Syn Drom.

It feels like we've been lying here for days
And now, out of the same place
I'm standing next to you.
Underneath, a million words
We buried all of the ones that we thought worth
Listening to.
And you don't know how beautiful you are.
Take love and peace,
And see what gets you far.
And you don't know,
You've got a flower in your soul--
It's you...

I feel like in a broken palm of words
to describe,
Le diamante dans ta coeur,
Tu n'est pas une femme,
Tu est une fille.
The world's not alone,
Simply a whirl with you.
And you don't know how beautiful you are,
Take love and peace,
And see what gets you far.
And you don't know,
You've got a flower in your soul--
It's you...

I sometimes wish I'd gotten to know her better. If she could write lyrics as beautiful as these, she must have been one unforgettable person. And her voice definitely entrances me. It's a shame we never even talked until less than a month ago.

I write with a mixture of nostalgia and hope. It is amusing to think that right now, while I lie here in bed, the eight grade class is in Wye Island, probably having the best time of their lives. I miss that place, a lot. I want to go back one day with a guitar. I am certain that I would be able to play some great things there. Inspiration and memories are endless. The place seems enchanted, in a way. I still remember that field of fireflies at night, glowing and dancing before my eyes. I could've stared at it for hours. I remember walking in the darkness with a group of people, looking for obscure clues to some trivial hunt. Remembering how afraid everyone was to go into the woods. I'll admit, that place was pretty creepy.

The flood of memories from just a year ago seem to slowly draw me under. I could close my eyes and see it all again...
Smelling her hair in the morning as I hugged her, and sneaking a kiss before anyone else walked into the room. It seems that with every day that passes, those memories slowly become more and more like dreams. I don't want to go back and live it again. I'd like to someday see what could have been. Perhaps what will be.
Every adult tells me that if there is someone who walks into our lives whom we are meant to see again, it is only a matter of waiting for that moment to come. But that state of mind doesn't help me. It simply makes it harder to get past it.

I am presented with opportunities as each day passes, but mixed parts of me don't seem to want to take those. It just seems like I will be disappointed. There's moments when I wonder if life gets a kick of seeing someone's happiness and taking it away from them.

Meh. Rambling gets me nowhere. My will to continue a train of thought seems to have died. I am a disappointment to myself.

The moustache of my Trotski.

Sometimes, I really envy him. Just now was perhaps the worst of it. He dealt with heartache too. And many times in his life, I'm sure. But he quickly found someone to replace the empty space. His advice is something I place ridiculous amount of worth on, and I try to believe it. But it's hard to think that he knows it when I can see him so happy right in front of me. It's just hard, sometimes. Most days it doesn't hit me like this, but I guess I just still take everything about her too seriously. I guess I felt like I had to meet every expectation on that list, but I don't. I don't know what the fuck I want anymore. It's all so god damn complicated.

Sans toi, je ne peux pas être moi.

Whatever. I am going to publish the song that I wrote today. Maybe re-writing the lines will make this feeling pass faster.

This one's called The Mustache of My Trotski, inspired by Carla Bruni.

You are the joint to my weed,
I am the leaves to your tree,
You are the Chicken McNuggets to my Norfleet,
I am the flame,
You are the oil tanker.
You are the obe to my zags,
I am the flip to your flops,
You are the apple sauce to my Jeff,
And I am the Corona Extra to your Henry.
You're the Bohemian Rhapsody to my Dom,
I am the Japanese to your Dylan,
You are the jeans,
I am the buttons,
I am the Naval,
You are my ice cream.
I am the motion detector at your pahtay,
You are the WFAHQ at my base.
You are Penelope
And I am Odysseus
I am Gilgamesh,
You are the Bull of Heaven.
You are the Elephaz of my Job,
I am the Orff to your Tumpy.
You are the Batman to my Clocktower,
I is the words to your story
You are the Nick to my K.E.P.S.,
I am the spoon,
You are Ryan McKeebie.
You are the sauce of my Prom
I am 10 dollars
You are Bongo Bear
You are Beer,
I am the 'B'.
I am Shmackie
You the Bobby
You are the airplane,
I am the Shoo!
You are awkward peanut butter to my términale
I am the lazy eye,
You are Thom Yorke.
You is the Muse to my Starlight,
I am the Truck Rental
You are Next Car.
I am fish,
You is Jesus.
Y'all the Grendel,
I is the mere.
You're the dragon guarding my goldz,
I the Hrunting,
You da Unferth.
You is da Sidd,
I iz Artha.
You are the Universe to my Across The!
(Solo)

We are THE GREEN MACHINE x20(really fast)

You are rupture of my spleen,
I am the gall stones in your liver.
You are the (Broface) to my disgusting
I am the Bob to your McCarthy Doctor Bob
I am the Hoooold...(rest 5 seconds)
You are the With this!
You the turtle,
I am the BOOM!
You are the sustain (Epiphone face)....to my Ballsy Gibson
I am the minor engine that made Benny Lava
You are the poop on my kneeeeeeee
I am the Narrow Stairs,
You are the Viva La Vida.
You are my Transatlanticism,
I am your Green Eyes.
You are the dopamine to my seratonin,
I am th Tunuk to your Tun
You are the sunshine in my skies,
I brought sexy back
And you wanted it that way.
You put the air in my despair - - - to be continued


Yeah. That did make me feel better. That song is going to be the most epic thing ever.

The northern sky looked like the end of days.

It is amusing how rich with thoughts, complications, memories, mistakes, and ideas my head fills within a matter of days. You begin to wonder if you're ever going to learn to control it.

The conclusion tends to be undecided.

You wonder if your efforts are in vain. If there's no point in wishing, or hoping.

The conclusion of that tends to be no, if you are surrounded by the right things at that moment. With the wrong mentality, the answer will be yes.

The reason for this stream of thought is a combination of needing to let things out, and inspiration from an obscure video. Life questions, and such. The biggest one on my mind right now is one that has given me a really large array of feelings.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

The first impression to answer this brings me to think that it is because life is unfair. That it picks upon the ones that don't deserve it. Just now, my least favorite book comes to mind. The Book of Job. The only part of the book I liked, in a cynical kind of way, was when he began to question God. The man had been loyal to him for his entire life, and had done nothing wrong. He'd survived hardships, and he thanked God for everything he had. Then, the bastard takes it all away because of a simple bet with the devil. After absurd and complete tormenting, punishing, etc., so on and so forth, Job begins to question God.

This is where I begin to remember all the bullshit in the bible. About how God will punish the sinners, and the evil people. About how he'll reward the good people. And I remember Job asking God why the hell he was punishing him--he, who had never done a single evil deed in his entire life.

And then, in the end of the story, after it gets to the point where it is beginning to get hard for me to continue reading this bullshit, you get to the conclusion, where God comes down and talks to Job. I was expecting some sort of life-changing moment, that would possibly make me question my agnosticism.

And what do I get?

A simple excuse from this "voice" of God in the story. A voice of higher power that acts like a condescending son of a bitch, bragging of everything he's done, and everything he is capable of, and demanding the one thing that I will never, ever submit to. He tells Job not to question him, because he is oh so mighty and oh so powerful.

Fuck. I'm getting furious just remembering it. I hated that story with such a passion. It was so god damn hard to read that at school, and then hold myself back during discussions. Respecting other people's beliefs seemed like such a meager excuse to belt out a debate on something I love discussing.

My satisfaction was brought a couple of weeks ago when I burnt the damn book.

Why do bad things happen to bad people?

From my rant, you can see that the answer is very weighed by what your beliefs are.
The reason that question was the first in my mind is because of the aggression it brings me when I think of the person I care about most, lying in a bed, stuck in a room for the next couple of months. But then I think of another point, one that was clear in my mind from another discussion of a book at school.

The reason evil exists in the world is to balance goodness. If there was no evil, there would be no way to define good. Without bad things, life would become boring; monotonous. I think that one is a bit easier to cope with than the God-approach. It is understandable, and it doesn't aggravate me.

Why do promises break?

Well, fuck if I know. People change. Different things gain priority in life, and old promises that seemed to be important become trivial. It's depressing how our older days are replaced by mounting responsibilities and life's little intricacies. You can get so caught up in what "must" be done that you forget what you ever even striving for.

End rant.

The fact of the matter was, and is that I miss and missed you too.

I hesitated at first. But Smith's voice swayed me. Whenever I'd hear that song, I would think of you. No matter what. It wasn't quite as bad as some other songs--at least that one I could still hear. Not like Daft Punk, or Coldplay. I couldn't listen to those for a while. But eventually I realized if I started censoring my music, I'd be rendered silent. But the happy melody and the playful lyrics made me finally press the key. It hadn't been the first time I'd hesitated on pressing it--no, fuck it was like the 1590328 time. But I kept telling myself that I couldn't just give in. Our conversations had begun to become too real, and it was beginning to tear and tear, until it got more and more raw. It'd be fine at first, but I would let something slip that wasn't meant to be taken with full attention, and you'd always catch it and analyze it. It would get misunderstood, but in some cases, understood far too well, and things would go back to an argumentative state. You'd leave, furious and frustrated, and I'd be left there trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. It was misunderstanding after misunderstanding, until it got to the point where the barriers were so sheer that anything could shatter them. It had to stop. And the only way to fix it was to stop talking entirely, which was what I'd hoped would never be necessary. I denied the thought so many times, thinking that it'd be fine, but eventually it was unbearable to think of the consequences. It was a matter of losing you momentarily or forever. I chose the first option.

That choice was mostly made by the things we both said in that on-going session of e-mails. You'd said things that you perhaps didn't mean to say, but I knew that you did mean them, and I could not refuse them or rebuke them because inside I knew it was true. But if you'd wanted to hurt me, you would've done that a long time ago. So I figured it was not an intentional attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. So I cut off contact entirely. No phone calls, no messages, no e-mails, not even looking for you because I knew if I could, I would talk to you.
The first couple of days, I let it off with the excuse that I was angry at what you'd said. That you were inconsiderate. That she just couldn't keep her damn mouth shut. But eventually, I knew that wasn't true. I stopped acting like I was still a stupid, ignorant child and accepted that it was not anyone else's fault but my own. At that point, I realized that if I did not fill up my mind with other things, I wouldn't be able to keep this up long. Conveniently enough, my mother had left for Colombia, and I would be home alone from the end of school to 7 every day, pretty much. So I'd bring a different person to the house every day. I'd surround myself with a different crowd every time to see what it was that I wanted. It worked for a while. I got to be with friends I missed, even though I saw them daily. I got to know others who I didn't know well enough. I saw who was fake and who was real. I was more attentive to everything around me. I noticed the beauty of the place I dreaded so much. I realized that spring can make even the worst hell-hole seem like a paradise. I was overtaken by flowers and green all around me, and with life bursting out of every little corner. It was beautiful. But then I'd start to fade away from the distractions, or the distractions would become normal and regular, and thoughts would revert back. Back to you. It was the worst in the mornings, and in the walks back home. I would see the tulips every day, and no matter how much I tried to escape them, I knew they were there. I wanted to pick one up and run to school, and open the door to my old homeroom and find you there, and wrap my fingers around your eyes and surprise you with your favorite flower. But I knew that wasn't possible. I was fine with that, for the most part. A part of me truly wished I could go to a different school. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so hard then.
The lunches weren't as bad. We'd spend our lunches leaning against a tree and watching everyone play soccer, and eventually we'd get a crowd of people to surround us, and that tree became a local spot for chatting after food. Not anymore. Now I'd just lie on a hill and turn up my iPod and stare at the clouds, making different shapes.
But the distractions ran out. The flowers died, and everything just turned green. People would constantly ask me why we weren't talking. It wasn't that I didn't want to explain it to them, it would just take too long for them to understand it. I spelled it out for four people, and four people only. The rest could ask them, or get a simple answer. The questions got tiring, too.
I'd sit in class wondering what you were doing that minute. Wondering if you missed me. If you cared about what I was doing, thinking, saying...
I'd sit in Algebra, and there would be that folded piece of paper, and your voice would come back.
"Here, hold on.....now, whenever you open this folder and you see this paper, you can open it and class won't be so long."

You'd written three words on it, and folded into the cover of the binder. I'd see it daily, and even though I didn't open it, the words would yell at me.
I began to hear different things. She'd tell me that you missed me, and the other one would tell me that you thought I was furious at you. Then he'd tell me you were waiting for me to talk to you. Why the hell couldn't they mind their own business? I didn't need to know that. I wanted to know, but I didn't need to. Poor Erika would say that if we couldn't get along, then the world had no chance. It always amused me how she thought of us as the ideal couple. I guess we were pretty good.

We did look damn good together, that's for sure.

The most amusing ones were when random people like Leni would ask me if we still talked.
"Do you still talk to Cris?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you still like her?"
"....."
"Yeah, you do. You definitely do. You love that girl. And you always will."
"..........."

It's not like I could really deny it. Lying to myself never worked too well. So the weekend came closer and closer, and I decided if there was a time to start it up again, it'd be then.

And then Robert started singing. It was an irresistable desire.