for the love of secrets and laughter

I’ve always hated the fall.

It’s the bitter reminder that everything that I have come to love is dying; and I am left alone. The coming of winter: being the sole remainder of my kind – my nature brothers and sisters; that have comforted me when I felt most abandoned – and am left only with the sound of a howling wind in the icy darkness.

I don’t like being left behind.

However, this autumn, with my new-grown eyes, I’ve been able to clean off the sorrow in my lenses, and see the beauty.

Beauty is often found when you least expect it; and in the most unlikely of places.

I couldn’t sleep. I put on heavy boots and a thick coat and left my house, cutting though the silence as I stepped down flights of stairs with clown feet. There was a frost already settled on the frozen ground. I could hear the grass break under each step. There was a smell of damp dust that settled deep inside of my lungs; weighing me down. I walked for such a very long time, listening to the bump, bump against the dirt.

My feet carried me to a rock, deep inside a pasture, hidden by a veil of trees. I waded through a crunchy mountain of carcasses, and sat on the cold boulder. I pulled my arms and legs under my coat like a turtle. In the light of the moon shining easily though the empty branches, I watched my breath.

Overgrowth surrounded me.

I had sat here before; long ago. It was a faint memory in my crowded head.

It had been many summers ago. I had attended a recital spotlighting my grandmother at a red-wooden house at the end of an unseen lane. She chatted with her friends upon its completion; I had awkwardly slipped into the shadows.

An open window was my escape.

Running through the tall weeds I found this place after pushing aside brambles and arms of wiry branches. It was beautiful. Sunlight forced its way through the tops of the thick layers of leaves, peeping through the sparse cracks, and streaming through victoriously. Little white wild flowers and dandelions surrounded it. I thought I had found my way into a fairy haven.

I spent what felt like hours picking the wild grasses, and flowers to put upon my head as a crown, and dreaming. I reigned that day as a princess. It had been a castle, a prison, a fortress, a cottage. All of which there was a faceless prince to rescue me, fall desperately, ardently in love with my overwhelming beauty, sweeping me into his arms, and carrying me off to an eternity of bliss.

He had always been my first kiss.

This fantastical spell was broken only by the shrill call of my name; I ran across the field back to my impatiently awaiting grandmother, but not before setting my crown on the rock, and vowing to return to my kingdom.

I have very few memories. And the few that I do have are rarely happy. This particular memory had always been my own. My secret.

I had searched for this place many times before, but had never been able to find it.

Though the mazes of my tired mind, I made my way to a happy place. But it was different than what I had remembered. Much different.

Everything was smaller, and there was an air of regret. I had remembered a mountain of a rock upon which I ruled, and trees that would have put forests to shame. Everything was brighter, the air was sweeter, the sounds were more full of joy.

But there was only a suffocating silence, and cold darkness.

A reminder, perhaps, that everything is different now.

I cried.

In my sorrow, I grabbed a brittle looking branch and snapped it in half, and was shaken by what I found:

Green.

The inside of the branches were green. Though frozen, and stiff, everything was still alive. If I listened hard enough I could still hear the shallow breathing.

I was still alive.

I realized that my inner child and the innocence I’d once had not been lost. A thick layer of bark hid what was soft and beautiful inside. The life I had been mourning for so long had never vanished. It was still there – I was still here – hidden beneath layers of stories of my past, memories of my sorrow, and masked a person I pretend to be. I was only seeing what everyone else had been seeing; though my own doings I had build a rough bark around me to protect me from the bitter winds of life.

I found my way home with frozen eyelashes. Not being able to keep the laughter slipping from my lips.

My friends were not dead. They were still there, still alive. Just hiding until it was safe to come out again.

I was still here; just hiding.

My secret.

~C

idleness and paper

I am sitting in class.

Far below me the professor stands, hiding between the waves of heads. Her whole countenance exudes the way she feels about herself: power, superiority, and intellectuality that cannot be rivaled. The students she ventures to teach have since discovered the riveting difficulty and concentration needed to conquer a match between digital face cards, and logically based metal hardware. She has become a white noise. I can hear her only if I stop my mind of all thought and hold my breath.

“…once confederate currency became nearly worthless, did the confederate congress institute a graduated income tax similar to the Union’s expenses, they furnished on—“

I believe that I might’ve turned a lovely shade of purple, which most likely matched my eye shadow I painted today. So, either I can’t type very fast, or I can’t hold my breath very long. Either way, I got some pretty great looks from my surrounding peers as I gasped for air.

Fall break is coming up. It is for Thursday, and Friday. I am actually kind of excited.

I was at my parents’ house a few weeks ago, helping my Dad clean out the house. I discovered his old bike that was conceived into existence over 20 years ago. I have needed a bike for some time now. Since I moved into this new apartment, I have found the necessity make to cause for my midnight walks to become a more rare of an occurrence. Although having two jobs and much schooling plays a big role in the lack of creativity, my environment is the basis behind my lack of yearning to connect with the life energy on a more intimate level. The guys in my apartment have been harassing me since I moved in nearly three months ago. I try not to leave my bedroom unless I have some pressing engagement. I miss it. I sit out on my balcony sometimes and watch the wind waltz sensually with the trees. I get such an aching in my heart that leaves me with such sorrow when I know that my days of dancing among them have become a rarity. However, this new form of transportation – for my Dad told me I could keep it; I have to fix it up a little though – I can go anywhere I please in a fourth of the time.

I live near a lake. Not terribly near, but near enough to walk to (if you have an extra four hours in your day). I’ve fallen in love with the dock (that was shown to me by that new friend of mine), and intend to return again Thursday night.

I bought a sleeping bag. Yeah, you’ve guessed it. I am planning on spending the night on the beach. Its no ocean, but I’ll contain my maddening desires for earthly connections; at least for a few days. But the best news is, is that I now have a bike. And I intend to put miles on.

I can’t wait for the holiday, even though work is the dominant activity of my long weekend. I am still grateful for the slowing of the stem of relentless monotony.

Alright, time’s up.

Back to the real world.

~C

the trees have spoken.

I have made a new friend.

He is truly kind, and surprisingly respectful. But, I believe that his most perceptible attribute in one word would be: fun. He is very fun. I am not sure I have ever met someone quite like him.

We went on an adventure a few days ago. We stayed up for all hours of the morning, and he explained to me the stars. Exuberant stories were told, laughter was shared; shivering lips and whispered secrets next to breathing waves were the contents of the night. I went to bed with the sound of water in my ears, and cold toes.

However, I had quite the flooring revelation whilst this escapade ensued.

All of my life I had a specific mindset of what I wished most desperately to become. Perhaps it might sound familiar: To be beautiful, loved by many, to be known by all, musically engrossed and in short, accepted. This new friend is all of that. He is perhaps the most friendly and easily likable person I have ever met. EVERYONE knows him. But I noticed something else too. Are you ready?

The person that he has become, as wonderful as it is, is not ME.

Nearly every comment I heard was about how a certain song was “cool” because he and his friends had discovered and agreed upon it, how a certain eating facility was “cool” because they had deemed it so, and that only a handful of particular activities were “cool”.

Did he not have any opinion of his own? Did he truly enjoy having his ideas and innermost thoughts crushed by popular conception? What did he truly feel? (I attempted to ask him this, but all he knew were the answers that had been fed to him. No words from the beating heart inside his body.)

I began to be self conscious just being around him and his friend because the absolute obsession with what was popular within his wide and varied social circle was apparent; and I didn’t feel I made the cut.

I love exotic foods you have to eat with your hands from small out of the way places. Not chic, sophisticated restaurants crammed with the most socially proficient college students.

I like wearing clothes that are blend-able and cheap, that are wore with the specific intention of shrinking into the lining of the walls to watch people walk by. Not clothes that are loud and exclusive, that must have cost at least three of my paychecks combined.

I like singing opera and listening to instrumentals that make me cry. Not playing ukuleles and having your senses entirely drowned in the talentless whine of some obscure band.

I like walking alone in the dark, surrounded by all that is God, and finding secret places in the world to hide and burry my heart. Not surrounded by loud, flirtatious laughter, pseudo lifestyles, and anxious attempts to be conventional.

I realized that everything that I have been quietly wanting for such a long time -- a burning desire to be “normal” – was actually not what I wanted at all. While sitting on a pier with a boy I hardly knew, I came to the grounding realization that I actually LIKED who I was. My mind, cogs turning, finally found that I didn’t actually care that I was different. I was truly uniquely me.

Who cares that I like playing nerdy adventure games instead of doing my homework? Who cares if I pretend I host talk shows to my bedroom mirror? Who cares that I walk for ages with my eyes closed, or that I run in the rain, or that I make a fool of myself in front of children because I love to hear them laugh? Who cares that I can’t fall in love?

I’ve wanted so long to be able to change myself, in order to be received as “one of them”. I care more about what my Father in Heaven thinks than what they do. I know that I will always be in amongst the people of the world, but I will never be one with them. And its okay. I am different; and I like that about me.

So, thanks to my new friend -- who loves people per his personality – I was able to discover who I am, and what I want out of life.

What a great existance I lead.

~C