Pomejorado27
I am a single thought spun into the universe so as to create something bigger than myself. I, together with good intentions, flaws and a radical blend of ideas, have the notion that whatever materializes into my mind has the legitimate capability of coming alive. I am a sudden trail of bright red ink spilled over onto a starry white canvas, searching for a sign that while i am lost in translation I am okay and will come out more vibrant, thicker, and more courageous than before. I myself, am a mix of star dust and potential, created by the hands of God himself, able to breathe life into the complex and ever so changing world that is His creation and throne. I am the novels I read, the films I watch, the words that slip through my mouth and out on the tongue. I am the speechlessness you surrender to after climbing to your highest and coming back down, only to be caught in a wave of cool lips and consoling hands. I am, I am, I am. I am another stitch in the fabric of that one thing that's bigger than myself and I dare not blink.
I've always wanted to change my hair color. I was thinking a deep red with a tint of purple. Auburn is nice... it has red tones in it. My father has always been in love with Auburn hair. He says it's just seriously really gorgeous, so I figured... what would happen if I dyed my hair to auburn? Maybe I would catch someones eye, maybe I'd overhear him say "Man... she's just seriously really gorgeous." Or something along those lines. I'd like to have someone that says "Man... that deep chocolate brown hair... she's just seriously really gorgeous." My sister got the beautiful looks though. The hair, the smile, the perfect pearly whites, the sexy legs etc. I'm not sure what I got though, not quite sure what my father and mothers DNA stitched together and produced. Maybe my eyes... they're big and brown i guess. My legs... man my calfs are hard muscle... man legs some would call. My hair? It doesn't hold curl like hers does. I've always heard that a woman with curled hair is the ideal woman. Oops. guess my DNA missed out on that one.
The fact that I fucked up looms over me constantly. It eats me alive and settles in my stomach and waits. The graduation date looms over me, the apprehension filling my chest with fear and uncertainty. The countdown of days before I say goodbye, this too looms over me. the feelings of affection and longing but also fear of the unknown with you and all that it entails looms over me and makes my head spin and my spine tremble. I can feel the shot of adrenaline, each time like the first, wash over me every time i think about it. My self hatred...that too hangs over me. Lingers and swells within me until Im gorged out on the suppressed feelings and forbidden thoughts of "Well what if this... What if that... Maybe just...". It's all the same no matter how I put it. It shivers and shakes and hangs and lingers and pushes and pulls and looms on me. In me. Around me. And I can never seem to shake it off
I cannot wait for the simplification of my life when summer comes along and sweeps me back up like an old friend. I want the heat to make me curse and sweat and groan. I want to feel the A/C in my best friends car while we cruise down the street like old times, all of us, the whole group. Bring me back the simplicity of last summer when we played in the water and ran down the alleyways together. There wasn't any judgment, wasn't any pressure or expectations. Just us together, the sweltering heat prompting us to go insane and laugh tremendously with each other. To walk barefoot in the grass to coffee shops and take spontaneous trips to adventure landing, celebration park, relay races and surprise hawaiian rave Elvis birthday parties. I want to simply hold my sisters hand after a long workout and take a dip in the pool afterwards. After exams, essays, text books, school fights, friendships falling apart faster than stale bread crumbs, I'm just searching for the simplicity I fell in love with last summer.
Stories are nice. I like telling stories. I'd say I'm a relatively good story teller, the way I can craft them in to grand schemes and add humorous tones to them. I like hearing peals of laughter around me as I go on and on about things that happened when I was little, or last week or even in the past 20 minutes. What i love most though, is that somewhere on this planet, is another one meant for me, studying, reading, laughing as he tells stories, and one day, when we meet, I'll get to hear all his amazing stories and we'll hear each others laughter and I'll let out a sigh followed by "Wanna hear a story?" and his eyes will glisten and crinkle as he laughs and it will be a symphony to my ears. Until then, I'll keep telling my stories, I'll knock them down one by one, one more story closer to his.
People will believe anything that is credible. Obviously. If it wasn't credible then only a fool could fall for anything. But why is it that the worst people, the selfish, ignorant, hateful, prideful, superficial ones, have all the credibility. As if it were that believable to assume that because one has large amounts of money that they must be amazing. Must have something going for them, must be at the top of the food chain. Why are we all fools, for surely we believe this of our world. And how come the humble, gracious, level-headed lovers of the world are given as much credibility as an asylum patient ready to go on an adventure to some bubble gum island made of cheese and oranges with a baby face for the sun and raindrops as sand...
the rate at which people fall in love varies from person to person. Some people all at once. Some people, over a long period of time. But what is the rate at which someone has fallen in love with me? certainly not all at once. Possibly over a period of time. A long period of time. I believe for some reason, that the rate at which someone could fall in love with me doesn't really exist. There is no rate because i was not created to share my life with someone. I was made to help others know how much they are able to be fallen in love with. I fall in love with their shine. The way they read a sentence. They way their breath tangles with the scent of coffee and books, and the way their eyes glisten when they talk about the one they themselves fallen in love with. I fall in love with the rate at which they fall in love with themselves and others.
My timeline isn't a really happy one. In the beginning, confusion. Realization of insufficiency. knowing that I wasn't good enough. Soon after came an ignorant bliss that shrouded the truth my family members kept from me. that my friends judged me for. Next, a struggle to keep going onward. To continue making friends that "had my back" and "loved me for who i was" As the timeline extended, a sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. A self hatred that I had carried since childhood. A sick, sick love for an empty stomach and that dizzy rush to the head when I hadn't eaten. A crowd of people telling me "You're beautiful", "How gorgeous mija","I wish i was as pretty as you". Yeah, despite those that feeling in my stomach deepens. It writhes in the early hours of the morning, slithers around consuming me. And up to this point in my timeline, it owns me. And i fall prey to it every single time.
All she could think about was another dimension. A different reality than the one she had been thrust into. Somewhere she could escape to. Where she could find daunting heroes, brave princesses, castles and rivers and valleys. Temples of Time and Caverns galore. So she ensued this reality as hard as she could, only to have to wake up to crowded hallways, tall buildings with monotone colors, boring people, with boring lives and boring aspirations.
She clasps on to his flannel shirt, about to collapse within herself. "Don't go. Not yet" she pleas. She's loved too hard, spent too many late nights, too many starry nights with him to let him go. So here she goes, about to confess it all to this beautiful boy. And she does. And he stays.
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