Sock feet on carpet

I'll never be this way again.

What is it I am really craving? besides fruit and vegetables and all of that regular crap that society craves whenever they are stressed. I guess chocolate and junkfood should be added to that list.

I fucking crave a conversation. Not a conversation based on sex, or drugs, or drinking, or parties or any of those superficial things. An actual goddamn conversation, between two people.

About everything and nothing at all. Confessing their desires and fears to one another and being completely honest. Not holding emotions, feelings or words back; just lay everything on the table and be completely honest. Someone who will listen, understand, not think everything is stupid. Not be afraid to answer the tough questions about subjects noone really knows the answers to. Someone who could read books and write things, paint and draw and think according to whatever mood their in. Someone who listens to music that isn't based on pop culture.

I crave someone who cares enough to notice that i am clearly not okay with all of this and everything going on, that my mind has turned to the worst and I just want to get away and curl into a ball. That I am avoiding the tasks I should be doing in life because I am too fucking scared to let anyone in to see the things I am thinking.

Tired of this.

Please, can we just sit down have a good conversation and not notice the time run by, not run to our cell phones in an awkward moment. Not have an awkward moment and just have comfortable silences instead.

Am I wishing too much?

breath of a raindrop

Let's sit and talk about our deepest fears and desires. Stay a while

Rupert is frustrated, with the thoughts of raindrops around him. He is confused and flustered and wonders what to do about it. He had found a chest, a chest of secrets and neat things that one could imagine a chest would hide. He told his secret to a raindrop, the smallest raindrop there was. A whisper and a hum and then it was gone. The secret was out in the air, spiralling around the two, and they smiled and exchanged adventures.

But, the raindrop wouldn't stay put to listen to Rupert's stories and adventures, he would slip away and hide in the threads of Ruperts clothes.

Rupert scowled at all of this, upset that the raindrop wouldn't listen. A raindrop that joined with others and fell from the sky in big heaps.

Window panes are the best at collecting these stories. Holding onto them tightly and sharing them with the glass that they fit so well with. Whispering secrets to each other that the dripping of rain could cover.

Windows and walls are secret keepers.

I wonder what walls and windows would say if they could talk past a rabbit whisper.

A fallen star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

you lean over and kiss her on the head, i've never felt so alive, or so dead.

Day by day consumed with books and notes taken yesterday, the smell and sites are consumed only by scrawls and scribbles within a text or a notebook.

Exams.

The whole aspect of it is overwhelming, and I have quickly grown tired of it.

The joy of the holidays has been once forgotten by the people who once craved and adored it, has the magic left? As we grow older and realize more about the world, things seem less magical then they once were. We notice the cracks and dirty parts and can't get over how perfect it looked before.

What a sad reality this is.

Rupert doesn't know what to think of the whole thing, he just sits on my books staring at the scrawl trying to make sense of it. Even Rupert is losing his touch with seeing the magic in things.

Poor fellow.

Exams suck the magic out of everything.

The Pride Of The Peacock

would it not be simply wonderful to laze away a day with books?

The library has always been a comforting familiar place. I think it's because I have gone to so many and have enjoyed reading my entire life. Ruper loves it too. He jumps and dances over books until he discovers one he enjoys. He then plucks the book out of the shelf and wastes an afternoon laying on top the sheets and reading the scrawl. Perfection.

Perception tunnels are funny things, big whirlwinds of belief that aim you in one specific direction, and as if we have horse blinders we don't question it. We don't take time to notice the beauty of the photograph, or the complexity and skill it took to make the frame. We walk right on by, determined to get to our anticipated destination.

I think a dawdling pace has always been a good one for me. I discover things, secret doors and little hidden nooks and crannies invisible to the ordinary eye.

How quaint.

My personality type is a spontaneous idealist.

It sounds so wonderful.

Caution: Watch out for falling ice

Rupert has been too busy spinning in circles to catch sense of anything that's right.

He has been knocked off of his feet twice now because his sense of gravity is all out of whack.

It's one of those days.

Puddles are everywhere, the rain washed away the snow and replaced it with this mushy green and brown texture that is supposed grass. It's a very ugly thing. Im not sure that the grass likes it either. It's drowning in an abyss of ugly colors and isn't really sure whether to freeze or warm up again.

The air is cold and chilling, the kind that leeks through even the warmest of sweaters but leaves the finest mark of sweat on your skin to make every one of your sweaters not soft but itchy.

It's one of those weeks.

Cars flying past in a line that goes through zigs and zags of city lights. The air heavy of exhaust, wind, and cigarette smoke. The cigarette smoke is not enough. Not enough to calm the wind jumping in every direction. A dimly lit stick wrapped in a fine paper providing dim light just enough for a small conversation.

This is the year of the rabbit, a year to bring peace and restore harmony. A year in which there is peace and leisurely pace.

Will it be one of those years?