Dust slowly floats into the thin air as objects are placed on shelves and cabinets.

She turns and looks over her shoulder, imagining a suave young man in a suit waiting for her to go to a Gala of some sort, perhaps an art exhibition.

Perhaps this was the beginning of something grand, the ambient light in her bedroom shined softly on her paintings and gave her a sense of new perspective.

Not all men could be conquered by her poise and alluding eyes, but surely one would come to fancy her.

For a moment, she wondered who could be living in the apartment next to her.

Perhaps a young painter with long hair and a low tolerance for cats.

Or maybe a struggling writer who smoked more than he slept.

She enjoyed the mystery and hoped to not find out who did reside there for as long as possible.

Imagination was always more entertaining to her.

Could this ever work? A shaded corner of the room sends shivers up her spine, the sole purpose is to lighten the day, the tears fill her eyes as fresh lemonade in a crystal glass.

She admired the person that told her that he never involved himself with anyone as a young man, he did not see the purpose, the relationships were destined to an end anyway.

Is it that we do not see time? Or do we not want to realize our own demise?

Young, and beautiful in others eyes, she is on the break of becoming confident, perhaps even finding closure to this leap taken.

The desire not for false love stories, but the personal conquest, a meaning, an understanding.

Salvation of the soul? Or just pure wondering?

Passing by couples embraced, watching innocent laughs and giggles, gestures of fingers tangled in one and other, these small yet trivial happenings quench the soul.

Could the finding be now? Or should patience continue as nature takes its course?

The poetic shadow upon a vase, to paint, to draw, to dance, perhaps romantic fantasy.

A drawer lays unopened, memories and the typical half smile, half frown surely to appear.

Happiness equaling to love?

Or lost equaling to love?

Once happiness is found could the love be lost?

Yet, when we dance, it is like stars are the freckles of the skies.

Getting to know thy own self can be the most beautiful journey, the slight misunderstanding and disbelief that indeed no longer a child, you mold your soul.

These are the moments important, the sweet irony of how she does not realize these moments will never come again, eyes toward the imagery outside, she could be admiring the scenery, or simply in another world.

The half smile on her face says it all, perhaps content, perhaps discovery, living the moment, the perfection flows.

She is slowly falling out of loss, and sliding into her own skin.

We drift as the wind upon untouched leaves, not to wonder in our fellowship, but in all else shall we find our true breath.

You and I true, not a dream, but a happening of miracles, we rise.

Close thy eyes, open thy palms, feel the water flow, the blood blow, the winter speak, and the summer weep.

One we shall be, one in unity, one in difference, one in reverence.

Her eyes reflect him, her lips fitting to his, his belief, his faith, his everything.

Manage these hardships that face our standing, our living, our wanting, small fingertips encounter his tough skin.

Without words, they tell a thousand stories, soft piano music in background, their souls melt one into another, all is perfect, in song and in life.

Her eyes close as her lips only slightly make contact with his, the skin trembling as his hands embrace her ever so lightly, as the sound of rivers flowing through lands untouched she gives herself to him, vulnerable forever to his light.

Rays of sunlight enrich their bodies as one lay next to other, a love uncontrollable, unstoppable, incomprehensible.

Dismay fills her every vein, as she opens her eyes.

The night sheds it darkness upon her, like the fall slowly sheds its green to grey.

Utter sadness overwhelms the soul, as realization of the beautiful dream enters her thoughts, untrue, just dreamt.

Falling asleep once more, her heart breaks piece by piece, day by day, alone she is once more, the soul consumes itself until it shall have no turning back.

No death can be this horrid, the soul cries out for mercy, for release.

Soon it shall consume no more.

Diminishing soul of my being, redeem yourself once more, hope is on the way.

Is this a rant? Yes. It fucking is.

Dont like it? Dont read it.

I suppose there are certain moments in life when you exagerate with feelings and feel like the whole world is against you.

This just might be one of those moments.

I could be in a room full of people tomorrow and still feel like I am the only one there.

I would probably light a ciggarette and hope the feeling passes, but that no longer works for me.

Staring into emptyness sure feels like the new feeling I am having.

A councelor asked me what I want from life, what I want to do.

I couldnt answer that then, but now I think I can. I think being the key word there.

I want to fall in love, or at least have someone to hold at night, sure it might not be some fairytale, but I would prefer that rather than staring at the four white walls that surround me and sighing as if everything might actually be alright.

You could say I am a ticking bomb, that would be a very true statement.

I am not sure if I am a land mine, or just some weapon of mass destruction.

My stomach hurts like hell, and yes, that was completely random.

My writing? Brilliant? No. It is not. It is just here, and I will keep telling myself that someone might actually like what I am putting on here.

People are beautiful when they smile, I tend to really like that, especially if its sunny outside, nothing is more beautiful.

My clock says its 2:47, but its actually 3:47, and every time I remember its wrong, I feel like I lost an hour of my life in a second.

I keep trying to figure out if I am a normal person, or just completely insane, its not going so well.

In this kind of situation a person, any person, might say some fake crap like:

“Everything happens for a reason.” or maybe even “Dont worry, be happy.”

Please.

Are you kidding me? Why the hell are we on this planet anyway? God? Buddha? 

I could care less right now who and what, but why is quite important. Or maybe it isnt, I dont know, all I know is that if I wasnt here writing this crap, I would be much better, and I am 100% sure that didnt make any sense, but for once, I really could care less.

I have always strived for perfection, this is me giving up.

Make-up, designer hand bags, cool jeans, whatever.

I just want to wake up in the morning next to someone who can adore me for, well, normally I would insert some romantic thing like my eyes, or something of that nature, but right now, I prefer leaving it that way. 

I just want to wake up in the morning next to someone who can adore me for.

That is good, I am content with that sentence, possibly even happy.

Possibly.

There are exactly 577,000,000 results for the word “human” on google.

I would guess I am human #577,000,001, and as I sit here and yawn, I find that humans are so overrated.

Intelligent? Inventive? Interesting?

Please.

You have got to be kidding me.

We are so messed up.

I would normally put in the “F-word” in the above sentence, but I suppose that at some point my mother will read this.

We really are messed up though.

You know it, I know it, everybody knows it.

I am sorry if I was never the kind of child you wanted, but I’m trying.

I could say I know what I want from this life, but to be incredibly sincere, I dont.

The car in the garage is yellow.

And my life sucks. 

I suppose those two sentences go well.

For now.

Perfect habitat for this growing creature.

Local library visit ⧣241,here we go.

Step one, step two.

Tip toe her way to “the corner”

A carefully thought out spot where no one could see,hear,or disturb her.

Oh yes, please do open your books to page 120.

Word by word, page by page, the hours pass.

Then it happens.

“Oh wow, still a vivid reader aren’t we?”

Handsome teacher of my childhood, is that you?

Tis indeed.

“Yes, Mr.Holl, indeed still a vivid reader.”

Dialogue continues and in respect for other readers they leave to have a coffee.

At his invitation, of course.

Telling of her expeditions all around Europe.

He listens as if mesmerized.

Lost love in France, Italian cooking.

“And looking into your innocent eyes I always knew you would become something grand.”

Not knowing whether to be proud or appalled, she withdraws herself politely.

The wind moves with her every step.

Looking into the sunset, she forever wonders what destiny has in store.

Lonely bliss.

Lost is born.