.  My plots and characters deserve the talent they need to reach their full potential, and what if it turns out that I don't have that skill?

Along the Lines of Songs

If you're reading, I hope you understand. 

"You're the strength I need to fight / you're the reason I still try."

"Promise me you won't leave my side / the warmest place to lay my head."

"And it's funny how it's the little things in life that mean the most / not where you live, what you drive or the price tag on your clothes / There's no dollar sign on peace of mind; this I've come to know / so if you agree have a drink with me / raise your glasses for a toast / to a little bit of chicken fried."

"You've got this look I can't describe / you make me feel like I'm alive / when everything else is au fait / without a doubt you're on my side / heaven has been away too long / can't find the words to write this song / . . . . . . Now I have come to understand / the way it is / it's not a secret anymore / cause we've been through that before."

Miles Don't Mean Anything by Eye Alaska

You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift

Daydreamer by Adele

And one last original:

"There's a vacant sign inside of me 

Like Motel 6 on Fifth and Main 

It seemed my heart had checked out early 

And left me standing in the rain 

Was it ever really mine?

Chorus:

Dear Heart,

Where have you gone?

It's been so long 

Since I last felt you beating

Dear Heart,

Please come back to me 

I can't stand this up and leaving...

Dear Heart (2x)

I printed up a missing sign

And hung it on your wall

Then sat down alone to wonder

Where my heart had run to last fall.

Was it ever really mine?

Chorus

(Instrumental bridge)

Bridge:

My heart walked through my door today

I almost didn't believe it to be true

After two long years of being away

My heart walked through my door with you

Could you really now be mine?

Dear Heart,

Where have you gone?

It's been so long

Since I last felt you beating

Dear Heart,

Let him stay with me

I can't stand to see him leaving.

Dear Heart (2x)"

First AP Lit Essay

I’ve always had a fascination with words, ever since I was young and innocent and naïve. Their ability to express the inexpressible enchanted me; the way they flowed or tripped hazardously off the tongue excited me. I could spend hours thinking of the perfect description for trivial, little things, feeling like I had discovered an earth-shattering secret whenever I found the perfect combination of words.


People, I’ve found, are much more difficult to describe. We breathe, think, act, react. We do when objects don’t, and implement when objects can only supplement. Despite spending nearly eighteen years of my life living with myself, I find it difficult to find that one word that encompasses me.

I suppose one word that it could be would be just that: complex. Each thing I do or say has a train of thought with a very vocal passenger named consideration. Under each statement, belief, conscious and unconscious action, I have a reason backed by a history of critical thought and informed decision. Maybe that could be described as precise.

Hope is a noun that many have linked with me. Life is not an easy ride, nor will it ever be, and the ability to hope for something better than today has become an innate part of me. Everything is okay at all times, no matter how dire the circumstances, and that particular belief has allowed me to face incredible challenges with bravery.

Yet another might be integrity. A value learned in Sunday school and morphed into my own understanding and sense of it, life is nothing without integrity. I cannot be anyone other than who I am without feeling a sense of dishonesty, no matter the good intentions. While I don’t preach my religious views because of their controversial nature, I cannot betray them just as many people in any organized faith will not deny theirs. It’s as Ayn Rand states in my favorite quote, “I swear by my life and my love for it that I will not live for any man, nor will I ask any to live for mine.”

In contrast to fairly positive adjectives, jealous could be listed among the more negative in to describe me. Suffering from a mostly hidden inferiority complex, I tend to be jealous of those whose life is easy, who have everything handed to them, and live the life I wish I had been raised to live. I envy those who are successful at a young age, those who seem to flow through life effortlessly, and those who have the appearance or social scene that I wish I could fit myself into. Yet while I may be jealous at times, I am quick to remind myself that I do not know their personal story and don’t know their personal struggles. In those quick memos, I am open and accepting, both of myself and others.

Many have told me I’m intimidating, though I’ve never quite understood why. Perhaps it is my well formed opinions and unorthodox beliefs, or maybe it stems from something deeper, something I am still trying to find the words for. I enjoy public speaking and do not have a problem discussing personal subjects with anyone, and perhaps it’s my comfort around large groups of people that is intimidating. Maybe it leads to another adjective that I feel is very much me: intensity. I live my life with intensity. I believe my beliefs with intensity. I am who I am with intensity. Perhaps that is where I am intimidating.

In regards to my personality, I am dominant, certain, brilliant, compulsive, decisive, confident, and tend to lean towards the selfish side of the spectrum, though that is not always who I am. I am dominant in the way that I will lead; certain in the way that I know what I want from my life and how to get there; brilliant because of an innovative and unusual mind; compulsive in my need for change, excitement, and risk; confident in the ways of knowing who I am and being okay with not knowing everything about myself; and selfish in the way that when it comes down to it, I can be perfectly happy on my own and will not put up with people if they don’t contribute something positive to my life. While all of these are very strongly a part of who I am, none of them can stand alone and describe the entirety of myself.

I’ve considered verbs, such as evolve, discover, and do. My views on every aspect of my life have evolved over the years into something beautiful, and I have grown with them. Years of study and learning have shaped who I am and have helped me discover the person beneath the exterior shell. Through everything, failure is not an option in my mind, and therefore “do” comes into play; and yet, even still, there are times when I do nothing, and choose to let things slip in and out of my life for the best.

I am rare. As overused as it might be, I truly feel like a desert rose. My unorthodox views, philosophies, and beliefs make me beautifully unique in a place where I feel pressured to conform to the status quo. I’d rather take the heat and be who I am than suffocate in silence. But I am not rare enough to have that single word encompass me.

Every verb and adjective that I believe represents me leads me to the word that welds them all together: power. I am power. The intensity with which I live has given me power to accomplish all that I set forth to do. My certainty gives me a powerful advantage where others falter. Evolution and discovery have helped me form knowledge and understandings that give me the power to understand the people and circumstances around me. Power is a delicate balance, and the ultimate reward for a challenger. It does not come easy, and will not be given up without a fight. It is a mind, change, ability, constant challenge. Where others can’t, I embrace it. It is something sought after, abused, and viewed as a risk. Power is a victory.

I am passionate about...

I am passionate about life.  There isn't a single day in my life that I want to regret, and I am passionate about living each hour to the fullest.  I am aware of how short our time can be, and how quickly everything can change and how easily you can lose the things and people you believed would always be there.  Because of this understanding, I don't take what and who I have for granted.  I believe there is a chance to make someone's life better every day, and I hope that I can be someone who improves those around me.  I always want to leave people better than they were before they met me, and hope to be a happy or positive memory to those lives I get to be a part of.

I am good at...

I am good at filling the roles that need to be filled.  This isn't in an acting way, I can't act on stage to save my life. In my life, there are certain roles that I'm expected to fill, and I am good at filling them.

At home, I fill the role of mother for a good majority of the time, and have for as long as I can remember.

At school, I am a dedicated student who gets good grades and excels at everything in a seemingly effortless way.

At work, I am one of the hardest workers and do everything right and never make mistakes.

At play or in a social scene, I know how to have a good time and will open up and let you see who I am.

At DECA, I am organized and in charge and completely responsible and reliable.

Regardless of whether or not I really am what I need to be, I am good at filling the roles that are needed.

Along the Lines of NSLC

Luke.

Not the type of person I ever would have had the guts to talk to in any other situation than when I was set up to just sit and talk.  It was the type of experience that made New York such an incredible adventure, and in whatever ways, he has influenced me and a small part of who I am now.

We were given a sheet of sentence starters, and were supposed to go through and take two or three minutes on each sentence and talk about it.  It's been a while since I was that honest with anyone, including myself.  I guess I feel like you deserve the same honesty from me, so this next set of entries will stem from those sentences. 

I'm not entirely sure why I'm letting you know all of this; it's not like it really makes a difference, but I guess I felt like letting you know.

Happy reading.

Along the Lines of Hard

Choking back the tears you wish weren't there in the first place.
Counting down the days.
Missing people who have yet to leave, and
Knowing that by next Friday, you'll have a real reason to miss them.
Planning for a senior school year that was based around a friend you no longer get to go to school with.
Smiling and joking about the plans you secretly pray will come true.
Realizing that all those plans you've made so far haven't worked the way you want them to, and
Hoping that just this once, your plans will come into reality the way you want them.
Knowing that in eight days, you will have to say goodbye to the convenience of texting someone.
Praying that letters will be enough.
Trying to be brave.

Dear God,


I guess I’m writing this letter to you because I don’t know how else to talk to you. There’s something about trying to talk to someone in the sky through my head that makes me feel like a crazy person. Of course, writing a letter that will never be postmarked isn’t entirely all that different.

I'm scared.
There are so many things running through my head. I don’t know where to go or how to handle the next twenty-four days. If you’re the God I’ve been taught to believe in, you’ll know what I’m talking about. You’ll know how scared I am to watch him go. It’s easy to be brave when he’s holding my hand, or when I can giggle and smile when I get a text from him. But it’s nighttime now, and I’m alone, and suddenly, it’s not so easy to be brave. No matter how much I believe him when he says that he’s not really leaving, it still feels like I’ll be watching half of me walk away, leaving the rest of me to sort out and pick up the pieces, trying to make them fit back together somehow even when there are parts missing.

I know I always say that somehow I need these two years just as much as he does for a reason that I don’t understand just yet, but the truth is, I’m terrified that I'll relive April 14th until he comes home. I know that I’m going to break that day, and that I won’t even want to try to pick up the pieces, and that no one here will do it for me. I know that on April 11th, the edges will start splitting and the stitches will come undone prematurely, and I’ll know that it’s the end of another chapter of my life, and that he won’t physically be in the story for pages yet to come. At that point, I'll know that the most I can hope for is a hug to last me through two years, and I'll know, that all too soon, I'll forget what it feels like to have his arms around me.

.......

Along the Lines of Courage

Not all types of bravery are shown on a battlefield, in front of a large congregation of people, or even standing up for something you believe in.  Some courage is shown in simple things, things that no one else might recognize as a challenge. 

I'm not brave. 

I don't have the strength. 

I don't have the courage.