Only good things are worth this effort

you are only but a fragment of my imagination
I can't seem to find you, only on tuesdays at around 11am
sitting next to a girl that looks like tinkerbell
and sometimes working in the LA building at the peace core table.

being so polite talking to hippsters.

you, in your greek fisher men's hat, how you caught my eye across outside the library,
how you sat in my spot, holding your coffee between both hands
staring off into the landscape, you where looking for your destiny, you where looking for me.
I was looking for you. On that cloudy morning.

the way you where taken back by my compliment
how you looked up not expecting me there.
not expecting anyone to speak to you
your eyes where bright and the sparks where ricocheting off you and into me.
how your clothes where so fashionable, yet so low key, the leather boots, nice jeans and messenger bag
that was most likely organized.

how I regret not sitting down with you
talking with you about the feeling after a rich tragic movie
about the mystery novels you most likely read and journals of hopeless romantics and sailors.
but for some reason that glimpse of you was just enough, the eye contact we made after the daring move I made to say
"nice hat" and the ironic path I chose to take, because I too was wearing that hat, and we looked awfully perfect in that moment.


I hope to see you again.
I'm looking for you, I want to know who you are.
If any of you know this mysterious man who wears a greek fisher man's hat every day usually in black but sometimes in grey, dark hair, dark eyes, beard, about 6'3 normal body type, attends UVU, has only been seen in the LA building, possibly a volunteer at the peace core. Please lead him to this blog.

believe me there's days longer than nights

feeling treated less than I am.

or more so what I AM is the reality.


facing the person I once was
in the un-content skin that I now am in.

remembering her

that girl she always wished to be.
seemingly perfect, yet the perfection came
along with a much to familiar story. .


but what hurts most,
now? or then?

is nostalgia worse than the present moment.
or is nostalgia taking over your present moment?

I can testify to you that it well beats the present by a long streak of
days, walking, but not living. Routine, facing the world one slow step at a time.

head hung when down those discustingly familiar hallways.
walking swiftly to somewhere else, somewhere safe
somewhere with myself, or rather, a place where I can find HER.


I can feel the fall air chilling behind my window,
it frightens me, because when colors change, I remember her more than ever, so vibrantly, so familiarly.

most of all
I remember him...


and who she was with him.
and how much he influenced her.



and I feel it.
with every force trying to strain back
from what is bound to happen.
going minute by minute, sometimes seconds... to hold it all in.


willing to do almost anything to feel those calm october days.
simple emotions, simple living, free, content, quiet, love.
to lay, head full of inspiring bliss, appreciation, and beauty emanates outside the house.
the cool air breezing in your car windows..

people treat you different when you don't wish to speak.
like you are broken, and it is everyones responsibility to be concerned.
I don't want your concern.
but I have nothing left to say.
I have nothing speak of to paid professionals.
I have nothing left to speak into the phone.

Its all been said and done,
and when the winter wind frosts the grass,
the memories, hearts, feelings freeze.
buried in snow, in a large emotionless abyss.

the earth still, snow rested gleaming under the night.

she will continue to shake...

Really, I appreciate the effort

These memories only dwell in the back areas of my mind.
Months on end they leave
thy reappear. leave. appear.
leaving and appearing, this sounds much too familiar to select few of us.

Each time remembering something new and forgetting some minor detail of our lives.
I feel like I only allow myself to remember everything that was said
and the things that where not exactly what wad felt.
but how could I justify why I remembered. I must have felt something.

I pray in the back of my mind that it was love.

figuring why I'm remembering these things
,justifying why not to forget.

I don't allow myself to remember the bad,
only the memories of your comfort.
not realizing how pathetic that made me.


I have these vivid dreams about those times,
sometimes I can't even believe it was real.
No wonder I liked you, you where my outlet
you where my escape.
You know I could find any of thos feelings from just about anyone.
But they way you portrayed yourself was out of complete and genuine areas of your mind and soul.
your genuine qualities is something that even the toughest people suffer to forget.


Sometimes I wish so hard you could be copied, with minor alterations and circumstances.

Is this selfish of me to think?

I find myself replaying memories,
remembering things you said, the way you would say it, the sound of your voice.

trying to remember the roughness of your skin, the sadness behind your eyes.
the tiny details of your face, the touch of your hand.
All these things I try to rememer are stuck behind brushed glass,
in between grief and sorrow,

and letting go.


I thought I let go.
why was I perfectly fine untill now.
Why now?
What did I realize?

I realized this, our relationship was at a simple and vulerable place.
not new enough to feel nerves. but not old enough to headache.

but the things we did, and the mind alterations that you so desperately wanted to share with me.
was what happened.
what where you trying to heal? what where you so much trying to forget?
you where good at playing numb. you where good at playing effortless, careless.
I wonder if this is why you where drawn to me.
you didn't care.
I will admit, sometimes the words you said sounded forced.
sounded fabricated, and cheap. Like words you have spoken to any other person.
but that genuine quality you had made me believe.


so what am I holding onto?
You have nothing to offer you knew how this would end.
But I'm sure you didn't think it would end like this for me did you?
I don't expect anyone to listen, but never believe any promises.
you cant determine that you will never hurt someone.

I didn't even believe that the night you said it,
the nights you subtly started to convince me to be comfortable.
you said keep my guard up, to not fall in love.
but you knew exactly what you where doing.
you knew you where charming, you knew the place you just put me in.
you said it yourself.

the fact that I didn't listen, is now evolved into a series of thoughts that I am now suffering serious nostalgic consequences from.


I truly appreciate the months you spent with her.
Because it's made me realize the better in me and the faults in you.
it made me realized that you really didn't care.
because you where careless and genuine.
of course you would leave for someone less than you had.

im not going to pretend that i feel better.
that Im cured.
because this is something that could never be cured.
its not that I loved you. That I am so wretchedly heart broken.

But more so the person who continued on after you left.
  

ah once again I find myself sitting in front of my glowing computer screen alone on a friday evening.

where food becomes the focus of my day. 

and watching tv too seriously.

hanging out with my grandmother my mother and my sister. 

I've finally reached the age where Im no longer embarrassed

and I've adapted to ignore what is said. 

orem is a funny place. 

you see people at your local grocery store. 

the people you wouldn't normally want to see.

like my former fuck buddy a month prior. 

you know, the one who really convinced you that he liked you

and then stopped texting you after a certain point. 

and the girl that was kind of your friend but not really your friend

the one who was into your old boyfriend and you always felt superior to her until now.

as she sees you carrying a box of tampons and a tub of ice cream.

and you watch her steal beer. 

ah friday nights, a night to party

a night where i'm grocery shopping with all the girls in my family

after seeing highly predictable movie with your favorite teen crush. 

and as your making your way towards  a box of Midol 

you see the guys you long to hang out with, the guys you don't really know 

but you know their type, who listen to indie rock bands and cat stevens

who wear vans and flannel shirts they found at savers. 

the kids you would find at your local thrift shop or at disco night.

I came up with this funny idea of making new friends

just finally being able to talk to those thrift store shopping boys at the grocery store 

and you hope one peculiar guy will stand out and really like me for who i am 

and is interested in the books and bands i'm into. 

and falling in love and finally having my indie hippster boyfriend I've (and I know you) 

have longed for this entire time. 

But I know it will never happen, I get into this state of self pitty 

where I walk isle after isle seeing kids with their friends or on their phones.

while I text the only number in my phone. (mother) 

walking past a sorrowful isle of cold medicines and pain killers.

wondering if any of this could give me a good time.

snapping my self because I know I shouldn't. 

because I know I will have a great time 

spending an evening alone with my  blog typing about my negative views on life. 

and talking about my self inflicted loneliness and spending the evening drinking tea at 

un-reasonable amounts and gulping down ice cream straight out of the carton. 

looking on Myspace for my next possible "friend" or looking at my old boyfriends page.

excessively pressing "home" every 3 minutes.

all concluding to an evening where I once again 

do something completely predictable. 

this is life ladies and gentlemen.

this is life.. 

spring break 09

you know, a person can really start to feel insane with a change of atmosphere 

change of routine, change of 

people, 

feelings, 

diet. 

if it rains suddenly, the hole world looks as though threw a different perspective

if you have a peculiar dream 

the rest of the day feels like a daze

a constant daze where you feel like you cant to anything

but you cant quite do nothing.

where you find yourself spending an evening alone with your comforter  

blanket in front of your dim basement television 

re watching raw independent films.

which make you feel in touch with reality 

opposed to a movie for escape

you become in touch with your loneliness

your fate.

 your behaviors no longer matter to you anymore

 you know there are no happy endings

loneliness

thoughts of calling up a friend  

yet you want to abandon and separate yourself from everyone and everything.

you cringe at the sound of  ones voice,

 the telephone ringing. 

the doorbell.

anything that snaps you back into human interference 

you now enjoy your own company 

in a pessimistic and dismal way. 

you lose track of the hour. 

it feels earlier in the day than it actually is

outside is so dark that day time seems to lose itself in the wet asphalt

cars slick by your house. 

people seemed to have disappeared.

safe inside their homes. 

 

you stop wearing makeup

you don't change your clothes

your skin aging and dry

 your face unresponsive 

mood enhancers

make you dizzy and wish for 

a strong drink.

drinking tea by the box.

food doesn't taste as good.

avoiding text messages

you find yourself lost in a character in your movie. 

neglecting your fate. 

this is life.

this is when you become in touch with reality.

you find insane asylums appealing

you let yourself go.

nothing seems to matter

in the end we fall in love

it will screw up

you tell yourself it wont.

but it always does. 

and then you have the opportunity to  

deal with that for the rest of your sad and pathetic life.

your problems seem like nothing

as you sit and watch movies about relationships

murderers 

death.

dying becomes accepted

your parents ask you how you are

you feel nothing

they worry

displeased because you know its nothing

you know it doesn't matter.

they send your sister to california

as you sit in the rain 

in your basement which has become all yours for the weekend.

you live in your own scum. 

you like it that way

tea cups pile up 

your skin becomes pale. 

you stay in your work shirt and it blends into the darkness of your appearance. 

your computer becomes your best and only friend

where you escape from everything,

google is your best friend

myspace; your enemy 

you abandon your phone.

you contemplate they idea of writing your feelings down.

you never do. 

you  let them accumulate  in the back of your head to only make things worse

you know your doing it to yourself, you cant help it. 

and the only times you don't think about that person

is when your lost in your nest of blankets with the remote in your hand.

when your in your gaze. 

your fantasizing becomes increasingly substantial

 

your fingers grow numb 

the fire holding back the tears from your eyes

you want to cry 

but tears remain absent 

then you start to miss that person again and recede to the first person who's there.

who ever would make you feel that way.

that way that you fantasize 

intimate scenes leave you desperate and hungry 

deceptive and back heart retching scenes  leave you with a slight grin.

the only emotion that will wash over your face throughout the day.

you don't feel like yourself.

you pull the hair out of your face and the cold leather couch kisses the back of your neck

spread out over your territory

you walk aimlessly around the basement in between commercials looking out the windows you've never looked out 

to watch the rain.

cars passing only occasionally 

you think about nothing

except a fantasy 

you want to feel the rain.

you want to feel something.

but you refrain. 

 make another cup of tea

this will be the end of me

this

will be my spring break.