Define Summer: Empty

The first entry in a long time. I have no one to apologize too, because nobody reads this text on a black page. It makes me wonder, are all these words that float in front of my eyes, a novel in a week, are they wasted on me?

I sleep 12 hours a day. You think I do, anyway. I sleep 10. The other 2, I dream. Beautiful pictures and fantasies of a life that could have been, should have been, could be. I see Em, Sarah, Megan, today I woke up in an empty bed with Jamie on my lips. My love isn't for them anymore, but it is Love. It's an idea that fills me when I try not to remember it, reminding me every sunrise that I have a future. With her. Whoever she is, wherever she may be. The one I felt on the steps of Whit when I was alone, when I kissed Sarah and she cried, when Jamie told me secrets, when I asked Em to coffee and fate said no.

Yeah, I used your names. Nobody reads this, and none of you are Juliet anymore. Did you know when I play World of Warcraft online, I pretend to be you? I'm Neveret. I just typed it in and it stared me in the face like it was meant to be. Neveret.

I feel tears that don't come, like I used too. Am I sad, or just alive? I need a new place for this, for me. A place where I'm not Rose of Montague, Neveret, or Anthony. A place where I, and the girl who never shows her face in the mirror can be. Just be and keep living for the day when I hatch the brilliant game mechanic, write the story that makes the government want to kill me, or teach a class filled with a bunch of sleepy kids who don't give a damn about anything but the beer in their dorm room.

Who am I? I'm alive. And I've gotta grow up some time. But I'll tell you this. Truth and Beauty and Sparkles, they won't go away. I won't let them. I can't let that go, even if everything else falls apart.

Riding A Trainwreck To Hell

I love her. I love her laugh and hate to see her tears. I love her allusions to obscure mathematical phenomenon and the way she finds puzzle games erotic. I love the way we slip into lust from the maddening depression we derive from the real world.

I know, above all else, that being with her will leave me broken and bleeding on the rocky shores of life. This cannot end well. But I will never leave, because I will make life into a love story, even if it kills me.

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Now playing: System Of A Down - Lost in Hollywood
via FoxyTunes

Don't Forget to Shine

I did this wrong. All wrong. I lied. About the beautiful people. I said they were cheerleaders and drama queens, jocks and class presidents. I lied to your face and for that I'm sorry.

The beautiful people are real. They are the poets who never write, the musician who can't afford a square meal, those honest-to-god souls who are bigger than the skin they wear and the blood in their veins. You probably can't see it, but I can. They sparkle. I found one and I fell in love. Short, passionate, I wanted to see us burn up together. Of course it couldn't end well, nothing ever does. But I wanted to wring my heart out and squeeze every last drop of sunshine from her smile before I broke under the pain of being so close.

She wouldn't let me. She is staying with her boyfriend, who she loves very much. She knows he will dump her, this year most likely. But she cannot end it herself, she has to suffer through his abuses. I suffered through hers willingly, trying to break her out of her torture and set her gently into my arms.

But none of this really matters. What matters is that I never kissed her. She said that if we kissed, she could never see me again and her relationship with her boyfriend would end, violently. I thought the most virtuous thing I could do was break her. Make the sacrifice of never seeing her again and destroy all that she held dear so that she could live free and well. I couldn't do it, though. I kissed her on the forehead and told her "I will never leave. Not until you forget how to sparkle."

You see, apparently I sparkle too. I'm not happy like she is, exuding magic into those around her. I don't love everything that breathes. But I sparkle too. So, apparently I am a beautiful person. And the worst thing you can do, to anyone, is take away their ability to sparkle. The world likes them better that way, and it happens eventually.

This is why I don't love Juliet like I used too. A boy took her, held her, and broke her heart. When he did, she lost what made her special. She succeeds now. Plays sports, gets good grades, and will probably be a great success. But she doesn't love everything anymore. She is jaded and real, not an angel with a mortal smile.

So, if you are a poet or a dream. Don't ever forget and don't ever take it away. Always love and protect those beautiful people. Even if it kills you.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Outside

I thought my feet were on the ground. Then I swept her up in my arms and suddenly everything was just a blur. I see three stars and I find them all so beautiful, it is a crime to choose. And yet, it is a greater crime not to. I feel no guilt for my actions, as my wrists don't bleed in payment to the voices in my head that whisper my crimes. I hope that I am judged by a merciful God, for I did not mean to sin.

I did not mean to sin. I just wanted some fireworks.

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Now playing: Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Damn Regret
via FoxyTunes

The Manifesto

Life in the modern world is often confusing, as every person struggles to define their existence amidst the turmoil of society. I cope by clinging to an ideal, the idea that there is beauty somewhere out there, poetry in motion, a lyrical life or a picturesque sunset. The aesthetically pleasing finds a way to survive in an otherwise disgusting and bankrupt world of broken dreams and empty promises.

The trouble is, beauty is frail. The prettiest things are the most likely to be crushed underfoot in the name of progress. Whether a person whose idealism shines among the disillusioned or a single flower in a mangy lawn that is scorned by the cynic, the continued existence of the beautiful is a fickle hope. My goal is to protect these simple pleasures, the sight for sore eyes, the refreshing breeze that soothes the tormented conscience in a world of tough decisions. To stand up and defend the beautiful, while living life like a dream, a glorious and honorable dream, that's my plan.

To live like a bright star, that flares brightly rather than slowly sputtering out. That is the real way to live. Today is just another day on the way to a fiery death, but this day is filled with poetry just like the next.

~ Rose of Montague