I don't feel like being obvious tonight.

Would you pass me that thimble, then sit for a while perhaps?
Such pretty blossoms hanging there.
I'd like a squnch beneath them, please.

I used to envy Pan the Man.
Now I wish I was in a house, stirring a pot. Or something.
MY house. I want my house. My own.
Pan never had one.

Blue feelings fill me at this moment.
Perplexed. Utterly.
And now my mind is filled with the "Jabberwocky."
Supposedly his head went gallumping...?
Anyway, that's all a tale and a wish to be forever young.

I feel young.
Sad thing is that now, after all this time...
I can't seem to find that dream.
I can't seem to find myself.
What does it all mean, anyway?

There's a him and a her.
Can't be him and her.
Just a him and a her.
I guess that's why I'm covered in blue.

Send me off and away to the sand.
And a breeze that messes up my hair.

Without saying "I love you"

I care. Deeply. And I want you to know that I'm willing to be that embrace that catches your fall. I can't wipe away the rotten circumstances, and I can't keep you from crying... but I can encourage you to run with all your might toward the One who can. I can't be much of anything. Only an ear to listen. Your words are important, so don't lock them up. I don't have the key either, so you'll have to slowly spill them. As they spill, I'll scoop them up and hold them closely... they won't be lost. I'll keep them safe.

When the happiness radiates through your pores, I want to be there to see it.

Are You Jealous of These Yellow Walls?

He's right in the middle.

She said she's perfectly warm.

And comfortable.

And cozy.

He wants to bring her something.

Very badly, I guess.

He dotes to win.

But she's as tough as they come.

A pleasant looking face.

Against the wall.

And around the corner.

He wants nothing less.

Clearly it's a lost battle.

Not uphill, just lost.

And sad, so sad.

Except for the walls in the room.

They were all yellow.

Those piano tunes and old fingers on the keys are beginning to pang in my heart.

A piercing pang, pang, pang... not a pleasant melody.

To be rid of the piano altogether is ideal.

I am angry though.

Too swollen and furious to even look at a face that knows no limit to love.

My heart is breaking to heal, but a tedious and torturous process it will be.

There is another heart, though, that is willing to wrap itself around my bruises.

In that heart, and in that smile, and in that touch is my security.

Here I am, running to it, like my breath will not continue of I don't.

And it won't.

I know it won't if I don't.

Lines and circles

I have lines on my hands

They're all over

I have circles on my desk

They're contained

Twenty-four on one

Thousands on the other

I desire none but have all

The only thing I want

Is a part of the heart on my finger

Fleeting

I look at that star

and I wonder

I ponder its name

its place

its shape

I'd like to know how long it took

to create

A moment?

perhaps

Did it make a sound?

was silence the rule?

did He use His hands or just breathe?

While I'm lying here

looking into its brilliance

I ponder

I wonder

Who else can see

its beaming face

tonight?

What's sad is this:

If I lie here again

on another lovely night

my star could be gone

the clouds could be out

my face could be wet

I'm worried my star will disappear

Why won't it come out?!?!?

I want to write so badly, but nothing is coming out. Grr. I would dance instead, but at a time like this (10:30pm), that isn't so considerate... I live with a few people. I guess I could bounce around on the floor with my music turned up since they have to love me no matter what, but uh, I think I'll refrain.

Hmm I miss dancing. I think I'll type out something I wrote for my dance ed class.

Dance, to me, is a form of expression. Through it, I am able to use all senses and any form of communication I desire to represent what I am feeling. It involves as much skill as it does passion. Dance is an art form, a science, an equation... Dance is beauty. There is something so organic about using the body and heart together to present something from within to any onlooker. It teaches, absorbs, reflects, changes, simplifies... Dance, to me, is the most natural thing I could ever do. Without it, I would burst. Sometimes you just need a way to get it all out.

"Dance is the only art form wherein we, ourselves, are the stuff of which it is made."

-Havelock Ellis