so i already uploaded this last year, but whatever.

Would it be peaceful?


If I could just be.

If I could merely exist,

as though a river, an ocean,

never ceasing, never ending.

Would I not have to endure

any pain, sorrow, hurt?

Would I be at peace? Or

would it all come crashing

down around me, tearing away

piece by piece

until there is

nothing left but

what there was

before my existence?



Would I be able to move along

with the world, to see, hear, smell,

every moment of time as it passes?

Would I feel the touch of every hand,

cold and supple, warm and dry?



Or would I be as though dead?

Unfeeling, unmoved, as the people and places go on,

ever changing, ever ignorant, of the one thing

that is, but never was, never will be.



Would I be happy?

Or would I be incapable

of any emotion?



Joy.

Sorrow.

Pain.

Anger.

Lust.

Love.

Envy.



All of it, gone. Just like that.

'A girl doesn't need anybody that doesn't need her.' - Marilyn Monroe

Keep hold of the lovers, the dreamers, the makers;


Let go of the ones who pretend they are real.

Hold onto the givers, let go of the takers.

Let go of the ones that don’t show they can feel.



The doers, the thinkers, the people who care;

It’s people like this that will always be there.

If not, then you can always find someone new,

Just don’t wait for someone who won’t wait for you.



There are hundreds of thousands of fish in the sea,

Well really, as many as you want there to be.

There’s only so much that words can express,

But if you deserve better, don’t settle for less.

Etes-vous inquiete par l'avenir?.

When you were tiny, raw, and new, you couldn’t clench your fist in rage;
You couldn’t talk, you couldn’t chew, you couldn’t step out of your cage.
As you grew, you knew nothing but warmth, and love, and care, spreading flour on the floor
And taking lone rides in elevators, up fifty floors to find the sky.
Back then, a lending hand provided your greedy little mouth with a shiny, silver spoon that,
As if by magic, replenished itself;
A glistening, silver spoon, that has fed you right from the brief, flickering moment in which
You came into existence, and will continue to do so, until it decides,
It is time.
And what will you do, when that time comes?
Will you be ready? Maybe.
Maybe you’ll read, and think, and write, and paint.
Maybe you’ll talk, and mean every single syllable,
Both for yourself and for those without a voice.
Maybe you’ll clench your fists at injustice,
Maybe you’ll actually put words into action,
To help improve someone else’s life, and mean it.
Maybe.
But then again, you are just another member of a generation that doesn’t seem to care,
A generation that doesn’t seem to know anything about anything, unless it can be found in an
electronic box that attaches through an umbilical cord to their brains;
A generation that wants everything and more, here, and now.
So maybe you’ll be consumed, by greed, and lust, and selfishness.
Maybe you’ll be consumed, by the darkness that creeps,
Slowly but surely, through greasy flesh and crunching bones;
The darkness that comes to all of those who have stopped searching,
All who live for cars, and credit, and clothes,
And aimless fun, and nights they won’t remember,
With people they want to forget.
All who live for pointless jokes and truthless, thoughtless, words
In conversation with false, fraudulent friends that wait for you to fall.
Perhaps you’ll become one of many, part of the flock,
With so much space between your ears you almost float.
Perhaps, you’ll be a brainless lamb that has no thought,
Other than what everyone else thinks,
That has no wants,
Other than what everyone else wants,
A lamb that stares, unmoving, at fast, flashing, fluorescent lights on screens,
And swallows everything.
Maybe one day you’ll look at the boats coming and think no, no more, no room, no money.
Maybe you’ll have forgotten that you’re only here by a small twist of fate.
Maybe you’ll have forgotten that stability is no excuse for greed,
Maybe you won’t remember that there is no excuse for ignorance,
And that politicians with vision come every twenty years, not two,
And that God died a long, long time ago.
Maybe you won’t remember that you have a choice.
A choice in what to see and hear, a choice in what to do and say,
And a choice in what to believe, and in how to endure.

But most probably, you’ll simply want to go back to when it was easy.
Back, to when you were spoon-fed everything you could ever need or want.
Back to being lost in supermarkets and holding hands with everybody that meant anything.
No, you won’t want to just bite the hand that feeds you,
You’ll want to devour it, swallow the entire, calloused thing
And still, you’ll be hungry for more.
Hungry for more but no, not prepared to go out and get it.
Hungry for more, but no, not willing to work.
Hungry for more, and waiting.
Waiting for everything to work out.
Waiting for everything you ever wanted.
Waiting for the hand to come to you.

you came back.

Maybe you're right.

There's simply not enough time to be afraid.

the horses are coming, so you better run.

Is it funny, how you can always know when it's the end? Or is it just sad that you did nothing to stop it from happening?

est-ce que je peux avoir une troisième chance?

Voici une histoire. Il y a un garçon et une fille. La jeune fille est encore à l'école, mais elle croit qu'elle a déjà fait des erreurs assez pour durer toute une vie. Le garçon est un peu plus âgé, mais il ne fait pas beaucoup avec sa vie. Il est perdu, mais il sait qu'il veut être un écrivain un jour. Par coïncidence, il en va-t-elle.
Ils se rencontrent pour la première fois dans un café où il travaille, et ils ont une courte conversation. Elle commande un café. Il lui donne un dollar supplémentaire dans le changement. Ils trouvent de l'autre intrigante. Elle quitte, et il regrette de ne pas demander son nom.

***

Un mois passe. Le hasard, ou peut-être le destin, intervient, et une nuit, ils se trouvent à la même fête. Ils parlent. Flirtent. Il lui demande son numéro. Ils deviennent amis.

Ils aiment la même musique, la même nourriture, les mêmes films. il a peur de ne jamais trouver son chemin dans la vie. Elle a peur de l'amour.

Comme le temps passe, ils se rapprochent, et plus proche. Plus proche encore. Mais elle conserve de lui un secret. Il n'aime pas cela, mais il n'a personne à qui se confier, sauf pour son frère. Ses parents ne seraient pas prendre au sérieux.

Un jour, elle l'embrasse. Il l'invite à dîner. Ils partagent leurs espoirs, leurs rêves, leurs désirs.

Il croit au paradis.

***

Le temps passe, le temps file, et tout semble si facile, si simple, si libre, si nouveau, si unique. Ils vont au cinéma, ils vont faire du shopping, ils mangent, ils boivent, ils rient, elle pleure.

Ils sont proches, si proches, toujours si proche.

Il lui dit qu'il aime elle.

Ils disputent, et elle l'ignore pour une semaine entière.

Il s'excuse auprès d'elle, et elle lui pardonne, même s'il n'a rien de mal à la première place.

Il  lui dit qu'il l'aime. A nouveau.
Mais elle ne peut pas le laisser entrer, dans son esprit. Dans sa vie, ses amis, sa famille.

Personne ne peut savoir à leur sujet. Lui. Elle. Elle et lui.

***

Le temps passe, le temps file. Elle croit qu'elle l'aime, mais elle a peur de le dire.

Et il réalise qu'il ne peut pas gérer plus. Il la quitte.

Elle se sent seule à nouveau.

memories.

biting your own neck.

why do you do it? can't you see it's hurting people, yourself included?

I was in the darkness, so darkness I became.

part of the teenage angst brigade.

i love the way you love, but i hate the way i'm supposed to love you back.

steady walking but bound to trip.

all good things.

how do you trust your feelings, when they can just disappear like that?