While It Lasted

The death of a dream is a difficult thing, and moreso when your own hand must deal the killing stroke. 

It was a secret, she whispered, and now you've gone and ruined it. You made me think about it, really think about it. Made me try to understand it. Made me realize the truth about it. Made me give it up. 

Now it has to die, she says, and she cries for what never was in the first place.

gpoy

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be one of *them*.

You know, *them*. The students, real ones. The ones who have everything done on time and usually about three weeks early. The ones who aren't worried about finals, or if they are, they're just worried that they haven't studied enough, not that they haven't studied at all. The ones who are so on top of everything that nothing lands on their head and catches them by surprise. The ones who never stay up all night writing a paper (or, more likely, skip the class to write the paper due).

I wonder about what that feels like, sometimes.

Then I snort and tell myself it would be dreadfully boring.

And I go back to writing the paper that was due half an hour ago.

2 down, 1 to go

finals...

finals are the worst.

to be fair, i have very few, and they aren't hard, and i'm not particularly worried about any of them at all.

i just don't wanna.

Carpe College

Today, I will attend my last regular class as a full-time student at Southern Adventist University.

I'm trying not to think about it, but I can't help myself. I also don't want to let it flit away without somehow marking the occasion. I feel like I should make some kind of speech, or cause an uproar in class, or even just ask a question, or maybe make a comment or two loud enough for the class to actually hear. I should do . . . something. I want to savor each moment, actually seize it, because this is it, guys. This is the end of my undergraduate collegiate experience.

And now I'm making myself cry. I really shouldn't.

I guess I don't mind too much. Crying is how I know I'm feeling something intense, whether it's sadness, anger, or even happiness. It's a sick-making mixture of all three right now. Add to that that I'm mortally terrified and you have me figured, don't you? A shivery, weepy mess.

But I'm not going to ruin this day, this last day, this very last day, with my hysterics. The sobbing wreck is going in her corner until tomorrow, because today, I attend my last college class.

It's going to be the best class I have ever had.

Almost done

I toe my way up to the precipice and lean into the wind at my back. How much pressure can I, will I withstand before it tosses me over the craggy edge? With my arms tucked to my sides, I am a ship's mast, not its sail, and I do not fly, but sway. The air screams past my ears, promising failure or a future; I cannot tell which.

I find I do not care.

I've been rather absent

I am dried up creatively, so I keep writing terribly depressing things about TV. 

I rather enjoy them, because I am usually quite impressed with myself when I am done with them, but all the same . . . I'd like to do something else.

I should be writing happier personal stuff, because life, the universe, and everything are treating me well enough at the moment. I guess happiness isn't as inspiring as fictional pain, and surprised by that I am not. I get so much more invested in the unreal than I ever allow myself to do with reality. Woot.

Anywho, this is the blog equivalent of a Tumblr text post. 

Filed under: about me, personal, life stuff, lame

inevitable though it is

when all is

writhing
frothing
trembling

-sparkling-

inside of me
and i'm

wasted
tired
worn

-tender-

with futile longing
for what is

before me
behind me
beside me

-between one breath and the next-

i'm more than desperate.


heart of mine
please lend me

your presence
your time
your attention

-your smile-

lest i crumble.

It's all fine

I'll never say it out loud,

-especially not to you-

but I feel it just as much,

or maybe more.

Every second I'm allowed

-especially the ones with you-

is another moment treasured,

one I store.

I can't possibly give it a name,
-particularly not to your face-
so I smile my secret thought
and look away.

You'll never see my little game,
-though I'm playing it to your face-
and whether I'm glad or not,
it's okay.