Tonight's So Far

I don't know if you exist. Existence is deniable anyways. I'm not sure what proves or causes existence. It can't simply be said that to be seen is to exist because many would argue the existence of an unseen God. And in this moment, I hope to the stars that there is one because that means that we can believe in things that we have not yet seen.

Please tell me you're for real
Because I don't want to bleed no more
As the night fades away
I'm dreaming of you

Little girls start planning their weddings when they're like, eight. They dream of something that is, in reality's terms, no more real to any of us at that point than our own demise – the date and cause of which is unknown to most of us. Yet, at that point, their dreams of the future – all of it, encompassed into one day – is more real to them than most of the things they're using to act it out behind closed doors in their bedrooms. We can dream about the things, or people, we have yet to know anything about.

Please tell me you feel something
Because what I feel is ecstasy
Oh shame on you
You cast your spell on me

I meet my fair share of ladies. That means nothing. I have terrible luck. Most of them turn out to be clingy, psychotic, immature or some combination thereof. Yet, I cannot, for the life of me, see this before two or three weeks have gone by, I've gotten attached and I subsequently have invested in whatever is going on. I have yet to meet you. I've thought so, probably more than once, but we all see how well that worked out.

La da da da
The stars align for you and I tonight
La da da da
I need you in my life
La da da da
The stars align for you and I tonight
La da da da
I'll take that as a sign

If you need proof of some sort of God, go outside on a clear night and look up. Something as beautiful as the stars just shouts about some sort of higher presence. I'd like to think, at the very least, that whatever is out there, gave us the stars as a present. The wonderful thing about the stars is that they advocate for nothing but beauty. So if you don't believe, you can still appreciate them. They're a joining point. Something for us to come together around. For two people to share and truly connect through.

I'm so unprepared
But you don't seem to care
I'm hardly a man
But here I am

Game Night_

Questions and circles, round you go. Wrong or right, you're still not here. You said it would be short. I believed you, like so many times before. I give you chance after chance to follow through, to do what you say you will. You pushed it back. Again and again. Your precious questions are more important than my impending demise.

It's not just you, either. I'm always "too nice". "Too this or too that". Fear of someone more than you is not a reason to run from a relationship. I'm not given a chance because, "you're too good for me", they tell me. I'm not "too good" for anyone. Chances are something I'd like to take, and maybe someday, someone will let me take one and not run away from me.

Priorities might need some time to be worked out, but you'd think that people would make the easy choices without taking time for them. We have an opportunity to make the right decision in every situation. Right and wrong is irrelevant in this sense. It's different for everyone, but I think it really shows your priorities. What you deem most important is the decision you're going to make -- whether or not other people view it as right or wrong doesn't matter, it's right to you. It's a double edged sword, though, because while you're playing your game, making the decision to not be here, you're showing me that you're game is more important to you than I am.

I'm not going to tell you that's okay, because it's not. I'm going to tell you it's okay because I learn more about you every time you do this. You follow through when it involves something you want or need. You flake out when it's something for me. I'm learning to be okay with it, but for now, I'm not. I shouldn't be.

I hope you won, because at least you won't have lost everything tonight.

There's A Dark Glow Behind The Mist_

For the first time in a long time my confusion points to clarity. I miss you before you're even gone, before you're even here.

I have a feeling that honesty is lost on some people. Their agenda much more important an aspect of their life than thinking of others. Maybe it's not an intentional dishonesty. Maybe it's just subconscious. At any rate, it's time to move on.

I'm not trying to be hypocritical, and I don't think I am. Every situation needs to be looked at through a different lens. Maybe soon you'll pull out the right one and realize what you're losing.

It's a beautiful morning. Rest comes easily.

Hi_

So.

I'm back.

I'm gonna try to do this daily.

Starting tonight.

So Apparently I'm Smart_

English Genius You scored 92% Beginner, 92% Intermediate, 86% Advanced, and 80% Expert!

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go! Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it! For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 31% on Beginner You scored higher than 15% on Intermediate You scored higher than 21% on Advanced You scored higher than 51% on Expert

Hah_

Broken Again_

I don't know what else to do.

Where To Go From Here_

A beautifully stale night; silent trees whisper the story of sleep as the night awakes to a dew covered morning. Words flutter out and scream silent news of loss. Down by a half we sit, tears rolling down-- this should not have turned out like this. Is it me or is it elsewhere, where does this blame sit? I know it was a choice. I know it was a choice. I know it was a choice....

The real question is: Do we really make our own choices?

Why leave a calling simply for this?

I have a single word to calm this; to settle it all.




Prayer.

Love.

Hope.


-- Pick One.

Still Alive_ ...Barely

I am at camp for the summer. I promise to update the story soon; things have led me to neglect my writing. I do apologize and hope that you are all still reading this.

Two things, though:

1. I'm tired of not being good enough.

2. I'm going somewhere else in the fall.

Still Untitled_

This is my story so far. I figured it was time to post it as a whole to make it more reader friendly.

A sort of quiet man sits alone across the room. He sips his coke, through the aid of a thin, white straw; a lonely soul on this evening of renewal. The group towards the bar, consisting of 6, maybe 7 people steals attention away from him for a second. Their laughter overzealous, as if to say with some importance, that they might actually matter. The Quiet Man slowly observes the room, almost with a sort of yearning, checking his options maybe?

There is one single girl in the room; she’s sporting a Pink Satin Sash around her waist. Her black dress hugs her tight curves, showing off her beautifully toned body. Her smile radiates from her, extending her warmth throughout the room. Catching the notice of every other pair of eyes, attached or not.

She sits at the bar, alone. She flirts with the bartender shyly, waiting for someone perhaps? Or is she, like the Quiet Man, scoping her options, intent on discovering love this cold New Years Eve?

The group at the bar laughs again, stealing my attention back to them. The man in the stocking hat, which is all too inappropriate for this type of atmosphere, tends to steal the attention for himself. The brim on his stocking cap pulled down around his eyes, hiding his true feelings of loneliness and self distrust. He’s pushing the others for attention; the question is though, is he trying to prove his self worth to himself or to the others? It’s quite possibly both.

Quiet Man gets up and walks around softly, catching the attention of one the staff. He asks when the music will be starting. Is he possibly waiting for a date? Will his quiet manner enable him to meet someone tonight?

There is a piano set up in the far corner of the room, next to the fireplace. The piano is over decorated with burgundies and gold’s, lace and flowers. The haughtiness of the decorations almost takes away from the quiet beauty of the baby grand.

A well dressed man sits; his black undershirt showing beneath his black shirt. Red, pink and purple stripes run vertically up and over his shoulders. The rest of the shirt is covered by a black suit coat. His fingers gracefully caress the keys and he starts to play.

He starts in with a song not many people know; his sharp tenor voice floating across the room, intertwining softly with the chords and arpeggios that his fingers are forming.

The group at the bar seems to have discovered something amusing. The man who has drawn the attention is beaming; his shirt collar quite a bit wider than the norm. Could he possibly be compensating for something unseen; something a bit smaller than he might like to admit?

The attention is drawn back across the room as the music stops; only to be met by somewhat half enthusiastic applause. The pianist introduces himself as Chris; the only person to have somewhat of an identity for the evening, so far.

Chris stands from behind his piano, still hidden behind the beauty of it. He surveys the crowd for requests. I don’t believe he has a set list for this evening, a small detail that encompasses a huge amount of confidence. As if to say, “I can play anything. Bring it,” but in a much more graceful manner.

His fingers start to glide over the keys once again, playing his rendition of some show tune that I had never heard of.

The Quiet Man has moved again; this time to a sofa in front of the soft crackling fire. He sits hunched in the corner closest to the fireplace, the couch sitting perpendicular to the fire, facing a mirror image of itself split by a glass coffee table.

He sets his drink down on the end table to his left. Settling in, he looks about the room inquisitively. He still hasn’t found what he’s been eyeing for all evening. His eyes avoid those of Pink Satin Sash; it’s almost as if he knows that it won’t do him any good to long for something of such beauty, yet he yearns for that contact, that discreet lustful glance.

Chris finishes another song, his spiked hair bouncing just above the sheet music on the piano as he starts another; a Neil Diamond song requested from across the room.

A companion has come, at last, for the Pink Satin Sash girl. He seems to be somewhat of a match for her, yet oddly inept at the idea of entertaining such a beautiful girl. His blank smile flashing through transparently; not entirely knowing what he was getting himself into or what was expected of him for the evening.

I overhear the Quiet Man attempt to introduce himself to a couple sitting across from him. They seem polite enough but leave him disheveled and broken spirited as they take back their conversation that he so selfishly disrupted in an attempt to be social. He looks disheartened but attempts to strike conversation once again.

"Hello, my name is Charles, how are you two on this wonderful evening?"

The couple across from him looks at him as if they're offended that he would speak to them again. The woman whispers something to her date, possibly her husband? Her left hand is hidden behind the man's back; hiding the only tell tale sign of marriage to be found tonight. The man shyly extends his hand while leaning forward over the glass coffee table and says, "How goes it?"

Charles, as he has so properly called himself, responds quietly, "It goes; just out enjoying the evening."

Charles doesn't look like he enjoying the evening. He hasn't smiled once since I have been watching him. He's been nursing the same drink for the past quarter hour or so, leading me to think he doesn't really drink, or he doesn't want to lose the only companion he has for the evening so quickly.

The couple quickly retreats from Charles, bidding him a quiet goodbye, seemingly bound with judgment of his marital status for the evening.

I wonder why Charles has named himself so. Why not Charlie, or Chaz? Maybe even Chuck? Why would one take such a proper version of themselves?

Charles goes back to cuddling with his drink on the sofa by the fireplace; each sip from the straw almost paralleling the whisper of sweet nothings into a lover's ear.

The last few notes of Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge over Troubled Water trickle into my ear. My attention has slowly been drawn to Pink Satin Sash; her slender curves looking more enticing with each cocktail. Her companion has yet to fulfill the role of entertainer. He sits; waiting and watching as she so politely flirts with the bartender for another free drink.

Her transparent grey blue eyes meet mine; a quick flash of hope as I, too, am single this evening. Her sash glimmering as it flutters at her side, a soft bounce to her step putting it in motion as she makes her way towards me. She leaves her companion at the bar to flirt with the empty stool next to him.

Completely Overlooked_

why.cant.i.simply.be.enough_?



they're here to see me_not you\\:back.off!

Transparent Blocks of Heart_

//:Awkward. //:Unexpected. //:What's going on?

Someone...tell...me.why.this.stuff.happens.to.me

Confessions on a Dashboard_

Dashboard slips through my headphones. The good stuff. Before he sold out. Soft steel strings and pure harmonies, brash patterns and love. Is this to be a story of my life? Stuck where people once were, afraid to move on because the old stuff was better? Or am I already gone? Past and present, where do I sit, or have I run away from myself? Who am I to become?

Summer is inevitable. Is it new? Or is it just like all the others? Will I push through it, being who I am in the summer and then become myself again or will I finally just be simple? Simplicity is who we are. Complications are human. Human is complication. Personality is yours and mine, mine and yours, simply held by a heart. Is my heart ready to show itself or am I still hiding?

Your Heart a Reflection of Feeling Lost_

Broken colors, backwards rainbow, rain falls
down by the pieces, mirrored glass drips red.
Your shattered heart reflects your true desire.
Pick up your own puzzled pieces; bring me
the confusion set by the missing piece.
You’ve seen them walked over, the red not in
complete thought, yours, but many others’.
The red teardrops that of one’s own failure
to keep in their self a feeling of safe
keeping. My own brokenness that of bright
bloom. Renewal. Soft rain. New days. Late nights.
Bring to me your broken pieces. Let me
put them back into place. The only “whole”
mirror is that which is glued into place.

Leaves Fall and So Do Hearts but You Still Remain_

And to the reference of wind blown leaves,
I say, dance! Dance with the rain and laugh now!
Love in the headlights of passing cars, oh
how broken this all is and lost tomorrow.
Give me a reason to dance in the beam
shone off the moon, drown me in the sunlight.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.
In your eyes, those translucent pools of blue,
the north star brings me to you! Your heart mine,
my heart yours. These living, breathing moments
bring back these tears of fright; that night in which
you were so broken, the leaves skirting down,
about your sandled feet, oh my love, laugh!

Each Sip A Sweet Nothing_

"Hello, my name is Charles, how are you two on this wonderful evening?"

The couple across from him look at him as if they're confused that he could speak. The woman whispers something to her date, possibly her husband? Her left hand is hidden behind the man's back; hiding the only tell tale sign of marriage to be found tonight. The man meekishly extends his hand while leaning forward over the glass coffee table and says, "How goes it?"

Charles, as he has so properly called himself, responds quietly, "It goes. Just out enjoying the evening."

Charles doesn't look like he enjoying the evening. He hasn't smiled once since I have been observing him. He's been nursing the same drink for the past quarter hour or so, leading me to think he doesn't really drink, or he doesn't want to lose the only companion he has for the evening so quickly.

The couple quickly retreats from Charles, bidding him a quiet goodbye, seemingly coupled with judgement of his marrital status for the evening.

I wonder why Charles has named himself so? Why not Charlie, or Chaz? Maybe even Chuck? Why would one take such a proper version of themselves?

Charles goes back to cuddling with his drink on the sofa by the fireplace. Each sip from the straw almost parraleling the whisper of sweet nothings into a lover's ear.

And Now_

A companion has come, at last, for the Pink Satin Sash girl. He seems to be somewhat of a match for her, yet oddly inept at the idea of entertaining such a beautiful girl. His blank smile flashing through transparently; not entirely knowing what he was getting himself into or what was expected of him for the evening.

I overhear the Quiet Man attempt to introduce himself to a couple sitting across from him. They seem polite enough but leave him disheveled and broken spirited as they take back their conversation that he so selfishly disrupted in an attempt to be social. He introduced himself as…

My Work In Progress_

Originally Posted on LJ: 01-25-06/01-26-06

A sort of quiet man sits alone across the room. He sips his coke, through the aid of a thin, white straw; the only lone soul on this evening of renewal. The group towards the bar, consisting of 6, maybe 7 people steals attention away from him for a second. Their laughter overzealous, as if to say with some importance, that they might actually matter. The Quiet Man slowly observes the room, almost with a sort of yearning, checking his options maybe?

There is one single girl in the room; she’s sporting a Pink Satin Sash around her waist. Her black dress hugs her tight curves, showing off her beautifully toned body. Her smile radiates from her, extending her warmth throughout the room. Catching the notice of every other pair of eyes, attached or not.

She sits at the bar, alone. She flirts with the bartender shyly, waiting for someone perhaps? Or is she, like the Quiet Man, scoping her options, intent on discovering love this cold New Years Eve?
The group at the bar laughs again, stealing my attention back to them. The man in the stocking hat, which is all too inappropriate for this type of atmosphere, tends to steal the attention for himself. The brim on his stocking cap pulled down around his eyes, hiding his true feelings of loneliness and self distrust. He’s pushing the others for attention; the question is though, is he trying to prove his self worth to himself or to the others? It’s quite possibly both.
Quiet Man gets up and walks around softly, catching the attention of one the staff. He asks when the music will be starting. Is he possibly waiting for a date? Will his quiet manner enable him to meet someone tonight?

There is a piano set up in the far corner of the room, next to the fireplace. The piano is over decorated with burgundies and gold’s, lace and flowers. The haughtiness of the decorations almost took away from the quiet beauty of the baby grand.

A well dressed man sits; black undershirt showing underneath his black, red, pink and purple striped shirt, covered by a black suit coat; and starts to play.

He starts in with a song not many people know; his sharp tenor voice floating across the room, intertwining softly with the chords and arpeggios that his fingers are forming.

The group at the bar seems to have discovered something amusing. The man who has drawn the attention is beaming; his shirt collar quite a bit wider than the norm. Could he possibly be compensating for something unseen; something a bit smaller than he might like to admit?

The attention is drawn back across the room as the music stops; only to be met by somewhat half enthusiastic applause. The pianist introduces himself as Chris; the only person to have somewhat of an identity for the evening.

Chris stands from behind his piano, still hidden behind the beauty of it. He surveys the crowd for requests. I don’t believe he has a set list for this evening, a small detail that encompasses a huge amount of confidence. As if to say, “I can play anything. Bring it,” but it a much more graceful manner.

His fingers start to glide over the keys once again, playing his rendition of some show tune that I had never heard of.

The Quiet Man has moved again; this time to a sofa in front of the softly cracking fireplace. He sits hunched in the corner closest to the fireplace, the couch sitting perpendicular to the fire, facing a mirror image of itself split by a glass coffee table.

He sets his drink down on the end table to his left. Settling in, he looks about the room inquisitively. He still hasn’t found what he’s been eyeing for all evening. His eyes avoid those of Pink Satin Sash; it’s almost as if he knows that it won’t do him any good to long for something of such beauty, yet he yearns for that contact, that discreet lustful glance.

Chris finishes another song, his spiked hair bouncing just above the sheet music on the piano as he starts another; a Neil Diamond song requested from across the room.