Dear me at 17/18 (Part 3)

One more has recently come to mind...

Dear me at 17... even though he might drive ya crazy, the one you think of as a big brother really does know what he's talking about. You really should consider listening to him every now and then.

Love ya Timmy :)

Dear me at 17/18... (part 2)

Once again I've found myself listening to "Letter to Me" by Brad Paisley. And once again it has me thinking back to when I was 17 and 18. As I said in a previous post, there is so much I would want to tell this person if I could write a letter to who I used to be. Not that I would have listened... but, I would still like to be able to send a letter back in time. And what else would I tell her? First, go read my previous post if you haven't already (Dear me at 17). And here is the continuation of that letter...

Friendship - while it is something you claim to hold dear, as you grow older you'll realize how easily you let it go. Don't. There are some whom, while the friendship is cut short, it is a friendship you will treasure forever.

And, while still on the subject of friendship, there is one who will stand by you, but whom you easily dismiss. Don't. He is the one person who, more than anyone else, will help you through one of the roughest moments of your life. And, he is one who truly loves you. Allow him to tell you this. Allow yourself to listen. Allow love to touch you.

Listen to your instincts. There are those you love deeply which you begin to doubt, but fight to hold onto. Don't. It isn't that they aren't worth your love, but more that their love was never for you. Let them go, and allow yourself to see others whose love is true.

And, for now, this is the end of my letter to myself. No worries - I am sure I will come up with a part three.

The garden, the shelf and the darkside

To answer the questions some friends have asked... and those who haven't yet asked...

This is the Darkside of the Rose. This is the usual me... the rambling me. The one who makes no sense, nor tries to. This is the me who gets angry (wants to kill someone slowly). This is the one who posts song lyrics and poems and other little ramblings.

The garden, also knows as Passion's Garden, is where my short stories hide which are not for innocent eyes/ears/minds.

The shelf, more correctly called the Bottom Shelf, is where I decided to hide my novel - Whispers in the Hall. Whispers is only about half finished, if even that, and hasn't been touched in over 6 months. That said, the site holds everything through chapter 8 if you're interested.

If anyone wishes to read any of my work, and would like addresses to either the garden or the shelf, please let me know. I love showing off my insanity. And please, share it with others. Comment on it. Tell me you hate it. Tell me you love it. Tell me to go to hell.

avoiding next week

Have you ever hated someone? I don't mean just being really annoyed with someone. We've all been there. Probably to the point of really wanting to smack that person upside the head (or punch them in the face... kick them in the balls...). But have you ever really hated someone. Have you ever had one person whom, upon hearing said-person's name, your blood boils, your thoughts grow dark, your body tenses uncontrollably?

There are few people I can honestly say I hate. Yes, there are several I think are stupid, pathetic, wastes of time. But I don't hate them. I could probably count my hates on one hand those I hate. Or one finger.

I just heard that this hate is going to be in my vicinity next week. I was surprised at how quickly I saw red. The person I trusted most whom betrayed me. The one person I was dumb enough to think actually gave a shit. I hate him. I do not, under any circumstance, want to see him or speak to him again. He fucked me over. He betrayed me. And now he's coming here? He played on my sympathy, only to be a fucking idiot, and expects me to hold onto that sympathy from the past? I'm done. He isn't worth my time, energy, or love. He isn't worth shit. That's what he wants. He plays off that - probably in the hopes that someone will love him. I'm not playing this game anymore. diaf

The past is what you make it...

She found herself thinking more and more of that one January day in 1993 - especially within the last year or two. This day was an important moment - one which defined the rest of her life. It was the fork in the road - that one moment which, above all others, determined the direction her life would travel.

It was a normal day - no better or worse than others had been that year. She was a senior in high school, but attending her second year of college full time. She only stepped into the high school to turn in her books and harrass her guidance counselor. Depression had all but consumed her. While things she had suffered in the past had calmed down, they hadn't calmed down on her siblings. Knowing what they dealt with, and the feelings of helplessness, became more and more unbearable. She'd spent the last few months sleeping with two different guys, making out with another, and pining after yet another - anything to make her feel, to give her some much needed attention, even if it was the wrong attention.

Walking home from school, she stopped at the 11th Street crosswalk. She watched the vehicles drive by. For nearly an hour she tried to gather the courage to jump in front of a fast moving truck. She could end it all. But, she couldn't do it. She kept thinking "what if I don't die?" She could see herself, immobile, unable to fight back, unable to speak or write of what she endured at their hands as she was forced to live with them for the rest of her life.

Finally, realizing she couldn't do it, and she couldn't go home, she turned towards the dorms. It had been her salvation for so long. And upon walking into that one building she learned the truth of so many people - truths she refused to take at face value. Truths she'd forgotten, truths she had turned into what she wanted them to be.

The one who would always stand beside her, told her he couldn't stand by her. The one who would always love and want her, cut her off. The one she could always turn to for a little physical, no-strings attention, found someone else to play with. And the one she enjoyed hanging with when she needed an escape from drama... the one she used... the one she forgot... he was the one who walked with her until four o'clock in the morning in the middle of winter. He was the one who brought her food and drink and sat with her until the sun came up.

Why is it she couldn't see the truth for so many years? Why is it she remained hanging onto false memories? Why is it she couldn't thank those who truly were her friends? The past is what you make it, and she made so many mistakes. And leaving home that day was not the mistake.

All These

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, walkin' in the snow storm
Kissin by the pillars of the university
You and me, dancin' to the beat
Passion cryin as you held onto me

All these songs on the radio
Talkin' bout missing you, loving you so
All these dreams when I close my eyes
All these tears remembering love dies

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, and all these dreams
You and me, and all the hopes that ever could be
Ohh
You and me, and all these tears
YOu and me, and all the fears just came over me

You and me, fighting in the night
Words flying, striking at each other's heart
You and me, and it was over then
With pain and anger it was for us to part

All these songs on the radio
Talkin' bout missing you, loving you so
All these dreams when I close my eyes
All these tears remembering love dies

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, and all these dreams
You and me, and all the hopes that ever could be
Ohh
You and me, and all these tears
YOu and me, and all the fears just came over me

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

Random Ramblings

I can hear the wind outside, whistling through the trees and through the small cracks in the wall. I can hear the patter of little feet, and big, sneaking around, trying to go unnoticed in the night. I can hear the water trickling, in the sink, and my ears. It's such a quietly noisy night. Darkness surrounding in the bright lights.

I can hear your thoughts. Whispers of a butterfly within my mind. I felt its tears floating down, fixing with my own. Your tears. The tears of a butterfly. So soft, so very sweet. Like nectar upon my lips. Let me taste them again. Let me taste you again.

I remember those nights, like a vivid movie, scenes replaying time and again in my mind. I find myself speaking the parts with the memory as one would while watching a movie they had seen a dozen times before. Such a beautiful movie. A tragic love story, a comedy, a horror movie, an adventure. All so beautifully stitched together, a work of art which can never be duplicated or painted again - only looked at, admired, remembered, and written about for years to come.

And missed. Ah so missed. Dreams are born from this memory, this film, these whispers, the tears of this butterfly. Dreams are born as easily as the dream once died. Perhaps it never died. Perhaps it simply could not be heard over the whistle of the wind.