what dreams are made of

he has told me on many occasions that i am something special, something unforseen and different. He says he cares me more than he has cared for anyone before. Never has he felt this way, completely new emotions fill him when i'm near. He calls it love. Not the childish deffinition of the word, not the love that is tossed around in convorsations. "haha aw i love you!" or "i love your hair, this song, this food". Not anything close. that deep love, that mix of pain and elation that holds me to him, that void in my soul that grows when he's not around. The feeling of complete bliss i am under when he's near. When he looks me in the eyes i am pulled in to that clear ocean blue. He looks at me and i am aware of his feelings for me. i am aware that i do mean the world to him. every girl wants to feel special, wants to be that girl unlike any other. I hiad given up on this, for the longest time i regarded myself as nothing special, nothing worth this magical sensation known as love. Suddenly it is upon me and i couldn't be happier. Every girl does believe they are something special and I must say it feels good to be proved right. Now i need to show him how special he is, i fear he is blind to it, hurt by years of unloved turmoil. But i am here, i love him so, the deep true meaning of the word, and i want everyone to see who i fell in love with and why. but most of all i want him to see for himself.

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neighborhood nights

I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough ...

zip.

I dread human contact. I absolutely hate it. I hate having to think of something to say, hate having to feign interest and sympathy. It's a stressful situation and I don't even know why. I guess it's the culmination of all my antisocial tendencies over the years. Once you get into a habit it gets harder and harder to change as time goes by. I've always been the shy one, the quiet one. The exception is my friends. I'm talkative and at ease with the people I like. I love my friends and I love having friends, but I dread making them. It's like it's too much effort to be worth it. All the awkward getting to know eachothers and stuff, I'd rather just avoid it completely. But it's getting me into trouble. People think I'm arrogant, too good to talk to them. Or that I hate them. Such is the case with my mother. She's been living at her parent's house, and so I rarely see her. That suited me fine, because less interactions the better. So whenever...

Home

I looked back at blog entries, and even though the subject matter was less than pleasant to be reminded of, it was still good, I'm glad I have written reminders so I have points of reference to gauge my growth. And I've come far. I often feel like I've had three stages in my life. The first was with Brent, and though I was a newborn in love's eyes, I soon grew to an extremely old age. My heart was always cracked and my spirit became dulled. I became clogged with darkness, became tired and dragged myself through the days. But I never stopped. I stubbornly sacrificed myself each day for someone whom I thought it was going to help. I was wrong. The first day of my second stage was the day I stopped caring about him and finally focused on myself. I was free, and I was drunk with it. Too drunk. I dove into something that made me happy, too quick. I soon realized there were other ways to get hurt. this stage wasn't that defining, though I began to learn to take things as ...

rude awakenings

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