Night

B.

"Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and blow up the bonfire."

- Francois VI Duc de La Rochefoucauld

Even though I want to.

It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.
It's never worth it to give up what you want most for what you want now.

http://soundcloud.com/chrissprings92/simple

Series.

Lincoln Logs. Gun. Arithmia. Spider. Manifest. Pain. Kidneys. Help. Decide. Told. State. Spray Paint. Overreact. Idiotic. Apologize. Operate. Magically. Micro. Jail. Nothing. Prove. Smart. Case. Longer. Can't. Boss. Right. Assume. Job. Park. Lie. Crazy. Reciprocate. Coffee. Spa. Favor. Lying. Now.

Night

B.

Hi

I can feel it-
all of this love all bubbled up in my chest.
I just can't decide who to give it to.

I can feel it-
the way you think about me.
I just don't know who you are.

I can feel it-
the electricty when our fingers touch.
I just haven't touched you yet.

Someone out there loves me so much... and I love them too.

Night

B.

Champion

I run alone with so many. Apart but not cut off. Pouring my focus in many directions, I run.
Eyes blurred. I can never really see clearly. I see clearer than you though, my subjects.
I've met you once, but I think about you often. All of you. Picking apart your daily lives. I know what you think, what you want.

You're all amazing. All of you that i've analyzed again and again.
It amazes me how easy you make it to figure you out... every last little bit of you... if someone's lookin' hard enough. Down to the roots of your hair and the corners of your lips... The bend in your pinky toe, your scars and how you got them. Your personality and which traits you adapted from your parents and the ones you adapted from your environment. I can find your pain and who caused it. There is so much, but it takes so little time to break it down if you have to.

You just want to be beautiful. Just like the rest of us. Beautiful faces, beautiful minds, beautiful bodies, beautiful experiences, beautiful children, beautiful dreams, beautiful souls.

We run.

Night

 B.



It may seem insignificant to you..

I think you can see a lot about a person... feel what they're feeling, experience glimpses of the thoughts they had through out the day, discover they're secrets or the things they're holding back in words... by looking at a picture. The dark is day here in Brooklyn.

New segment: Night

B.

Boise State University

Nobody stopped my sister from going to a private college that was gonna cost her upwards of $40,000 a year to get a bullshit degree. Nobody tried to stop her from dropping out... I guess drawing class was too hard. Now she's in debt for a years tuition toward a degree she'll never get.

So why is it so far fucking fetched for me to go to an out-of-state college? Even if I'm paying $300 a credit at CWI instead of $100 a credit at Peirce (before I transfer to BSU), and working full time to gain my residency... my entire college education in Boise, where I will get a REAL degree, will cost less than one year at the school that everybody encouraged my sister to go to.

On top of that, I'll be gaining real life experience by moving to another state on my own, and persuing something that I believe in. I'll be able to work full time and save money before I jump into college, and i'll have a great subject to write my personal essay about.

I'm gonna do what I want no matter what... I just wish I had some damn support.

A little peice of joy.

 Love you! I weaved you a cordage bracelet! (It's in the letter.)

Brookly Schmookly,


    
     ... "It is a tough decision, I am sure, to leave what you love, but I know you can do it. You have always been courageous (I know that), but just make the best of what you have because if you don't then you will always be worried about what 'could've been' or what is to come. Like George Lopez says, 'You got this!' Favorite quote of all time :D"...

                                Love always always always, 

Jared Brandon Fahmy

Dreams, Martial Law, Harold Camping and the end of the world...

I experienced a sequence of disturbing dreams last night.
Each one, different than any other dream I'd had before, as far as theme goes. Usually my dreams contain something relatively similar to ones in the past. These were all completely new.
The last dream I had, after I woke up four times to my smoke alarm going off, was the most disgruntling. The dream took place probably between three and four am. I don't remember much, because that's what happens with dreams, but I do remember enough specific detail to be frightened by it.

I was in heavy traffic on a bridge I didn't recognize. The skies were sepia toned and gloomy with hews of pink, nuclear it seemed. There was an open top jeep next to me and the man driving the vehicle was becoming enraged at the traffic. I remember him saying that he was going to kill me. I was confused and a bit frightened, but focused on the road. All the sudden we were all jolted forward. As if traffic was suddenly moving at full speed, but I hadn't pressed the gas petal. Then, just as quickly, I noticed that the bridge suddenly fell off. The lane coming from the other direction was blockaded with steel arrows pointing toward the opening at the end of our lane, as if we were suppose to go into the water. All of us unable to control our vehicles, we spilled into the ocean. The water was just as gloomy as the skies, but a deep indigo color surrounded our vehicles and belongings as they sunk to the bottom and we, somehow, stayed afloat.  I distinctly remember seeing the enraged man's outdated flip phone spiraling down into the depths of the ocean. The water wasn't cold, but it was startling none the less. I wondered if anyone else thought that this was all staged like I did. It all seemed to boil down to a science. We're driving down a bridge, that somehow nobody noticed dropped off at the end, in the middle of the ocean, too far from land to try and swim to shore and live, most of our belongings weren't on us because we were driving, and whatever we did have sunk or was destroyed by the water. The only thing we had was our bodies and the clothes we were wearing. I couldn't help but feel like someone had calculated this and was watching it all unfold. I looked around the water and saw my best friend, Jaiden, floating right next to me, just our heads above the water. We were calm, collected and contemplating while the others scrambled and screamed. We knew that there was no point in worrying, because we weren't going to be left there. We wouldn't have all seemingly floated by magic if whoever set this up wanted us dead.
Then it all went black.
I came into the next scene standing up from my chair in an auditorium full of melancholy souls. I remember that we all looked similar but I can't remember what we were wearing. I was roaming the halls, Jaiden still next to me, silent. The floors were cracked and uneven as if the building had been shaken. I saw some sort of ancient payphone at the end of the hall that I wasn't even sure I knew how to use. I was surprised when it printed out a ticket that apparently would allow me to call out, but as soon as it did, the enraged man walked by without looking at me and said "It's no use. They don't work... and don't let them see you trying." I didn't know who I was going to call anyways. I dropped the ticket when I saw a woman, in surgeon's dressings coming toward me. She grabbed me by my wrist and my elbow, immobilizing my arm, and lead me away from the payphone. The building seemed like it was lit by natural light because I could see dust particles dancing in beams of sunlight. I saw no windows though, just rows of large arched doors leading into huge auditoriums full of people.
The first time Jaiden spoke was when we were in a small, octagonal, isolated room with white stone walls detailed by orange clay. This room had windows, but only an inch or two from the bars was another white stone wall. I don't remember exactly was she had said, but she brought one or two other people into the room that explained that they could see through this all, just like they knew I could. We didn't know exactly what we knew, but we knew that there was more to this than the rest of the captivated population would explore. We knew that we could find a way out if we gathered some information and we knew that whatever we had to do wasn't going to be safe.
I also know somehow that we were in India. Someone, somewhere in the dream had mentioned it.
So even if we did get out, we wouldn't know where to go.

That's all that I remember, but that's pretty much everything.
So when I woke up this morning I thought nothing of the dream other than it was really, really weird. Then, I was driving to school and started thinking about it again. I thought that maybe the dream was about Martial Law coming into order... maybe some sort of premonition.
Then, right as I had this thought, the personalities on the radio said that today marks the first day of the rapture and the end of the world according to the theory of Harold Camping.
The other day, my uncle and I had a conversation about how Martial Law would be the beginning of the rapture and when I put all these coincidences together, I shuttered.

I could most definitely see it happening though... because I can't see the world going on in this way much longer.

Intro.

I’m highly opinionated and bothered by a lot of things. I dislike falling asleep with the television on, public displays of affection, when people come near me when I have a Q-Tip in my ear, when animal fur is stuck to my clothes, when I can’t find the lint roller and realizing that the place in which I left the lint roller is nowhere near where I am. It bothers me when people complain about the hindrances of social networking on Facebook. I love reading through unnecessary arguments on Facebook that usually have nothing to do with me and commenting on them so that the persons committing the act of Facebook  fighting realize that their idiocy does not need to be in my “news feed”. I also love the puppies and kittens that get their fur all over me. I have a slight obsession with exotic pets and aspire to one day own a Hedge Hog named Pistachio and an albino Burmese Python named Gong. I’d rather watch a Disney movie over any Romantic Comedy, Drama or Action film and I’d rather watch a good documentary over any Disney movie. I am small, odd, good, bad and indifferent. I reintroduce myself every day. Always doing differently, always never fitting in. 

Always never fitting in.

Do you ever feel like you just don't fit in?
Wherever you are... High School, work, within your family.

Maybe it's not a bad feeling... you don't necessarily feel lonely or anything. Just alone.
I feel alone. Hella alone.
Other than on the nights with Jai, and the conversations held with few, I hold this feeling of distance.
I feel far, far above-- miles above most. Honestly.
I walk around the halls, knowing that people love me, knowing I love very few of them, because I see through them. I feel as if I've learned things that most souls surrounding me have yet to learn. I dress, talk, think... differently. Less influenced. Perhaps more influenced, by more of the right things. I'm constantly influencing.

This feeling that I'm different, it excites me. If I'm doing it better now, I'll be doing it better forever. Always doing differently. Always never fitting in.

CNJ

I can't get you off my mind.
I can't stop wondering where you are, if you're okay and when you'll be back... if you'll be back.
I wonder why you cut me off; too soon but not soon enough. I wonder why I even think about you..

I just can't get you off my mind, though.
There's gotta be a reason.
There's gotta be some reason.

Irreality.

Wondering when feelings become fact.
I can break us down into moments of unspoken affection, sweet nothings, sweet somethings and intellectual progression. We're something special... I think-
- with you, but never against you. Won't blink cause when I open my eyes I may not be against you.
I can undress you in my mind.
I know your lines, I know your stride, the curvature of spine and the shadows in your eyes.
I long to know more.
Wondering when this accessory became necessity.
When I let my guard down just a bit and found you next to me- maybe not forever-
but for now I am lucky.. No, I'm blessed to be excessively indulged into your everything.
I want you to know everything there is to me, but I fear that you may steer from me.
I guess it's better that you hear from me, the person that I use to be.
Obstructions and obscurities.
Habits, inhibitions and insecurities.
Impurities, impurities.
Direct instinct tells me that this fact is actually fiction.
Begging of you to vindicate me of these convictions. Maybe I can't love, actually-
but prove this undiminishable and I may trust this irreality.

Fear God.

I was reading through my last post directly after I published it. It's about how worldly things influenced my thoughts and feelings on Christianity and how I don't know what I believe anymore. Within two minutes of posting it, I got a text from my mom that said:

"Thought for the day: (scripture found in Psalms) 'May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, oh Lord.'.... It says in the Bible that everything we say/do here on Earth is recorded in the book of records... and so, it is important that we are accountable for our words/thoughts!... xoxoxoxo I LOVE U!!"

I feel urged to finish A Higher Power: Part Two... to explain that I believe in something or someone... That I do understand that the things here on Earth that I see everyday are too intelligent to just happen. It must be driven from some higher power... but it seems that God is already inside my mind. My thoughts are already published, are they not?

I feel threatened.

Jeremiah 5:22  "Should you not fear me?" declares the Lord. "Should you not tremble in my presence?"
Psalms 111:10 "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and they who live by it grow in understanding."

A Higher Power: Part One.

I was raised in the confusion of a tumultuous christian home. Some days were good, i'd read a book and play outside, mom would make dinner. Other days were filled by fits of rage radiating from either parent. There was never a day where I didn't feel safe in my childhood home, but there were most definitely times where I prayed to be somewhere else. I didn't know why God would let my dad ignore us or why he would let him strike my mom. I didn't know why he would let my mom strike us or why she had to work so late. I didn't understand why  no matter how hard I cried, and promised God that I would never ask for anything ever again, nothing changed... until they divorced. According to the Bible though, that's not the hand of God. That was just my parents falling apart... even if it were for the better.
That's when I disconnected from my family's religion. I couldn't believe in a God that I couldn't see, hear or feel and I had no deeper understanding of the intelligence of the world, so I had no reason to find a conclusion. I spent seven years going to church, singing praise and worship, feeling nothing. I listened to my mom read me scriptures that represented nothing to me other than guidelines. I heard countless pastors live and on tape, preach to their fullest potential, begging me to hear them, to hear God... but I never did.

I told my mom a couple weeks ago that I don't know if I believe in God. I told her I've been faking my way through religion just to make her happy. She broke down into tears and said, "Do you understand how much it hurts to know that God is real and my daughter doesn't accept it? Do you know how much it hurts to know my daughter is going to hell?"

Comments like that are what make it hard for me to believe. How can you tell your own daughter she's going to burn in hell? She put her faith over the comfort of my mind... and it's been running rampant ever since.

"I wrote a verse about you."

"It began with a talk. The weather and going of day and what not. This proceeded to beautiful opinions on late night walks. Now I write this song with palms sweaty and hot. As my memory meets this moment my palm clenches to think that I own it. Too bold, too soft, to think I could have blown it, but this moment I will never outgrow it. We met and my hearts destination was surely preset. Every second our eyes met was contest to see who was blessed to fall headfirst.. first. The gut tension could make a man burst. Now only the graze of hips and lips can quench my thirst. Thirsty for that look in her eyes. Thirsty for the curve of her sides. Thirsty for caressing her thighs. All to realize that these highs are temporary. Now I wait in contempt and god damn its scary, being stuck in her python grasp, can she grasp the future tasks or will the moment be lost in the past. Held in my mind til i'm under the grass. I hope to god we make it last for it seems to have came so fast. and even without our friction, this memory of moment is my addiction. Missing her leaves my soul to stir with no ignition.
In addition... my view now blurred. It was all in a moment this love occurred."

It's a beautiful thing to find someone beautiful. Someone that works like you; that works with you. It has been the most beautiful thing to find someone that isn't just someone. 
Someone that is the one.
One person to spend your day with.
One person to spend your night with.
One person to explain your heart to.
One person to share your mind with.
One person that strives for every moment you strive to have with them.
It's a beautiful thing.

Knowing.

What do you know?

Honestly.

Compared to the things that are there to be known, nothing. The world is an open wound, the deeper you dig, the more sensitive the subject becomes. What is being hidden from you? What is being hidden from all of us?

I'm not talking government.. I'm talking intuition, innovation, common sense, internal sense. Senses. 

I sense that I'm on the brink of something; that these deep conversations can only lead to partial answers for so long. I just want to know.

All I want is to know. All it takes is thought.

Blocked. 8/8/2011

Maybe I don't know you like I once did.

Perhaps my name doesn't bring the comfort that it once did...

but it did once.

We did once. 

We did it all wrong once but until now, I was okay with that. 

I didn't forget that you protected me and I still think of you when I don't feel safe.

You protected my name and I took that for granted. I devalued the diamond you tried to preserve for so long and I regret that. When I think about all the bad decisions I've made, all the wrong turns I've taken... I don't think "maybe if I hadn't done that, I would still have a relationship with my dad" or "I would still go to that school".

When I think of the person I've been... I think that maybe if I hadn't ever gone there, you would still be proud of me. You would still be proud to know me.

Finding out that you can't even see me changing, because you think so lowly of me now that you blocked me in every sense, destroys me. I still need you... but it's not a matter of needing anymore. It's about what we want, as people, growing into adults... and you don't want me to exist anymore.

Another one of these phases

I have so many thoughts, too many thoughts.. but I can't figure out how to form or complete sentences with any of them.



Until next.

I never know what to title these.

As always, there I was, trying to figure myself out. Then I realized what I was doing. As I was thinking about the feeling that there's a gaping hole of loneliness set in my chest, I was deleting previous blog posts. Things that I wish I hadn't said because they're embarrassing, shameful, or misplaced were being erased so simply. I realized that I often delete my blog posts. I'll leave them for a day or two in case a few enjoy them or because I forgot I wrote it in the first place. Then I'll go back, reread, criticize, delete... so that whoever the post was about, if they hadn't seen it yet, never will or never will again. Or if it was personal, which they often are, I'll delete them so that I don't have to see it again... and so that part of me can still be closed off.

Does this mean I'm not being real?

It's my choice to open up in the first place. Who gives a fuck anyways?

No matter what I share, whether I end up deleting it or not... nobody will ever know me it seems. Not like this anyways. I need a face, a brain, a beating heart and an intellectual mind that can handle the struggle of my deepest thoughts. 

First, before anyone accepts me.

I need to accept myself.

Uncomfortable.

My productive mind has sailed away.
I feel paranoid. I'm constantly wondering who is going to interrogate me about what, when and why. I feel like there are so many people that feel  the need to know so much.. and the more they pry, the more secrets I want to create.
I'm all over the place.

I'm all under the place. Physically, emotionally, mentally:

uncomfortable.

Bones.

I'm right there; right on the cusp.
I wonder how much longer it will be until I have that stale taste in my mouth again.

Regret. Regret. Remember.






Ugh.

Hello, my name is Brooklyn...

... and that's about all I've got so far. My character is constant improvisation. I have a million miles under my heels but feel no closer to the answers. How can I fix the wrong I've done? How can I forgive the wrong that has been committed against me? I close my eyes and I see the Narrows Bridge. Not the way I see it now, 5,400 ft of concrete and beams between  home and work, subtracting another mile from my gas tank, subtracting another dollar from my pocket. When I close my eyes I see the Narrows Bridge the way I saw it as a child. When daddy was driving his white Geo Metro I could imagine that all of the other cars were gone. It was just us and the bridge. I would look down through the vents, the water was green and dangerous, over the rail it was foggy; or at least that's how I remember it. It is in these memories that I embody the vision of my journey through life. Daddy's Geo Metro is gone and so is daddy. It's just me, alone, walking across the bridge, looking down through the vents. I can see clearly through every slot now, rather than just a stripe of sea-green down the middle of the road as my speed has dropped from 60 mph to walking pace. I walk so painfully slow. I walk slow enough to where I am still not to the other end of the bridge at the age now of 17. All along though, ever since I've been creating this journey of psyche, I have been able to see the end. I can see all the way across the bridge to the new beginning of highway 16 that empties off into a white vignette. The other "end" however, when I imagine it, seems more like the beginning. It just feels that way. It's as if I am caught up in the preamble of my own life. I just need to cross the bridge and  begin. So what's holding me back? Am I going to miss the asphalt beneath my toes? Am I going to miss the hue, the mist? What if I never see the fog again? Fog is my worst fear and that is one of the few things I've known my whole life. Maybe I'm afraid of letting go of what I know. Maybe I just really need daddy and his Geo Metro to get me across; to get me through this. Maybe I just really need my dad. 

I fear though, that my dad is crossing a bridge of his own. I wonder what he sees when he closes his eyes. I wonder if he goes into these psychological scenarios like I do. I wonder if maybe we're on the same bridge but we're just too blind and too stubborn to realize that the other is there...that the other is still there and always has been.

We is me.

All of these water analogies leave me drowning in your sorrows.
It's a shame, the illusion I created and it mirrored as an illusion rather than a reality.
Why had I thought that it could've happened any differently?

~

Yo these cats is wack.

Mmm

I want something dark to happen.
I want to be part of something wonderful and mysterious.

سکیبھائی

You are every bit infectious as you are beautiful.

Like scotch broom.

We all let you bleed yellow, spreading like wildfire, inticing...

...until someone rips you from the ground.

And the only thing you leave behind are sprinkles of dirt that fall from the discharged roots of your diseased weed; only to be made into mud when the rain comes to redeem the land you've galivanted upon.

سکیبھائی

Perfect.

You taste sweet to my imagination. Devouring every bite you reluctantly spoon feed me, digesting self-created pictures of you; admiring me. Sunlight pours in through basement windows, beaming on my bare shoulders. My eyes dance. You smile.

This bliss, although purely harvested by my own mind, resinates, solidly, again and again, as if it were a memory. I wish there were more, but this is all I have. An artificial memory.
A perfect one though.

Untitled.

When I woke up this morning, I felt as nauseous as when I had fallen asleep. My head was spinning and my mind was racing as if I were in a drunken stooper. Warning: Turmoil in Brooklyn.

Looking trough these plastic frames, my plastic nails tapping against plastic keys, it is hard to see the real in anything. Everything around me is a product, carefully marketed to myself, the consumer.
Chair, water bottle, pen, desktop computer, oversized heart-shaped ring, cell phone, back pack, smart board, key-chain, magazine, HIGH SCHOOL.
Everybody is thinking the same thing. Every one around me is so fake.

Every one around you is fake. Every single thing you do is fake unless directed toward yourself or one sole other person. Otherwise you're looking for attention are you not?
So can you blame me for waking up everyday sick to my stomach?

this is going nowhere.

i can't even spit it out on my blog...smh

My mom said, "Brooklyn, I think I know my daughter well enough to say that you're not driven. You care about your social acceptance more than your academic achievement."

I couldn't tell her this because it seems so pathetic to me but no, mom I don't start off every day thinking I want to be a great student! What you call my strive for social acceptance is actually me starting off every day thinking it would really, really be great to fall in love...

Girls go through boys like I go through fruit snacks.

If I could just have my one person I'd be happy.

My Girl.

It's our anniversary.

Crush a bit. Lil bit.

seventeen years old

I don't have anything to write about. Happy Birthday, self.

I never happened.

You never saw my picture, you never IM'd me and I never texted you afterwards.

You never texted me back, you never called me and the cops never came when we were watching a meteor shower at the park. We never went to Sonic and you never gave me your bracelet. I never gave you mine.

You never showed me your scar and I never kissed it and told you I didn't care. You never ever told me you were falling for me and I never believed it.

We never happened...

                         and I never happened.

I wish I had an enter key.

I ripped it off becuase it wasn't working. I kept smashing on the enter key and nothing was happening. Now that the little, black piece of plastic is lost somewhere in Brooke's room, never to be found, I am pressing down onto a little piece of rubber with my pinky every time I want to start a new paragraph.

I am getting quite tan.
Damn, Wiz Khalifa is ugly. Respect though.

I've recently become a spectacle or criticism. I can feel you burning holes into the back of my neck with the same eyes that read my facebook comments and blog posts. Get out.
I am and always will be the person that my own mind formulates. Whether the final product is influenced by you is determined by my allowance of it.

Brooklyn Taylor Gang.

the air smelled of kitty litter when i drove over the bridge with my window down this evening

I saw my new psychologist today. The first one didn't have a chance at unraveling my mess and making sense of my psychology, shit. I think it's because she was female.
This new guy, Dr. Frank. He's  the dopest little Santa Buddha to ever roam Tacoma. Our minds blend well. I've always adored Buddhism and to be able to talk to someone who thinks like me was awesome. We had a great conversation about sexual activity amongst teenagers.

My ex took me out to dinner tonight. Ice cream too, damn. I got mint chocolate chip  because it reminds me of my dad. Hmph. Ex is such an icky title. Ex... Extinct, Exiled, Executed, Exited out of. I don't think of him like that at all. More like... Experience, Example, Expectation. It's cute how we remember the little things about each other. Funny how his laugh became instanly familiar as soon as I heard it and how it still gives me little butterflies. I can still decide what laugh he's going to use as soon as he puts his head down and smiles; ahhh for when he's embarrassed, huh-huh-huh for when he sees someone getting hit in the face, and mmm hmhmhm when I do something cute. I can replay it in my head. All of them. I like to pretend that mmm hmhmhm replays the loudest so that I can say I must be real cute. I think that huh-huh-huh is probably the clearest though. It's crazy how someone can get to know you.

We were driving around aimlessly after failing to locate the Thai place so he said, "Just pick wherever you want". I freaked out because I didn't know what to do. I hate making decisions. I said "You know I can't make decisions." and when anybody else would have argued with me over the restaurant, Chris wouldn't talk until I pulled in somewhere. Made me do it on my own and that's what I needed.
Okay, time for these thoughts to become internal.

Boomerang.

Things have been returning to me lately. Coming back to me ever more so gracefully than they left. I was recently suprised when I was told that someone oh so familiar to the right side of my brain, yet oh so unfamiliar to my touch wanted to speak with me again after a year. I was even more suprised when the conversation went pleasently. I care more than he's ever known and I don't feel like it's wrong to do so anymore.

Migraines. I do not appreciate them, but they remind me of childhood. One day I had such a terrible migraine that I threw up a whole ceaser salad my mother had brought home from work.

The unexplainable, little, red bumps on my legs have returned after many years away. When I was younger I had them on my upper arms and thighs, like my sister. We would sit on her bed in our undies and pop our bumps together. Nothing but blood and clear fluid ever came out but it was almost addicting. I've noticed that now that they're back, even though on my shins and calves, I cannot stop picking at them. Some habits don't leave. They just rest dormant until you're tempted.

A relationship with the most influential person to ever be involved in my life is also returning. Things are not the same as they use to be and they never will be. We are not meant to be together, but we are meant to be with eachother... through it all. I thought I was the only one who believed that until he stepped up. He's really becoming the great man I always knew he could become.                 

It's a beautiful thing to have you in my life, love.

My dreams; you know the ones in which two posts ago I was wishing would recur, have in fact recurred. I was awakened this morning by the sweet voice of Grace (my best friend's mother who lets me live in her home) saying, "You might want to wake up hun". I had fallen asleep expecting to wake up in fifteen minutes like I had everytime Megan's alarm went off for the past three weeks. This morning was different, or rather... normal. I fell asleep and began to dream. I dreamt for an hour that felt like six and woke up sweating profusely from every crevase in my tremoring body. I cannot recall the events of the dream now, but I am excited to dream again tonight and hold in something to question throughout the day tomorrow.

119.53 Lbs.

I went to the doctor today to discuss irregular periods.

not gonna lie.

"Go ahead and step up on the scale for me."

120 POUNDS

120, 120, 120, 120, 120.

I looked down today.

knowing i wouldn't like the sight.

Belly everywhere.

I've been looking down in the shower, adjusting my posture until I can see my toes since I was six years old.

Ten years, 79.53 pounds later, same insecurity.

One, two, three, CRUNCH.

One, two, three, CRUNCH.

Bored.

I'm bored with my life.
I'm bored with my blog.
At the time, they haunted me. Granted me restless nights. Now though, I wish I still had insanely twisted, adventurous and realistic dreams. Just so I would have something to write about. Something exciting.

When I started this, I admired my own mind. Maybe it's because I was so depressed and constantly reveled in my own thoughts. Therefore, I was extremely familiar with my opinions and thinking tangents. I enjoy the happiness, but I miss thinking so deeply. I just had a lot of alone time to use up.

Alone time.