Good news on a bad night

She contacted me!!!

My eyes welled up with tears when I saw the name in my Inbox.  She got my letter, a bit late, but, well, it got to her.  And she sent me an e-mail.

Things may not have been going so well around here lately, but, this...this is one majorly good thing that has happened.  My worries have subsided quite a bit, and I can smile broadly about something.  She is alright.  She is alright, and she contacted me.

I wish her all the best, and, now, I can tell her that and know that she knows.

Some love has been brought back into my life, some light, and it is in the form of a long lost friend that, somehow, I have been blessed with knowing.

Procession

I don't have much to say.  I do, but I would like to get to bed to try and sleep.

I just needed to share.

I feel younger each day.  Younger and older.  More and more like a child, in a way, but also like an aging older person.

I hate the way it runs through my head, the conversation this evening.  It's not wicked painful, but it's just...there.

Granted, my mind is a tad fuzzy, and I didn't want to think about it, so I must "fill in the blanks" a tad.  But the general gist of the conversation is here from what I can remember.

Putting my plate together for a little dinner, our tiny kitchen table.  She's in the other room, two down, on the phone, out of ear shot.  I place my plate on the table, turn to the fridge to put the remainder of my things away...
"So...do you think we should have an intervention?"
I am silent, waiting for him to continue.
"To discuss things.  Like [the doctor] said, so everyone is on the same page."
I still remain silent, a little confused.  He presses on without hesitation.
"...[your brother] has lots of questions."
"Well, that's [him].  He's the biggest worrier of us all.  If he wants to ask questions, he can."
Apparently, I haven't quite grasped the conversation.  I don't know how it hits here, but the anchor drops as he bluntly puts what we're getting at.
"...funeral...but I don't want to ask because it looks like we are giving up, and we aren't."
Surprising myself, I discuss the topic matter-of-factly, not blinking an eye, no wetness of eyes, no breaking in voice.  We conclude that he shall ask, but we won't really bring it up.  I think.  I think that was what was concluded.

I guess my point is that I didn't expect this talk.  I'm still in that "shock" state, I guess, or I simply have hardened myself to the point that I am taking things scientifically and not really putting myself into the situations, despite me actually being in them.  It's like when I sometimes remember my dreams...I see myself, I watch myself do things, but I am not really myself.  I am myself, but I am, rather, watching myself.  It's odd.  Sometimes I do the same with memories.  It is as if I am hovering in the air, watching invisibly as I see my memories and dreams happen below.  So strange.  Anyhow.

The words...they seem so foreign.  So out of place.

I only overhear things.  I do not ask much anymore.  I don't want to know.

Lymph nodes turning into...  Growing...  Chemo...Thursday...two week...  There are just little things that go in and out of my mind.  They filter through but get jumbled around in the process.  Or they are there, neatly in file folders, but I brush dust and dirt onto them so that it is as if they are not there, forgotten, pretend figments of the imagination.

I guess I did have quite a bit to say.  More so than I thought, at least.

I want to talk to people about my thoughts.  I want to tell them what's going on in my mind.  I want to talk to someone and tell them things so that I can realize them and cry about it.  Only yesterday did we get the news that things are worsening.  In a way, it's to be expected, but, well, no one wants that.  And, you know, people beat the odds all the time.  So that's what I was hoping for, I guess.

She sat on the couch this evening, hand on her temple.  I knew it hurt.  I asked.  "I have a headache."  To any other person, you'd offer some ibuprofen or something.  Not in this case.  I had no idea what could help.  And I could see the pain and suffering and sadness and fear in her.  It was as if she was saying, "It hurts so much.  I don't know what to do.  I just don't know what to do."  And all I could do was sit there.  I couldn't rub her temples to make it go away.  I couldn't give her some ibuprofen to make it hurt less.  And all I could think was what I thought she was thinking, and how I couldn't help.  I couldn't make her feel any better in any way.

And that's how I feel now.  I don't know what to do.  I'm at a loss.  The best I can do thus far is give her a hug and try to put all of myself into it so that she knows it is a real hug and feels love in it.  I can tell her that I love her and hope she feels it and it heals something inside, somehow.

Distractions only do so much.  Reality is always here.  I'm going to do random things throughout the day, then shove off to work at night.  I'll temporarily forget about things for a while until I come back.  I'll be tired.  And things will just pass my mind.  I'll go to bed.  And repeat the process.

I don't know what to say right now.

What can I do?  What am I doing?

How can I make this reality not seem so bad?  How can I take what scraps we have left and sew them up into something wonderful?  How can you put together life when it's slipping away?  It's like I'm trying to make clothing out of sand.  You can only do so much with glue.  It all falls apart anyhow.  That's not even a good simile.  I can't think of anything good enough right now.

When money is slim, when so many bills must be paid off, when you can't even hold yourself together...how can you make it better for someone else whose life is...

How?  What?  Please, just...say something.

Innocence

It's gotten to the point in which I do not know what to say or do anymore.  Perhaps I do know.  But it just doesn't seem like anything, or it doesn't seem like enough.

I feel guilty about missing the past two weeks' fears that I thought I would chase down.  If I went, would this news not be here today?  I doubt it...I cannot stop such things.  But I can hope, I can try.

I feel so selfish.  I think we all do, at times.  Is it selfish of me to focus on myself so much now?  Does my poor excuse of fear, of thinking about this all, does it hold something?  The idea of thinking about what I have been told, the idea of sitting there, bearing it, having it on my mind...  I don't want to face it.  I want to pretend it's not there.  I understand that it'll hurt me in the long run, but I am not ready for this pain right now.  I do not want it here, I do not want it in my face.

I held her frail body in a hug a little bit ago.  I fought back tears and didn't cry.  I refuse to cry.  It'll happen.  It'll probably happen soon.  But I don't want to cry right now.  Denial is the only thing that seems safe right now.  I should probably sit with her and be there and talk or listen or do whatever is needed.  But, right now, I cannot.  She is on the phone, so I am using that as an excuse to run to my bedroom and hide from the reality outside of my door.

I wonder if I take up smoking if it will kill me faster.

All of my thoughts seem so pointless, meaningless.  Selfish, stupid, nothings.  I'm trying to turn my heart to stone to make this bearable.  All the cliché things to make the pain temporarily not there, and the cliché knowing that it really is still here all along and it will bite me in the ass sooner or later.  How long?  If I cry now, what will it do?  If I cry later, isn't it all the same?  We're all just fucked.  So what does it matter.

I wonder if I'm writing to myself.  Does writing here make myself feel better, give me some sense of something?  Do I really believe someone is reading this, is it comforting?  Do they keep their mouths shut because, in a way, they are like me, afraid?  Afraid to say something, afraid of what is real.  I believe so.  I don't know if it's cowardice or what.  I'm sorry for being blunt.  But, at the same time, I am not.  It's alright.  I don't like to talk about things, anyhow.

I am a liar.

So back to watching Trainspotting.  Funny.  I thought about what it'd be like to try heroine.  Thought, heh, I wonder if it really is that powerful, that good.  I wonder, if I could only get my hands on it once, would it be worth it?  This was all before I got that knock on my door that said, "It's not good news."

As suspected, this week...

I'm just not going to have expectations anymore.  I'm going to try and not care about anyone else that much anymore.  Life is trivial.  So are people.  We're just statistics that elaborate our stories to be remembered.  All in all, though...what do we really matter, anyhow?  We're all going to die anyway.

What's this button do?

My body has hit the Self Destruct button.  No idea why.  It's committing suicide without my consent.  I never signed a DNR or anything.  So what the hell, body?

I have a cold or sinus infection or something.  Whatever the case, my body has decided to also decided that, hmm, maybe it should have an allergic reaction to something.  Not sure what at all.  I have an inkling it may be medicine?  But it doesn't make sense.  But it does.  So, who knows.  But it's the only thing that makes me feel slightly better...so, in order to fight the one, I'll endure the other.  Bring on the body eating itself out from the inside...  My throat itches, my insides itch...  Bring it, you m*therf*cker.



And, despite all this anger, there is still the lingering, looming sadness and depression of life.


We sit at the dinner table, eating creamy chicken and broccoli with rice.  I cannot hear well, due to my current state, but I can still hear the piercing sound of silverware on plates.  Every bit is a screech.  I cough, fearing that my current illness will worsen hers and kill her.  I cough into napkins and my own shirt, silently praying that no germs escape my area.  The thought of killing the one who is already sick, the one who, despite being so weak and frail, takes care of you.  In a way, you just want to be the one to die first.

"I really think you should take that medicine," she tells me after I finish eating and go to the bathroom to blow my nose and wash my hands.  If only it had poison in it, I think.

The clank of plates drives me insane, puncturing my eardrums.  I wince.

I cannot describe the air while we had dinner.  It was so quiet and sad.  I felt like we were all thinking the same things as we ate our food, not saying anything.  You think it's so much better once you move out and start your "own life".  But you forget what it's like for those back at home.  The light seems dim and murky.  The silence bites your souls and eats away at your mind.

"She said it was a routine mammogram, but she is still worried."

Discussing a family friend.

There is silence for a while after he comments on it, too.

I feel the silence...  It's this thing, this ominous cloud.  I feel like we're all thinking, she could be sick, too.

How many more must get sick before we can call this an epidemic or something?  Is this nature's way of taking down our overpopulation?  Take down all the women in our town?  The ones we grew up with, the ones that helped teach in our schools or put us on the bus.  The ones that nurtured us until we because "adults".  All being taken away.

Whatever the case, I can't say it's fair or isn't fair.  The balance of Earth is off.  I want to say, eh, this is life.  But, when it deals with your life, the way these strings are intertwined, the way you have grown to love one another, the way you have always thought you'd live a long life with those you love, to have your own children and extend this family, to see them smile when they find out they're grandparents...

We've all been living this lie.  This fantasy.  No one explained the hardships quite too well.  We all think things are to be fine and dandy.  Old people die.  But what about the ones that aren't so old?  Why weren't we prepared for things like this?  For all the funerals I've been to, for all the times this bastard thing has taken people from my life, from their lives...  Why, now, have I never been so underprepared in my life?

If only there was poison in it...

Shrink

The circle is shrinking.

Clouds.

Hesitant.


Random thoughts.  Confusion.


He has it all.  And then he jumps.


There are smiles.
There are hugs.
There is happiness.


Where'd that part go?
Tiny unicorn?

Wait for us.


Frd[rtsyr yp bir vw s;pmr/


Twist.


Fire in.


This...this is all just a load of sh*t.
And you're in it.  You just don't know it.
There's never a "me" without a "we".


You're not the only one.

Flyers and Papers

I still don't know if she's okay.

If you're out there, please be alright.  I doubt you'll see this.  But, if, somehow, you do, please let me know that you're alright.

I feel crazy.  But, well, if a friend of yours just stops contacting you back for three months with absolutely no warning or reason, when all was fine between you two, wouldn't you worry, too?  The only positive thing I can say is that, at least, the phone rang, even if there was no pickup.  Because that means a phone was charged, right?  I'm a bit confused, and quite saddened and worried, but I still have some faith that things are alright.

I just want that, for her to be alright.  I feel like there's a little dent in me for some reason.  Even if we weren't the type of friends that were "tied at the hip", I still feel as though there is some connection that makes me feel this way.  I do hope that, one day, we'll be in contact again.

Be alright, my friend.  Be happy, be loved, be alright.  No matter what, I am always here for you.  And I always will be.

Embellishing a Dream

I had a really freaky dream this morning, just before my alarm went off.  Who knows if my alarm didn't go off...  Anyhow, this is it, embellished a bit to fill in cracks, etc.

You're back at your old house, packing up the remainder of your clothes.  Oh, how you'll miss this place...  Its soft, pale green walls, the squishy blue chair, your cream white bed...

You gently place the clothes you are folding in a duffel bag to be taken with you to the new place and sigh as you look about the room.  Door askew, you spot a woman and young man walking up the steps.  Your heart beats faster.  Panic.  You rush to the door to close it-

She's already got her hand on the door, keeping it from closing.  Heart pounding, you stand there like a deer caught in headlights in the middle of the road.

"He's coming."  Her face is gentle and kind, fresh and young looking for her age.  She is smiling despite the bad news she brings.  Your heart beats harder and faster, afraid now.  "He's coming," she repeats, glancing behind her at the staircase.  Fear pulses through your veins like a speeding car.  She turns and walks away with the boy.

You close the door and lock it, hands shaking, lock jiggling.  You're safe...for now...  You return to your clothes-folding, nervously packing away shirts.  It won't be long now.  You glance over at the door.  Nothing.  Nothing, yet.

Fold more shirts, pack away.  Heart beating like a scared rabbit.  Hands shaking.  He's coming.  She warned you.  He's on his-

A shadow slips from under the door.  It is long and thin.  You gulp quietly.  Damn it, don't make a sound.  He mustn't know I'm here.  Maybe he'll go away.  The shadow moves back under the door and out of your room.  You are holding your breath, desperately praying that he has left.  Your door shakes.  He is hacking away at your door handle with his scythe.

It is ironic that you think, "I wish I was dead right now."  But, in reality, you don't want to die.  You are just frightened out of your mind.  He continues to hack away at the door handle.  You fall to the ground, body limp and unable to hold itself up anymore.  Panic stricken, shocked, afraid...  You lay on the floor, seeing only what is in front of you.  Just small piles of clothes and your duffel bag.  Sound is starting to numb, and the hacking at the door is light in your head.  You close your left eye.  The right is half closed, keeping you only just aware that Death is upon you soon.

The fear starts to fade, as does your mind.  It's only been a few seconds since Death's shadow appeared and you fell to the floor, but it seems like everything has been in slow motion.  You blink, right eye starting to roll back into your head, but repositioning itself back in place.  Everything slow in your brain, sounds muffled.  He's coming.

You lay there, motionless.  She was right.  You must face him now.  The only question in your mind is:  Why such short notice?

*Note:  Despite there being a door between the character and Death, the shadow strangely had a face.  It was as if he slipped under the door for a brief moment.  His face was silver with jagged blank darkness for a face.  If you've seen Donnie Darko, imagine Frank the bunny rabbit.  It was kind of like that...dark, deep...a face, but not a face.  Small and flat, though, and only a sliver was seen when it came under the door.  In such a way, this made it creepier.  No idea why it was able to come through with the shadow under the door, but, alas, this was a dream.  And they can be as freaky as hell.  And this one was.

Thumbtack

I really love quiet mornings.  There's something about the serene beauty of it all.

The sun rises and shines.  Every living thing seems to greet each other.  I feel as though the flowers wake up and smile at each other, warm hellos passed through their little smiles.

I don't really have much to write on this topic.  My mind is vivid with pictorials and such, but I'd rather swim in my own imagination and let you let yours wander, too.  Wake up in the morning and see what I'm talking about.  Do not speak with others, but quietly walk around (with your mug of coffee or tea, if you wish) outside and notice things.  It's quite beautiful.  Let yourself sink into the earth and feel.  Just feel.  Imagine.

I hope you have a wonderful morning.

Tub.

She was so unsure of herself.  She didn't understand.  She knew everything was alright, yet, it wasn't.

Perfect life.  Perfect family.  Perfect, that is, in her eyes.  Then, why?  Imagining drowning in the tub.  So lost in a downward spiral.  Quicksand.

You could walk up to her right now, and she'd turn, heart feeling dead, and smile.  Her eyes would change from empty to bright before she faced you, a split second.  You wouldn't know.  You won't know.  She could fake happiness like nobody's business.

She'd probably be happy for you to come into the room, brighten her day.  She'd probably forget everything that she wasn't understanding and be happy in that moment.  But, a while later, it'd all return.  And she wouldn't understand why.  But it'd happen.

Patterns.

Fear and Phone Calls

I want to do all I can.  But fear keeps me frozen in this pseudo-denial.

I'm going to write.  I don't know why, really.  I don't really have much of a talent for writing, and I don't really have a story that's unlike another.  But I'm going to do this anyway.  I don't know if I'll continue this.  I don't know if I'll go in order.  I'm just going to dive into something.



It was winter.  I should have known that things were going to take a crazy spin, for they always do in the gray winters at school.

First winter, I received news that a teacher of mine, from high school, had passed away.  I lost it, not knowing what to do or think.  I hadn't been on wicked close terms with her, but she was such a lovely woman, so young, so joyous...  She always was smiling, and she made the mornings bright.  I don't know anyone that ever thought a bad thought about her.  Her hair and skin was pale and soft, and, if you didn't know any better, you probably would have sworn she was, indeed, an angel sent to Earth.  Maybe she was, and maybe that is why she was taken away from us.

Second winter, for an unknown reason, I became severely depressed.  I cannot remember if I got any bad news then, or if anything bad really happened, but the depression was enough to wipe out the happiness that winter.  It followed what seemed to be an odd pattern that could form.  I didn't think much of it, just a funny coincidence.

Third winter.  This was when it hit.  This was the storm of them all.  I remember odd things happening in the fall.  But they never really came together in our minds until appointments with doctors and such.  I never discussed this with anyone because of fear and denial.  I didn't want to have to face it, just as I still do not want to face it.  I kept to myself; it was better that way.

I was in a night class, Introduction to GLBT Studies.  Funny how it was an introduction, yet no actual GLBT Studies class was offered.  I was awaiting a phone call, for she had gone to the hospital for surgery hours ago.  It wasn't supposed to take this long.  I was worried, but had a feeling that I was just being paranoid.  In a way, I was just paranoid.  No one died.  It was alright.

But, in another way, I was right.  It wasn't just a surgery.  It was serious.

The phone call came while I was listening to my professor lecture.  I loved that class.  I didn't want to be rude and keep my phone on, but this was too important.  I kept it on vibrate, in my pocket.  As people usually go out now and then to use the restroom, I slid out silently to pick up the call.  Dad spoke to me.  I don't remember the conversation fully, but I can remember the fear.  I can remember how calm he sounded.  As if it was matter-of-fact, just some procedure thing in life.  I guess it was better that way, because someone needed to be strong.  Because, despite my rough exterior, I'm brittle as thin glass and can shatter very easily.

Dad told me that the surgery took long, and that the things they were investigating were...  He never said the word.  Or maybe he did, and my mind refuses to recall it.  All I remember is sitting on the blue carpet in the hall, a few yards from the door, back against the wall, legs out in front of me.  Sitting there, phone pressed to ear, heart heavy and afraid.  And I cried.  I cried.

I waited a while before returning to class.  I checked in the bathroom to see if my eyes looked alright, hoping they didn't show sign of tears.  I looked alright.  I returned to class.

On a break, I asked my professor what would happen during the second half of class.  He told me something that said to me that I should stay.  It was hard to keep my voice from breaking when I spoke to him, and I tried my best to keep composure as if nothing was wrong.  I stayed in class and finished out the night.  I don't remember much else.

One thing I do remember was receiving an e-mail.

From: *********** ********
Sent: Thu 12/18 9:35 PM
To: ***** ********
Subject: ok?

*****,
Are you ok?  I am afraid that when you came up to ask me a question, you were upset and I was not helpful.  Were you were offended by something I said or something that occurred in class?  I hope not but let me know if there is anything I can do.
Thanks,
***********

The e-mail touched my heart.  I semi-explained the situation and thanked him for his concern.

Christmas was rough that year.  In a way, it was one of our best ones, because it was full of so much love.  The same with New Year's.  To me, the holiday season was painful but full of hope.  We didn't mind spending our days in the hospital.  And she was happy to come home in time for the New Year.  It made it special, that December 31st.  We surrounded a hospital bed that was put in our home, and cheers-ed to the New Year.  We had such hope.

We still do have hope.  I am sad to report that my hope, my heart, is jaded.  It tries so hard, but it runs away a lot.  Whenever it overhears something medical, it hides in its shell.

It's hard to sit on the couch anymore.  Every small thing that comes up, any little pain she gets, scares the shit out of me.  Today, I rested my head on a pillow next to her.  She petted my hair lightly.  I kept my eyes closed, hoping the tears wouldn't come out.  They did.  I kept my eyes closed and hoped she didn't see.  I know I should speak to her, but the idea of bringing all my fears onto the table scares me, for I fear that she will become even more afraid, more so than she already is.  I don't want to worry her.  I cry by myself instead, and I try to avoid it at all costs.  Distractions.  Denial.  Anything.

Even now, as I write this, I feel hot tears building up, that I am pushing away.  They're not spilling.  It's okay.  My throat feels like it's choking a little.  But it's subsiding.  Just push it away, I tell myself.  Just write this and let it go.  I know it's all a lie, a gray lie, like the skies during all those winters.  But it's what keeps me going, I guess.  Just as the winters come and go, so do these little lies.  We just have to wait for Spring to come.

Pause.

I told myself this wouldn't really be a blog, a journal.  It'd be a place for writings.  Things that I thought out.  Well, I'm sorry, but I'm breaking free of that thought, hopefully, temporarily.

I'm sitting here, pondering how, when things calm, and I have time to think, how it all washes over me again.  The tide comes in, covering the sand castles I've built, the shells I've collected.  They go out to sea and leave me as the tide swallows me up.

The shells will come back later.  I will rebuild my castles and moats.

But it'll all happen again.  Repeatedly.

I cannot think.  I cannot face this.  I know I have to, and, in a way, I am.

I can't even type the words.  I cannot even type the words.

Backspace, backspace.  Long pause.

I cannot even gain the courage to go.  To face what is here, what is real.  To be there when I am probably needed.  Because, then, it is real.  I avoid talking about it because, then, it is real.  I'm not insane.  And I know what's going on.  I just, simply, do not want to face it.  I cannot look it in the eye and say, "I accept you."  Because I don't.  I say, "Fuck you.  You're fucking terrible.  Go the fuck away and leave us alone.  Fuck off and die."  Or I simply ignore it and pretend things are normal, despite how they really aren't.  Nothing is the same.  I know that; I feel that.  Nothing.  How can you go on ignoring, pretending, when all around you is changing and not as it was or will be?  You cannot...  I guess I can't live in this space much longer.  This limbo land, this denial, this ignorance, whatever it may be.  But I want to.

I want to pause time.  Rewind.  Catch things before they fall.  Prevent what needs to be fixed.  I want to have what most other people have.  I want that.  I want to call it my own.  I want to not worry.  I want to be carefree.

You're curious.  I know.  Or you do know.  Please don't type it out here, spill the beans.  Please.  Let me live in my denial.  Let me pretend just a little bit longer.  Or hold my hand.  I've been told to talk about it.  I cannot.  This is my outlet.  Until I find another.  I'm speaking to everyone and no one at the same time. Maybe it's comforting, hoping someone will stumble upon this and read it, maybe they'll send some sort of hope or something that I'll feel somehow.  Who knows.

If you pray...please pray.  If you hope, please hope.

It's selfish.  But I'm not ready to throw in the white cloth.  I'm not giving up without a fight.  I'll fight dirty, too, if I have to.  But I'm not giving in.  Don't you fuck with me, whoever you are, whatever you are.  We're not ready, we're not giving in.  So maybe you should be the one to give up and wait longer.  You fucking bastard.  You fucking piece of shit bastard.  I'm sorry.  I don't mean it.  Just.  Please.  Don't do this anymore.  Please.

Dim Sung.

Our lives have been reduced to sleeping on chairs and couches.

The light barely streams through the window, a gray ambience.

Motivation slipping through fingers; hope being a thread that just barely holds us together.

My eyes droop, my heart sinks.

I can barely stand to stay; I can hardly think to leave.

Is this what has become of us?

Is this what we shall stay?

There is hope.  There is love.  We shall hold it together.  We shall prosper when we can.

My heart is breaking, and I fear it forever being broken and slightly wilted.  This was not in my life plans.

A year ago, I started dying.  It feels like longer than that.  Since October, since December, those years ago, that phone call, the hallway, how nothing seemed the same.

It's funny how you recall all of the things that make up the story, yet you don't quite want to be able to do so.  Like 9/11, you remember where you were, what you were doing, your thoughts...  Crying in the hallway, knowing it was a bad call, trying to stay upbeat, denial...  Saying to yourself, it's going to be okay.  Not really sure what everything meant.  Thinking, it's just a little thing; it's just something small.  Do not worry.  It's okay.

The time passes; you keep to yourself.  It's all going to be okay.  Do not worry.  Nothing looks that bad.

And it doesn't.  Or does it?  There are only so many smiles a person can hold.  So many white lies that can be told to hide what one is feeling.  There is only so much denial you can live in before you break apart, break down.

Life never was fair.  It's what makes it life.  It's hard.  It's a bitch.  And you deal with it.

It just sucks that this is how it must go.  You think, well, this is what is supposed to happen.  It's all how it is supposed to be.  And it is.  But you don't want it to be.  You want to smile again, you want to see your future, clear, together, and happy.  You don't want to think "what if".  You don't want to think, will I ever have that?  You don't want to see your friends, happy, with their families, wondering, will I be able to have that, too?  You don't want to wonder what it is, what it will be...  Every moment, every day...  Afraid to move on in fear that life will stop.  Afraid to take a step.  Afraid to even leave the room. To go to sleep.  Afraid that when you wake up, you'll be alone.  When you come home, you will be alone.  Afraid to live.

How do we live when things are dying?

My heart is breaking.  My heart is broken.  I hold a heavy story that may scare others away.  I fear speaking truth because I don't want to believe it.  I fear getting close to others because I'm afraid they'll run away.  Because, sometimes, I want to run away, too.

All this is is rambling.  But it's so much more than that.  It's what you'll never know, never understand, never truly see.  There's so much more than what is in between these lines and behind the pixels.

I don't know what I need.  I don't know what I believe.  But I'll grasp onto hope and love as if it's my life that is being lost.

Milk Carton.

To me, this is a rather serious matter.  Maybe I'm just paranoid.  And, yes, I'd like to believe it, especially in this case.

It's been a couple months, about three, since I last heard from my one friend.

I miss her, and I am worried.  She pops into my mind, and I worry.  I worry if she is okay.  I just cannot get scary thoughts out of my mind, wondering why there has been such absence.  I have tried to contact her via e-mail, but I'm not sure if she uses the one e-mail anymore, as neither do I, and I have misplaced her other e-mail, which, she said before, she rarely used anyway.  I've sent messages via text.  I should call.  Not now, of course, but, well, I should.  My mind goes crazy.  I don't want to bother her, but I am worried sick.

I guess this isn't really something written, not really something like a short story or poem or something.  I just had to get it out, somewhere.  These are my true feelings, my true fears.

Wherever you are, my dear friend...  Please be safe.  Please be happy.  Please be alright.  I miss you so much.  And I am deeply worried about you.  Be okay.  Please, somehow, get back to me.  I feel crazy thinking that, should this absence continue, I may resort to driving hundreds of miles to find you again in hopes that you are alright.  It is fine if you do not want to be friends or speak with me, although I would hope that would not happen.  Just, please, confirm that you are alright.  Please.

I send her my love.  I send her happiness.  Please.  Be okay.  Please.

S.S.

Tears streaming down her face,
She is happy.
Grateful.

He lays a hand upon her shoulder
Gently
Kissing the droplets away;
She smiles.

From the basement to the room,
The changes.

It's not often for Mariya to smile in such a way.  When she does, you know there is pure happiness beaming out from her like the sun shines out from behind the moon during a solar eclipse.  Mariya is a quiet girl, a knowledgable girl.  She is beautiful, but you wouldn't notice her in a crowd for she oftentimes has her head in the clouds and does not stand out against other girls clad in tight clothes and makeup.  Her beauty is soft and natural; her hair flows in the wind when she walks through fields, brushing her hands along the tall grasses.  She is a dream, and you can only hope to meet her in your deepest sleep.

The months have passed for Mariya since that day, the day she walked through the rose garden.  It was her favorite place to go to relax and be surrounded by the beauty that God had given the Earth.  The way He bestowed such a gift upon the humans to be able to bring all of the flowers together amazed her, and walking through the rows of roses made her feel like she was in heaven.  She'd close her eyes and breathe the scent of the air, misted with a rose perfume, and soak it all in.  Maybe that was her mistake.  Maybe that was her blessing.

She remembers the roses.  She remembers the rose garden.  She remembers that day.  But one can't help but wonder what parts are missing, what parts have faded in her delicate mind.

She didn't know his name before they met.  He tells her that his name is Tomi, and she believes him. When you see them together, you can see how she is falling in love with him.  He gives her flowers and holds her hand, his icy eyes looking like deep oceans to her.  His face is charming; his jaw is straight with just the right angles, and he has soft, dark hair that she likes to run her fingers through.

Years from now, they'll be just another couple in the city.  They'll move there together and start a family.  Mariya will have roses on the terrace of their fifth-floor apartment.  Tomi will work at a big office, keeping his secrets in a locked box in his desk.  Their children will run and play in the park, pet border collie herding them up once in a while.  Mariya will smile, happy.  Other mothers will envy her, but they will wonder about her quiet disposition and beautiful but lifeless eyes.

Mariya dreams of the future.  She sits on her bed, a small twin, and dreams of it while she waits for Tomi to visit her.  He brings her food and keeps her company.  She looks into his eyes when he speaks, smiling gently, listening to every word.  When he leaves, she is saddened.  He is her only friend now.  The rest have all left.  It didn't mean much, since she was such a quiet girl, and having Tomi was enough.  It was as if he knew...he knew that this was meant to be like this.  As if God had told him to find her in the rose garden that day.

She won't tell you much.  She'll just explain how they met in the rose garden and saved her life.  You'll wonder about it, but her soft words are so convincing that you'll believe her, too.  What was lost might be gone forever.  To dig it up would only lead to tragedy in her world, and one must wonder if that would be worth the trouble.

Dream #1

I'm used to having really strange dreams.  So, this one was nothing out of the ordinary.  The sense of fear, the panic:  used to it.

Basically, I was at my old house.  Things are getting foggy in my mind now, so bear with me.  I remember being at the table in the kitchen, three or four strange people eating with me.  Across from me sat a tall, dark-haired man with scruff, body built like a lean (but strong) construction worker.  His eyes were frightening when he got mad, for they sparked anger.  They must have been a lighter color; I seem to see more expression in those sometimes than darker ones.  He had taken some giant poster of mine and was opening it up and crumpling it, which angered me, and I fought with him on not ruining it, which he did anyhow.  Mind you, this was a dream, so it really does make no sense at all, and, therefore, this part was rather strange.  I ended up being a hostage in my own home.

Fade into another scene that I recall.  Looking out the front window in fear and sadness as this group of people, the ones that had been at the meal, knocked on my neighbor down the street's door, pretending to want to see their fabulous house (It was rather fabulous, so much so that the house, at the push of a button, pulled itself apart to expand to reveal a game room that some of the family members were playing ping pong at, then closed again.) but with the intention of somehow robbing them.  All I could do was watch, scared, with my boyfriend (also hostage with me) for company.  I remember thinking to myself, Why don't we escape now?  But that wasn't possible, because, in my dream, I knew I couldn't, because, well, something terrible would happen.  They'd hunt us down; it wasn't worth the risk.

Fade to another scene.  This scene was more like a feeling.  I was woozy and blacking out, afraid.  I didn't quite understand what was going on while I sat on the family room floor, beige carpet under my bottom, feeling it in between my fingers.  It was like someone was playing with the dimmer on a light, up, down, up, down.  All I knew was fear and uncertainty; something bad was happening.

Fade to following my boyfriend, who was putting on his shoes, afraid that if I didn't reach him in time, he'd leave without me.  I, still woozy, hobbled across the family room, through the kitchen, to the laundry room to put on my shoes, too, and head to the garage.  I wasn't sure where we were going, but I knew it was bad.

Fade to being in the car with my boyfriend, driving somewhere.  We were on a mission to help these bad people.  If we didn't, who knows what would have happened.  In my mind, again, I thought, Why don't we just escape now, take the car and go get help.  Why can't we just run away now?  But we couldn't.

Fade to more driving in the car.  My boyfriend was freaking out.  He told me that we should have told him I was coming with him, we didn't check in on time, you were already late (on coming with him), something something...  I could hear panic in his voice through his slightly angered-through-frustration voice.  All I knew was that I was afraid again, and we were driving back to my house (Going the wrong way, mind you - hey, it's a dream - the way that I'd go to high school each morning those years ago...very odd.).  I told him that I didn't feel good, that I felt that I had been drugged.  He drove fast, and I was afraid of what would happen if I fell asleep.  Everything was still pulsating black and my body felt heavy and hard to control.  What would happen if I fell asleep?  Would I be hurt, tortured?  Would they have more control over me, would it be even more hard to try and escape this situation?

And, then, I woke up, afraid to go back to sleep.

Stupid, useless writing.

It's kind of like that bad writing you wrote in high school, the stuff you were forced to write.  The stuff you hated or liked but sucked at.  That's my aim.  It's like sitting at the computer, with your one-inch margins on Microsoft Word, pounding out letters on the keyboard, hoping your English teacher will skim it over and give it a passing grade.

Welcome to the blog.  Heh.  Blog.  Who would have thought, just a few years ago, these things would exist.  Or even mean anything.  The truth in it is that it probably won't go anywhere or mean anything to anyone, just a few scattered people.  Who knows how blogs get popular, anyhow.  Life is still that popularity contest we battled for in high school.  So, bring it on.  Let's get somewhere in it.