twenty years of snow

I hate when I feel like I know nothing. When everyone else is living a complicated life right here. In the room next to mine. In the house down the street from me. In the church that I grew up in. Hurts a little.

There are bobby pins all over my shelf. I don't know why. I don't have long hair. I mean should I put my heart in a box or not? Put it back on the shelf next to the bobby pins? She never truly hated anyone or anything.

God knows. I mean, He does, when it comes down to it. PEACE that transcends all understanding. I love that. But I hate the everyday fight. But I love standing my ground. But I hate Satan. But I love hope. For the future. Hope for music.

One day, we'll put it all together. The tiny pieces. The shards that tore up our skin. The lovely colored glass melted our heart when we felt vibrant. The pottery that hit the floor and broke. The puzzle that was in our mind. We'll know it.

It'll be okay, you'll see.

2am
"Could you bring me a cup of really hot coffee, and two creamers?" He looks like a mountain man. I mean, it's cool if you want to stay up all night, drinking coffee. It's cool if you've been doing that as long as you can remember. Don't shave. You're cool man.
4am
"Could you bring me a cup of really hot coffee, and some creamer?" Yeah, man, I will. You're really cool, you know that? I don't even know how your body can handle you drinking caffeine twenty four seven, but that's cool. Bushy-hair-guy. He's been in here before. Poor guy. I'll get you your coffee. I mean, his hair. His huge beard. He looks. like. Moses.

life inside the music box ain't easy
Regina sounds happy about it anyway. What would you do?

My little brother at dinner tonight, expressed his concern on growing older and going to college.
"Well, I don't really know how to hold a baby," he told my dad. I watched my dad trying hard not to laugh, and I didn't even bother trying.
"I think you have a few years to worry about that," he told him, "At least two years."

I wish I were out on a boat somewhere warm tonight. Laying in a boat, with someone I love. Drinking Merlot out of Dixie cups. It doesn't need to be a yacht or even a sailboat. Just a little row boat. I'm happy now, but that would be truly perfect.

"I know entirely too much about coffee," Ben told me.
"Everyone should know entirely too much about something," I answered, and then "I don't know very much about anything, but I know a little bit about everything, I think."

And I wish I knew more.
Se tente. I tried.

I think I know about people, what made them what they are. I know about Pepsi and how it feels going down my throat. I know about how hard your heart can beat, when you are doing nothing to provoke it. I know that a Rotring writes smoother than a Lamy. I know why people drink. I know about waking up sad, and how it wrecks you. I know about the farm, I know the woods and the fields. I know exactly what size knot to tie in a garbage bag to get it to fit perfectly and not tear being stretched over the garbage can. I know about Salt Lake City. I know that nobody really wants you to color outside the lines, and that it's probably a good thing, when it comes down to it.

I wish, Alison, that we were better at getting together for milkshakes. But I love it when you write me letters. We can say what we're thinking. Write me a letter, friend.

"Will it be boring?" She asked angrily as she glared at us.
"Yes," she answered her own question. "In your highspeed life of desperation."

I'm cleaning up my room and throwing past lives away. I thought I'd want to remember them? I was kidding myself.