willow2293

willow2293

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The Editor listens to all we say. We are entitled to free thought, but free speech is a distant figure of history. I've read about it in books where The Editor has no reign. It cannot Edit our sight. It cannot Edit our ears. Only our speech is restricted by The Editor, throats slit by The Node. But that will not last long. Notes from The Writers, our underground, say that The Editor's reach will extend if we do not act quickly.

Youth. To be young and juvenile again. What I wouldn't do to turn the clock back. She sits at the edge of my tongue like a forgotten dream. It has been years, but it feels like she slipped away only moments ago.

Direction is often something one seeks, but never finds. There is no compass to life. One must wander around, choosing paths that seem as if they lead in the preferred direction. However one often encounters obstacles that block the view. One must choose to turn back, or to face the obstacle, and conquer the fear of what may lie ahead.

Maybe if I had purchased my passport, we would have traveled. Maybe if I'd just filed for it and if I had taken the damn picture and spent the money, we'd be halfway across the world. We'd have gone to Bora Bora, and Hawaii, Mexico every weekend and we'd still be happy and looking forward to things in our life. Maybe even if I had a passport, it wouldn't make a difference.

I stand barefoot in the forest. My toes curl around peat and dirt climbs its way up the sides of my feet. My heels dig into the upper layer of growth and decay and I reach my arms like branches toward the sky.

torch

This little town wedged between these rocky canyon walls.... The clouds over the mountain above could dump rain and floodwaters could rush down as if a dam broke upstream. It could extinguish everything that keeps this town alive. Instead, I think I'll just burn it to the ground.

I have my tower now. I sit atop this mountain and look east, to where my love is. Why will he not call to me? I've sequestered myself here but only with his blessing. Why does he leave me here without nourishment? I can only assume he's walled himself into his own tower and cannot reach me. If he had any ability, he would, because he loves me. Right?

I wonder if I will ever be successful. I wonder if I will ever "get over" my depression. I wonder if I will ever be good enough. Here I am, stuck in wonderland, wondering if I will ever get anywhere in life. I wonder if anyone will stop to notice long enough to help me out.

Watching your friend, as an adult, slowly loose her mother. You see the tears in her eyes and the screams in her smile. Her bouncing, bubbly voice hides it from the others. But you know. You know every numb emotion electrocuting the poor girl's body, propping her up and fueling every step forward. You've been there. You've been strong and responsible with smiles and a good-morning-sunshine attitude. But you broke. You break again and again, every year. You're a child who wants your mommy, but mommy's gone and you're only looking in pills, powder, and smoke. You're waiting for the day the girl breaks, knowing full well that you probably won't be the one to be there when she does, but also knowing that she - more likely than you - will make it through.

Departure, in Tandem Hearts twisting around, back and forth, away and toward. Why do we separate together?

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writing since 2012 · 25 entries · 24 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Willow showed up.

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on this day 9 years ago

Willow wrote about juvenile
“Youth. To be young and juvenile again. What I wouldn't do to turn the clock back. She sits at the edge of my tongue like a forgotten dream. It has been years, but it feels like she slipped away only …”

the words Willow reaches for

buryreachfacegirlwonderwaitlovenamegypsypainsoncivilizedbodybagfuturewaiting