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through the mist, i strain to see what's in front of me. there's no turning back now, not that i'd want to go back to that place anyway. i find its best to think of my reward. as long as i keep that in mind, i will have no trouble finding my way through the the fog of the future.
lately there have been more things that i have to do without. money is tight, and what little we have goes all to the same place. i'm having to learn to limit my desires and stop being so selfish...training myself to be less worried about my own wants is more difficult than i'd expect. it's all about me, whether or not i want it that way.
i don't know why i'm trying to be brave. there's nothing to be brave for or about. i don't need to fear death, i have life. what should i fear? everything is going wrong now, in this time, i am prepared for the future.
i've always been called a high-strung girl. i'm not quite sure what is meant by this, but i'm hoping and supposing that it's some sort of compiment. i like being high-strung, or considered so. in being this sort of person, i am justified in my eccentric ways. "oh it's quite alright, emily is just a high-strung girl. let her carry on with her business." and people leave me alone. but sometimes i don't like that.
i've always wanted to be a bird. i want to fly, glide, soar high above the world thats full of dangers below me. i'm safe when i'm a predator. when smaller creatures shout to eachother "look to the skies!" when they see my silhouette against the sun. my feathers gleam a caramel brown with hints of gold and sheets of black
i love balloons. i found one the other day behind my lamp that i forgot about. i don't remember what it was from, but it made me smile. which is saying a lot. i don't smile much. but balloons are so full of life and memories. a simple balloon can trigger so many thoughts in so many people, but for me it just makes me happy. high pitched squealing voices from helium, static electricity making your hair stand on end, the fart noise they make when you let the air out, the smell of the rubber, the bright color and the plastic string that cuts you, the sadness connected to when you let go of it and watch it float away....they make you happy, but they're so empty inside. they lift your spirits but it breaks your heart when you see them gone or when they finally pop. i feel like a balloon at times, so fragile and empty.
a reflex action for me is just to smile when i'm supposed to, frown when i'm supposed to, laugh when the laugh track sounds, do what the crowd wants me to do. i'm a stereotype. i'm worthless.
writing since 2010 · 11 entries · 10 days shown up
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