Drift.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

I feel like I'm waiting for something that will never come.

This turns to that, and other eloquent phrases.

BOOM.

i wish i could help you, sad eyed girl. brown eyed girl. i can't. you seem happy. but i don't think you are. how could you be?

and i wish i could fill you up with air and lift you off your toes and fill you up with happiness and give you everything you want so you'll be happy

and then they'll be nothing left of me and i'll just

float
away

like puffs of a dandelion weed.

like bits of a dream.


i wish i could help you, mister mystery. you deserve so much, and you have a lot, but the one thing that you treasure the most, that you value with all of your being, that one little spark that people search for all of their lives, it's fading

and
i
can't
help
you.

i'm not supposed to. it's just not how it works. it's not like i could really do anything.

is it?

could i?

could i fill you up with happiness and wonderment and make you see everything for what is it, and maybe more? could i give you all that splendiferous awe and amazement at the beauty of life? but it's not your fault. no, it really isn't. but maybe if i try really hard, i can give you something

and maybe that something will fill you up and let me down and i'll

just
float away.

like magic dream bits.

like puffs of a cloud.

and i'm trying.
oh i'm trying and it's so hard it's apparent that i'm trying but trying only gets you so far

and maybe someday i'll finally

float


away...

Eternity.

and i'll just keep going and going until everyone i love is dead.

Change.

I've started a photo blog. We'll see how this works out.

Here's a link.

Solitude.

Is anyone actually still out there?

Oblivion is a powerful tool of adaptation to reality because it destroys, little by little, the surviving past in us that is constantly in contradiction with it...

Why am I not dying?

This life is too busy for me. I can't keep up with all of these events. There's too much going on. Too much to cram in my little head. Too much that I don't comprehend.

I've tried to write more, but it hasn't worked out. It all turns out the same. The same themes. The same obscurity. The same "ghosts." But I don't know what these ghosts are. Well, that's not exactly true. I do know. I just can't describe them.

That's a lie, too. I can. I just don't want to. At least, not right now.

I doubt anyone reads this. Well, maybe it'll provide good entertainment on those early morning crises that I seem to have so frequently. Because I'm so fucking pretentious.

Oh, well.

This is my life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

I look at the sun and I look in the mirror, and I hope that someday, I won't be able to tell the difference.

Glimmer.

It's unnaturally frigid outside for this time of year.
I wish things would stop. If only for one night.

I lay in the grass, watching the stars twinkling out some cryptic message.

It's so cold tonight...

These ghosts that have haunted me for too long are learning how to breathe. One glides down and lands beside me, light as a feather, but thickening. That voice. That incessant whisper in my ear that has followed me for far too long. And the eyes.

The eyes. So...brilliant. Like fireflies in a jar. But changed, somehow. Two gleaming pearls. Two scintillating whirlpools, sucking any scrap of warmth that might have remained in my body. I shivered as a gust of wind shook the night and buffeted the grass.

Neighborhood attempts to dream, while all around them, silently, my ghosts glimmer and shake.

The figure floats on the breeze, eyes rippling, trapped in limbo; not quite yet solid, but still ghostly. Ghastly existence.
It's a beautiful, flickering sight.

And with the first crack of the breaking dawn, I, like a specter, drifted into the night.