I've been away and away for a while now. And it seems like I'm an entirely different person. Gone 'round commenting on the xangas of people who must've commented on mine months and months ago. I've stopped writing what I suppose one could construe as poetry. Still fifteen and still a bit unsure about what I'm to do with myself.
The play I talked about in my last entry is over with. The Crucible. Lovely play. I pray you note my sarcasm. We did very well though. It was wonderful. Damn those bonnets.
I've become a more sociable creature in the past months. Even though it really hasn't been as long as I make it out to be.
I've missed this site and its freedom. Though really freedom is a dead man.
I feel beautiful tonight. A feeling everyone should be allowed a stab at.
Sometimes in the swoop of a chord you can feel a brush and you breathe. It's all watery beauty from there. And if your lucky your lips will quiver. You'll fill the three spots and float. The sharp note will sting you and leave you gasping. And if your lucky you'll start to sing. What is it about music that makes you feel that way?
I am such a brain snob.
I had a dream where a girl I know climbed a ladder to an insane asylum to reach a girl named Sophie. I followed her, around the gothic castle, leaping from buildings because in dreams, you can do that. I watched as she reached for the final rung in a ladder I refused to climb. Suddenly blood pooled at her neck, the ladder rung broke and she fell. And she lay there, suddenly someone else, blood at her head. The dream was a hybrid. A nightmare and yet somehow fascinating and horrifying at the same time. |