oddlyartless
I wish I could separate myself from you, like the inside of an egg sliding out of its shell after breaking it in half. I'd rid myself of the thoughts and become something new. I just want to find a piece of myself that can still be protected and maintained, but it's people like you that make it nearly impossible to trust again. Let me go
A cacti is an interesting entity. It survives well in the heat, and it grows beautiful flowers despite being so prickly and wanton for pain of those who dare to touch it. I think about how hardy the plant is, and how it can go so long without water. I think a cactus is probably the toughest plant I can think of, and I wish I could be more like one, in all honesty. I love my redheaded Irishman cactus at home.
I love thunder. It reminds me of the destruction that nature can wreak on everything. And how it's really not destruction - every other creature deals with trees, fields, mountains, lakes being destroyed or poisoned or disappearing. But to people, we feel we own things. At this point, I realize I don't "own" anything. If I could detach myself from materials forever, I definitely would. Maybe I'll try.
It was a mutual feeling. We didn't like each other, and for no reason at all. We simply avoided each other's presence and when we had to interact, it was entirely fake. For some reason, that pissed me off about him even though I was doing it too. Later I began to have feelings for him but I denied it, I didn't want to care about him. But he cared about me too and it was almost too late when I found out.
It was a dull morning. The sky was grey, and the only noise that could be heard was the silence roaring in ears. The cement was wet from rain the night before, and a cool quiet swept over the neighborhood. The trees had already lost their leaves, looking stark and naked against the expanse of whitewashed air. Birds chirped in a seemingly somber way, but I think it was just my mood. I wasn't sure where I was headed, and at that point, it didn't matter. I just wanted to be engulfed in the day, as dull and endless as it appeared to me. I wanted to become part of it and forget everything that had happened in the last month, the last year. The best thing to blend into is something that is not very unique or noticeable, because you don't have to try as hard. All I had to focus on was my walking. I didn't want to stop.
Warfare has always excited me somewhat. I know that sounds sick and disgusting, but it proves to me that other people are just as bad as I am. That they are selfish, and destructive, and hurtful. It makes me feel connected to other people in a way that I normally miss out on. For some reason, I find it hard to communicate my feelings (or, I suppose, my lack thereof). I know my mother used to cry about it when I was a child; if only I had the emotions to feel guilty about it.
A talent scout was officially coming to the game, and my plans were set. He wouldn't go to college and take my spot. I'd be bumped up from the waiting list so I could actually attend. Funny thing is, I know he'd never succeed in that business. But if he puts on a sparkling performance tonight, he'll be off my hands and I can do what I really want.
They say spring is a time for renewal, rebirth. New love, maybe once lost. But I see spring as a contradiction - when long, seemingly endless winters embitter your heart and make you lose all hope, spring is there to make the joke that you're wrong. That things always have a cycle, and your misery (and your joy) always have a quitting point.
My conviction was my awakening. I was wrongfully accused and little evidence backed me up as a prime suspect, but I guess that was enough for the state of Alabama. I was put behind bars for 5 years, and it gave me a lot of time to think and remember what people mean when they say "live life to the fullest"; that phrase used to piss me off but I think I get it now. When I got out, I fully utilized my time as a free member of society. But that's not the story I'm trying to tell; prison was the focus of my life for several years and I can honestly say that without it, my eyes may still be closed.
Liza was the one that got me started. She was a real loner in the prison, and for some reason that appealed to me. All the fake people I'd ever met that smiled when they didn't even know you and begged for you to like them without even knowing why had always gotten under my skin. I knew she was different and that's why I was drawn to her. I'd lay awake at night, thinking about her and wanting to be her. Strange, I know, but I wanted that energy. "Take me or leave me" kind of attitude- something I'd always wanted to have but never really learned how to get.
There were stacks of photographs piled around me. Stacks of memories, and heartache, and happiness, and old times that I'd never get back. I don't know how I'm organize them but I didn't want to lose a single one. Some say photographs are for people with a bad memory, but I say they're for people who never want to forget. She's in a lot of them, but even if they were all burned, I'd never forget her. That's for certain.
writing since 2011 · 11 entries · 11 days shown up
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