Isitadream's Blog

I hated knowing what was going to happen. I didn't know when "now" was happening, when the future starts, or when the past ends. My head was to full thinking about those things to try and think about what was happening right now. He was here and I was here, but it didn't feel right to call us a "we" at the time. He and I were siitting in his room; this was the safest and most familiar place I had known in a while, but somehow now it felt eerie and hard to breathe in.

He looked up at me and I could hardly see his eyes; how was I supposed to know that he was being honest? Did I belive him? If I did, I doubted I would still be questioning it. Would he be willing to say this tomorrow, yesterday? I stared into his hidden eyes and squinted a little in concentration.

"You don't have to say it back you know."

Oh, he was talking to me. I had to focus on his voice now, seek a speck of earnesty. I didn't answer, just looked at him, all my questions in my eyes, hopefully.

More talking from him, "It's fine if you don't love me. I don't care anymore. Just know that I love you more than anything. If you can't say it, it's fine."

What was he saying? He loved me, but he didn't care if I didn't? I mumbled a question, "What do you mean? Do you still want to? Even if I can't tell you I love you?"

He turned his head and looked intently at his shoes thrown on the floor beside him, avoiding my stare. He shrugged; a very childish shrug, ad if his mom had just asked him if he had broken something.

"It's not that I don't love you," I paused for what was probably too long. I needed to figure out how to say this without sounding mental, "it's just that what if I wake up here tomorrow morning?"

"You've woken up here before a bunch of times." This was true. Countless times I had fallen asleep in his bed. But notthing had happened. I just felt safer here.

I shook my head no, "But if I did after tonight, it won't be the same. What if I roll over and look at you and your bright green eyes had faded and your morning smile turned to a grimace?" So much for not sounding crazy. I couldn't stop now, "And what if I leave and you never come and find me?"

I looked at him, I supose I had been focusing all my attention to my feet. He was gazging at me this whole time; comprehending my paranoid ramblings.

i wrote this for Lit the other day

 

He thought his life was crashing

yet he thought he knew enough

He decided to take a few wrong turns

Swore his heart, it would not touch

 

He took a few too many and

drank a bit too much

Thought he could live by dying

Swore his head, it would not touch

 

I looked at him and wintnessed as he broke and fell

I wished that he could find a way

to turn back now

to keep the monsters away

 

But now his bodys broken.

Were helping him rebuild

It rips and tears and falls apart.

his emptiness we fill.

 

Still sometimes he falters

But we know that its ok

Well pick him up agian and he

will have the strength for another day

 

It touched his head

It broke his heart

and now he looks at me

and tells me that he wished 

that he knew why

 

 

I used to post things I wrote all over the interweb. I didn't for a long time and erased nearly everything I ever had. I don't really know why I'm starting to write things (or rather write them and post them) but I think I need to. Something in my head keeps telling me that keeping all of my thoughts in my head, or on paper that is destined to become ashes in my backyard, is what's driving me crazy and keeping me up at night.

I want to sleep again. I don't care if the nightmeres come back. I just want to sleep.

I close my eyes and refuse to open them until my breathing slows. Until I'm sure I can handle the reality that I'm unsure what reality is. He puts his arm around my tiny shoulder, acting as if he really cares, or rather, understands. I doubt he does. I don't even. I can feel the moon shining on my face and arms and the sudden cold air resting on my head, but it doesn't startle me. It makes me feel something other than the extreme paranoia I'm used to. He asks me whats wrong, like my breakdown earlier that night hadn't shown him enough. I shake my head, and rock back and forth unkowingly. He sighs and from the way I can feel his arm move on my shoulder, I know he's shaking his head and getting up to leave. To leave me here. As his shoes hit the pavement quietly, I open my eyes for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. I don't see him look back, but still, I take in everything about what my eyes see. The night sky, dull and faded, the suburban street lights not helping to illuminate it, the grass on my lawn and how its managing to still look green in the darkness, and the back ok his head as he walks away. I'm not sure if he'll walk back here, but I can't think of that. I'm too busy finding out what reality means. This can't be it.