“The student who gave me Francis… A spring afternoon I discovered a bowl on my desk, just a few inches of clear water in it. Floating on the surface was a flower petal… as I watched, it sank… just before it reached the bottom, it was transformed, into a wee fish. It was beautiful magic, wondrous to behold. The flower petal had come from a lily… your mother. The day I came downstairs, the day the bowl was empty, was the day your mother… I know why you’re here. But I can’t help you. It will ruin me.”
Places: Your house is not quite home to you. When someone asks you where your home is, you tell them about the little two-floor apartment in the red brick building in the city where your parents raised you, but you’re thinking about the beach in Jamaica, the little corner shrouded by palm tree leaves where the water was clear and hermit crabs lived in a colorful colony. You held those little creatures in your hand and let them crawl around your palm as if they were your children. You’re thinking about the roof deck where you would sneak off to when you needed time away from your mother and father and brother, the place where you would go to smoke the cigarettes you stole from your aunt or dance without fear of being watched. You would watch the sun go down over your city and see how it sparkled and sputtered and say, “What could be more beautiful than this?”
Things: Your great-aunt’s rosary, the one she passed down to your mother who passed it down to you. The pale pink one that glows in the dark after you hold it up to a lightbulb, glowing green like something out of the neon Bible. You wrap it around your hand and pray, not because your are religious, but because when you wrap the string of beads around your hand you can feel the ghostly grasp of your great-aunt and the warm hands of your mother and something about that feels so right. The Saint Agnes necklace you bought at the candle shop across the street, depicting a young girl holding her sacrificial lamb and looking up at her God with reverence. You picked her at random, but sometimes you feel like it was more than a coincidence that the patron of young girls landed in your hands. Sometimes you can feel her when you walk out alone; you feel her embrace, her protection, her love. You feel your patron saint around your neck as she guides you to the light.
People: If someone saw you and your friends together, they would wonder what the hell you all saw in each other. You would say that you don’t really know what you saw, to be honest. You know what you felt. You felt a bond that broke through neighborhood borders and language barriers and poverty lines and color codes. You felt a bubbling in your head and you felt lighter than helium, you saw the glittering lights of possibilities and heard music so sweet that you couldn’t help but dance, but only with them. You look at these people who you know would do anything for you and you think briefly that there just might be a god because someone out there let you be on the same planet at the same time as them. You join hands and feel a string of fate binding you together at the wrists, a permanent friendship bracelet. The best thing about a real family is that you an choose who’s a part of it.
1. Refill your water
2. Clear everything off
3. Get a cloth and ONLY WET ONE END
4. Wipe the desk with the wet end until clean
5. Dry the desk off with the dry end
6. Put everything back
Congrats you probably did this in 5 minutes or less.
im not really one to do this, but i wanted to vent something out real quick. Its nothing bad, but i feel comfortable sharing this (:
okay, im gunna start off by saying i really shouldnt be alive right now. Like , two months ago I was planning to end it all. One night, I couldn’t take the pain anymore and I was ready to do it. I was gunna leave my house, cause I didn’t want my family to find me… Well you know I was gunna take a pill bottle of Vicodin, and some vodka or some clear alcohol in a water bottle I was gunna walk out and find someplace remote, and it was a clear night so I was hoping I could watch the sky and the stars, cause if anything, that’s the last thing I wanna see I really thought about it, long and hard whether or not it was worth going through with And that night I cried. I cried because I didn’t know what to do and I realized I was taking the easy way out. I thought about all the stuff I wouldn’t be able to see, do, hear and experience I’m alive right now because I’m sad, because my childhood was robbed from me One day, I’m gunna make it all right, I’m gunna do crazy shit without anyone’s permission and make myself happy. I’m gunna make all sorts of friends who want me for me, not because they want the answers to last nights homework, or to do favors for them. And when I really think about it, I already have friends. Friends here. And unfortunately I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but they make me feel like I belong somewhere Three months ago I was a fucking wreck, and I thought I wasn’t gunna amount to anything, and that maybe I don’t deserve a happy ending, maybe I am just a resource for others to gladly use But I think I’m doing okay now, and I wanted to say thank you to everyone and anyone on here for talking to me and making me feel welcome because I don’t experience that a lot. So thank you friends, you know who you are, Thank you for keeping me alive :D
Text message received: November 6, 2013. I know you love him as much as I do.
God, we were the girls left on the sidelines,
He kissed me with your lipstick on his mouth,
and you watching. He kissed you
with my heart tucked into his breast pocket.
We stood each other up, when he left–
stacked like a tower of blocks,
too easy to tip over.
We cried our way through it.
You were the softest sunset I ever got drunk with.
We strapped the bed sheets to the rickety mast
and sailed our way to clear waters.
I didn’t know you could love someone
for loving like you–
for falling into the same honeytrap,
the same flypaper.
He was poison in the water supply;
we were drying out around his name.
Nothing could make up for
two girls knee deep in false promises,
wading our way back to shore.
I hope you’re doing better, now. I hope,
when he calls, you don’t answer anymore.
So I want to apologize. When I first posted this pic I was told it’s of Albanian Riviera. Recently I found out this photo is of Capri, Italy. It’s too beautiful to remove it though so I’m just gonna keep it!