Lost in the Wind.

Tender young leaves rustled as the warm spring breeze curled gently between them. It whispered of adventures to be had, things to see, and  places to go.

Come with me, it beckoned, giving the leaves a little push just before it disappeared, but they barely noticed it.

Maturing summer leaves danced and played together in the wind as it spoke of the doings in the world. It told of fun to be had, sights to see, and the scent of flowers rode upon its back. The leaves spun in the sunshine, and began to wonder.

Autumn wind blew coldly through the leaves, sharing secrets of the places it had been and the things it had seen. It spun tales of princesses and great adventure, and whispered of heartbreak. It laughed about the chaos it had caused overseas and in desert places. The faint smell of spices it carried on its back hinted at exotic destinations, and it beckoned to the brittle leaves which swayed under its influence, entranced by all the stories it told them. It ended with a faint whisper, Come with me, and you can see too.

The leaves rustled again, trying to escape but they could not--they were held firmly in place by the stems which connected them to the branches which lay beneath them. 

Not yet, the tree told them. Not yet.

The icy wind came again and began to carry off the withering leaves, one by one. Calling out their goodbyes to the friends of their youth, they swirled away never to be seen again. Those remaining grew jealous, wishing that they too could be carried away to see the sights and hear the stories of which they always heard.

One solitary leaf was left. The cold wind blew, and it lost its grip on the tree it belonged too. Excited and terrified, it floated through the air, seeing not much. Where were the adventures, the grand sights the wind had promised all these months?

It swirled aimlessly along the breeze, until it landed on the cold hard ground, never to be moved again.

All alone, in a place it didn't know, the leaf cried out in despair. 

But its voice was lost in the wind.

I Hate Graves, Because...

Night time. The best thing about night time is sleeping. During the day my mind moves at a million miles an hour, and it is exhausting. Sleeping is the only time that I can actually turn my brain off.
I hate graves because after an entire day of dealing with the endless barrage of matter which you could call my thoughts, just when I think I can't stand it anymore, I have to go to work all night. It's like living another full day. Except during this second, nobody's awake with me. Nobody to talk to, nobody to reassure me that I'm not as crazy as I think--or even to tell me that I'm crazy but it's ok.
This is the time of night when everything in my head takes a turn for the serious. The disappointments and frustrations I have with myself come out and shake their big, ugly heads at me. I end up thinking about a lot of things that I've been trying to put out of my mind.
Maybe it's not a bad thing. Maybe these ugly shapeless creatures need to be dealt with, and maybe it will be for the [eventual] better.
But that doesn't make this any more fun, does it.

Stronger.

I guess recently I've been coming to terms with some things that have happened to me. Things that I have no control over.
And I've just realized something.
These things will always be a part of me. A painful and very real part of me. They won't disappear or go away. I just have to learn how to cope with them always being there.
Because you can't change the past, or the things that others have done to you. You can only learn to accept them as they come, and hope that you don't snap under the weight of all the things you're carrying.
But with every thing that is added to the load you carry, you become a little bit stronger. The load you carry today is much larger than the load you carried a year ago.
Look how far you've come.

Get Home.

I have decided to dissect a song by a fabulous band called Bastille. Perhaps you have heard of them. Perhaps you haven't.
Either way.
The guy who writes the music, he is a genius. I feel like I can relate to nearly every single one of his songs. His lyrics are full of emotion and meaning, which is wonderful because it doesn't seem like many artists try to incorporate deeper meaning to their songs--what you see is what you get. But every time I listen to these songs, I find a new facet to focus on, a new glimmer of meaning.
So, without further ado I present to you [my interpretation of] "Get Home."

How am I gonna get myself back home?
We are the last people standing at the end of the night.
We are the greatest pretenders in the cold morning light.
This is just another night, and we've had many of them.
To the morning we're cast out, but I know I'll land here again.

How am I gonna get myself back home?
There's a light in the bedroom, but it's dark.
Scattered around on the floor are my thoughts. 
This is just another night, and we've had many of them.
To the morning we're cast out, but I know I'll land here again.

How am I gonna get myself back home?

The birds are mocking me. They call to be heard.
The birds are mocking me. They curse my return.

How am I gonna get myself back home?
I'm lost.


I've come to the conclusion that this song depicts life as someone who suffers from depression.
We are the last people standing at the end of the night. When you're weighed down with so many things, it becomes impossible to sleep and you end up spending your whole night tossing and turning, with your thoughts seemingly "scattered around on the floor". Sometimes it can feel like this in a very literal sense. You spend the whole night thinking about everything.
We are the greatest pretenders. Some of the happiest seeming people I know are actually plagued by depression.
Another thing that stands out to me is the general feeling toward light and morning. Light is described as cold. Despite the fact that there's a light in the room, it's dark. Sometimes, no matter how much light there is, everything can be dark.  The whole world seems to have taken on a sort of hollow, greyscale appearance. And even the birds singing seems to be a mockery, taunting and cursing the return of someone who doesn't feel the cheer that seems to be present in every other aspect.
And despite the fact that this person seems to be in their home (according to the first verse) they still feel lost. Feeling like you don't belong no matter where you are, feeling lost, is one of the worst feelings and it has been captured completely throughout the lyrics of this song.

You should give it a listen.

The World Through My Eyes

A black abyss, a cold damp that penetrates you to the bone. No matter what you do, it won't go away. Scared of the dark, shivering people huddling together. Darkness runs rampant, as well as the people who are terrified of it.
And yet, the darkness serves as a shield for some. They hide behind it because they're afraid of the light. How did they come to this point?
From hiding in the dark.

Drafts

I have a lot of draft posts that I have written over the last three years that I haven't posted for one reason or another. Not that anyone reads this much, but I am going to be posting them one per week until they're all posted. Prepare yourself for a tidal wave of silliness, sadness, and simplicity. I mean, that's kind of the purpose of having this blog anyway isn't it?

Clearing the Air.

A post in which I might ramble a little bit and you may get bored reading.

We all have ghosts in our past, ghosts that haunt us day after day, taunting us with visions of how things might have been if only circumstances had been different, or people had been kinder, or someone had said more. Bringing back the pain of unspoken words, actions we never took, tears we never cried, and people we never loved.

Why do we let them torment us so?
Because confronting them means confronting our insecurities and deepest fears. And it is just so easy to huddle in a corner, afraid of them, wishing they would go away, hoping that if you ignore them long enough they might leave of their own volition, eventually becoming a numb shell that merely exists, wallowing in the sorrow and pain of tragedies that are partially your own creation.

Sometimes it might seem like they've left you, that they've moved on from their favorite past time; making misery and causing pain. But at the slightest hint of remembrance or regret they come flooding back even stronger than they were before.

The only way to really get rid of them is to clear the air. To open the windows and let the truth blow away all the confusion that has been haunting you.
And sometimes when the truth blows away all the lies and holograms that you've been projecting for years, you find yourself feeling empty. The space that once was filled with the terrors of the night now holds nothing but the honest facts and the emptiness may seem daunting, even painful for a while.

But after a time, you can fill the empty spaces with better things.
And you can learn to feel again.

Which can seem scary. As someone who generally tries to avoid emotions I understand just how terrifying this is. I'm still not sure that I'm ready to take off my rose tinted glasses and feel.

But tonight, I'm one step closer.