I haven't written in a while. The stories, they're not coming. The questions, they're not coming.
I hope I haven't lost my imagination. I really do... I miss it =(
I... haven't been a good friend lately. I'm going to try.
I can smell drama.
I don't care, as long as it's for a good cause.
I...
think that I'm sticking. I'll tell someone, someday, about the things that hurt. About the things I'm ashamed of. Not today, not tomorrow.
Someday?
I let out a long sigh. It's hard. These secrets... the hard part is not keeping it to myself. The hard part is letting it out.
And I need to let it out to let go.
He still runs in her blood.
And hers.
And hers.
And I sigh, yet again, because I understand. He ran in mine once too, remember?
I do, sometimes. And it's weird, because he didn't run particularly strong in mine.
Seb did. Seb... burned deeply in my veins, stayed in my system and beat with my heart.
But I know now that he's not the one. Somedays I wish he was. He could've been. But he's not. He still runs in my blood. But... not near as much as he did then.
I think... he'll always be there, somewhere.
I think... that I'm feeling melancholic. It's not easy.
I thought it was, but I didn't see the sharks underneath.
Pray that it smells no blood.
Pray that it takes no life.
Pray that if it does, what's broken will be fixed.
It started like a normal blog, as the title says. I think that books should have two titles. The one decided at the beginning. The one decided at the end.
My ending title: there will be blood
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
(untitled)
Saturday, February 7, 2009
I have the bones of a story in my head, it's been hanging around there for quite a while...
What if you knew exactly when you were going to die? Since the day you were born? Rachel Blair has known since she was born that she'd die when she was 27 years, 87 days, 14 hours and a couple minutes old. It is not a vision, it didn't come in a dream. She just knew. She's denied it, defied, ignored it and now she simply accepts it and plans to live her life to the fullest. She takes nothing for granted, especially the life she holds so dearly. The only thing she vows is to never fall in love and especially never be loved in return.
She meets the love of her life at twenty-five, but dares not to fall in love with him. Because she knows that she has a little less then two years to be with him, she fights what she feels. Ben Gaber is the boy-next-door type, with the big heart and wholesome good looks. He knew, aas soon as he saw her, that she was the one. He loves everything about her: her confidence, the ease of how she lives, her bright laughter and constant smiles. After months of courting, flirting and persuading, they develop a relationship. Rachel struggles with telling him, not sure he'll believe. Ben knows there's something under the surface of that confident smile, he knows she's holding something back. She won't say yes to his marriage proposal and she won't say why. Rachel fights with telling him, and just wants to live a normal life, but the clock is ticking ever so quickly and there's nothing she can do. They're forver fighting, and she begs him, tells him to cherish the time they have and that he'll understand soon. He can't do anything but accept it.
The night before she dies, she's made her decision. She doesn't want to see him die, doesn't want him to be hurtm in case it's an accident.
So, on the morning of her death, she leaves the apartment they share and leaves him with a note.
I'm sorry Ben, I couldn't tell you. I'll always love you, forever.
I'm just sorry that my forever is nothing but 27 years.
My life is over, but yours have yet to begin.
Forget me, forget what we have and move on.
Love, always, Rachel
She goes out that day, she setted her watch to count down till the moment of her death. She contemplates how she'll die. A health problem? An attack? She wonders as she strolls the street of New York, brazenly accepting her death. She has prepared for it all her life. She just wished that Ben was prepared, too.
She sees a boy, run along his mother and tears up a bit, thinking of the child she and Ben could have had. The life they could have built and the months she wasted, resisting him. The boy runs into the street, laughing and all innocent, unaware of the car sppeding ahead. She runs, pushes the boy and hears the watch alarm sound. Time's up.
Ah, she thinks, right before impact, so that's how it ends.
Ben comes home, sees the note and feels worried, confused. He calls her cell but it's not on. He panicks and calls her, again and again. He finds the journal she kept underneath the bed. One she started after she accepted to go on a date with him, one explaining how she felt. How mad she was at the world, at god because it wasn't fair, how scared she felt of death, how much she loved him and how helpless she felt. He denies it, denies what she writes but deep inside, he knows.
The door bell rings and he rushes to answer it, hoping with all his might that it was Rachel.
Two cops are at the door, with their useless words.
"I'm sorry sir, but there's been an accident concerning your girlfriend..."
The words fade and he all but collapse.
"Is she alright?" He hears himself saym "Tell me she's alright, please." But he knows the truth.
"She's barely survivng, the paramedics had to rescusitate her a couple of times and she's in critical condition, but they think she'll be fine..."
That's all I have. Hope you enjoyed =)
Comment please
What if you knew exactly when you were going to die? Since the day you were born? Rachel Blair has known since she was born that she'd die when she was 27 years, 87 days, 14 hours and a couple minutes old. It is not a vision, it didn't come in a dream. She just knew. She's denied it, defied, ignored it and now she simply accepts it and plans to live her life to the fullest. She takes nothing for granted, especially the life she holds so dearly. The only thing she vows is to never fall in love and especially never be loved in return.
She meets the love of her life at twenty-five, but dares not to fall in love with him. Because she knows that she has a little less then two years to be with him, she fights what she feels. Ben Gaber is the boy-next-door type, with the big heart and wholesome good looks. He knew, aas soon as he saw her, that she was the one. He loves everything about her: her confidence, the ease of how she lives, her bright laughter and constant smiles. After months of courting, flirting and persuading, they develop a relationship. Rachel struggles with telling him, not sure he'll believe. Ben knows there's something under the surface of that confident smile, he knows she's holding something back. She won't say yes to his marriage proposal and she won't say why. Rachel fights with telling him, and just wants to live a normal life, but the clock is ticking ever so quickly and there's nothing she can do. They're forver fighting, and she begs him, tells him to cherish the time they have and that he'll understand soon. He can't do anything but accept it.
The night before she dies, she's made her decision. She doesn't want to see him die, doesn't want him to be hurtm in case it's an accident.
So, on the morning of her death, she leaves the apartment they share and leaves him with a note.
I'm sorry Ben, I couldn't tell you. I'll always love you, forever.
I'm just sorry that my forever is nothing but 27 years.
My life is over, but yours have yet to begin.
Forget me, forget what we have and move on.
Love, always, Rachel
She goes out that day, she setted her watch to count down till the moment of her death. She contemplates how she'll die. A health problem? An attack? She wonders as she strolls the street of New York, brazenly accepting her death. She has prepared for it all her life. She just wished that Ben was prepared, too.
She sees a boy, run along his mother and tears up a bit, thinking of the child she and Ben could have had. The life they could have built and the months she wasted, resisting him. The boy runs into the street, laughing and all innocent, unaware of the car sppeding ahead. She runs, pushes the boy and hears the watch alarm sound. Time's up.
Ah, she thinks, right before impact, so that's how it ends.
Ben comes home, sees the note and feels worried, confused. He calls her cell but it's not on. He panicks and calls her, again and again. He finds the journal she kept underneath the bed. One she started after she accepted to go on a date with him, one explaining how she felt. How mad she was at the world, at god because it wasn't fair, how scared she felt of death, how much she loved him and how helpless she felt. He denies it, denies what she writes but deep inside, he knows.
The door bell rings and he rushes to answer it, hoping with all his might that it was Rachel.
Two cops are at the door, with their useless words.
"I'm sorry sir, but there's been an accident concerning your girlfriend..."
The words fade and he all but collapse.
"Is she alright?" He hears himself saym "Tell me she's alright, please." But he knows the truth.
"She's barely survivng, the paramedics had to rescusitate her a couple of times and she's in critical condition, but they think she'll be fine..."
That's all I have. Hope you enjoyed =)
Comment please
Friday, February 6, 2009
Words
Friday, February 6, 2009
They say a picture is worth a thousand words but I shake my head and say no. The power of words lay not in quantity but quality and those thousand words hold no direction. A simple phrase can make you feel or make you think but a thousand words will only bore. Furthermore, words have power, have impact, have meaning and sometimes, pictures simply cannot comprehend. Words provoke, they make you think and bury themselves deep into the mind. Images are but an impression, a shock at first that later fades.Words last.
Posted with LifeCast
Sunday, February 1, 2009
A Character...
Sunday, February 1, 2009
She's ugly. The core of her, anyhow. I won't say she's beautiful on the outside; she's not. The surface, that thin veneer is plain. No adornments, very solemn murky colors. Her mouth is slight, her eyes are quiet. She hates inside, oh, but it is a quiet hate. It won't burn out soon. A ghost, that's what she is, living in the past, clinging to regrets. She moves ever so gracefully, soundlessly. Invisible. She glides from corner to corner but none ever sees her. She feels little but the resentment, the hate she holds on to. It consumes her, like slow-moving poison. She'd be nothing without it. And she'll never die. Don't you know? You can't die twice.
Her name is forgotten, but we'll call her Solange
Her name is forgotten, but we'll call her Solange
Not a story either...
And it's not to pretty. Maybe language wise it is, but no content wise.
I don't feel like...
running, jumping, laughing, screaming, cheering, skipping, flying and trying.
I just feel very...
Still.
There's something in me that doesn't want to try. To live.
It's a bit scared, it's been hurt. it likes the dark, it likes to hide. It doesn't like noise, chaos, so it whispers and doubts, whispers and doubts. It's like a frightened child, looking, listening and never saying a word. Solemn eyes and careful movements. It hesitates- stops. It just wants to be left alone, in the very very cold.
I cry a little whenever I see it, because it's a part of me and I want it out.
I want to cut it out, rip it out, just tear it from me. But I can't do it because it isn't in me but it's a part of me, a part of my soul.
Oh the past can be a very ugly thing.
I don't feel like...
running, jumping, laughing, screaming, cheering, skipping, flying and trying.
I just feel very...
Still.
There's something in me that doesn't want to try. To live.
It's a bit scared, it's been hurt. it likes the dark, it likes to hide. It doesn't like noise, chaos, so it whispers and doubts, whispers and doubts. It's like a frightened child, looking, listening and never saying a word. Solemn eyes and careful movements. It hesitates- stops. It just wants to be left alone, in the very very cold.
I cry a little whenever I see it, because it's a part of me and I want it out.
I want to cut it out, rip it out, just tear it from me. But I can't do it because it isn't in me but it's a part of me, a part of my soul.
Oh the past can be a very ugly thing.
This is not a story, but...
It's a pretty piece of writing.
It's not easy.
Some days are heavy, my heart feels the weight.
And they're just not easy.
Some days I pretend they are.
Some days, I'm so good at pretending that I get caught up and believe I can make it easy.
Some days, there is no heaviness.
Some days, most days, are light and jaunty and I believe I can do everything and anything in between but then I look back and I've hardly done something.
Some days aren't easy... but I'm not giving up.
It's not easy.
Some days are heavy, my heart feels the weight.
And they're just not easy.
Some days I pretend they are.
Some days, I'm so good at pretending that I get caught up and believe I can make it easy.
Some days, there is no heaviness.
Some days, most days, are light and jaunty and I believe I can do everything and anything in between but then I look back and I've hardly done something.
Some days aren't easy... but I'm not giving up.
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