allipetrassi
People see honesty as this admirable trait, this great thing. But when someone actually tries to be honest with them, they often get angry and take it out on the honest person. I think it's because we don't want to see certain parts of ourself, and knowing that someone else has seen these parts terrifies us because it means we aren't doing as good of a job hiding as we originally thought. In this case, fear is covered up with anger. Honesty is a lonely road.
Your history is mine. I love that lyric. It rings true in our case. You might have gotten the best of me, but your history is mine.
As life goes on, people always remember their childhood and wish they could regain what they have lost in the time between then and the present. The moment we lose the ability to be awestruck and wide-eyed in wonder by the simple things, we lost our childhood. When we grow up sometimes we forget that to stand in wonder of a simple sunset, a perfect flower, or a beautiful smile. Time is not an acceptable excuse.
I'm at the train station. My bags are packed, I'm good to go. I'm standing, facing the tracks, following them with my eyes until they converge on the horizon. "I'm ready," I think to myself. "It's time to go," the train bell shouts. "All aboard," the conductor yells out. "Wait," you whisper. So I stand at the train station, staring into your eyes, wondering what comes next.
I remember the morning after you died very clearly. I sat on my roof and watched the sun rise. I witnessed a new day and a new beginning that you were not there to see. I told myself you were watching from heaven, or wherever we go when our time here is up. I talked to you during that whole sunrise, but really I was talking to myself. Telling myself that it was going to be okay, that I would rise above everything. Every once and awhile now, I rise with the sun to remind myself that even in the ugliest of situations, the world is a beautiful place.
I want to tell you this secret so badly in person, but I suppose this will have to suffice. You are constantly on my mind, and I know I can't have that anymore. You're bad for me. Even so, you exist in the corners of my mind and a corner of my heart belongs to you. So, my darling corner-dweller, tell me...when will you come back into the light? In my opinion, you've been hiding from me in those corners long enough.
I have three bookshelves. I painted them myself. They're chocolate brown. But they weren't supposed to be. In my head, the shelves and the outside were going to be a kaleidoscope of color, the wood a type of canvas where my mind could run wild. There were going to be swirls of color, faces that peeked out from behind corners, and designs that wound around book spines. Instead of a canvas, I now see three bookshelves, all painted brown.
Chalkboards make me think of school. Honestly, I feel like they make everyone think of school. I always used to love stealing the chalk with the other kids and drawing on the board when the teacher wasn't in the room. We'd doodle and cover the entire board (at least, the parts we were tall enough to reach) with crazy drawings that only kids can come up with. :)
I hardly ever listen to the radio. As a result, I feel somewhat isolated. When people ask me if I have heard the latest hit song, I always respond with a "I don't listen to the radio", with a small smile and a shrug. It never bothers me, because honestly, I like enjoying those hit songs later on when the hype dies down and everyone forgets about them. It makes more sense to me that way.
I have only ridden in a limo twice in my life. The first time, I was barely old enough to understand. My father had come back from a business trip in a limo and I have never been prouder of him. Look at my Father, so big in his limo. Back then it seemed like my parents were so much more certain, so much more...incapable of wrong. But I now I see that they're only people, only human.
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