The page set before me is taunting me to tell the story that is so clear in my mind. My trouble in this however, is to transfer my thoughts from mind to a device that anyone with the want, can revel in the story that has become of my experience. How can one write the joys felt in marveling in the look of a child in his mother�s arms? How can one explain what is already unfathomable to myself? This is my quest, this is my dragon, which I need to slay, and this is my path that needs to be followed, for only the reason that it exists to be traveled.
My life has become dull without the presence of my friends, and I am comfortable with that. I enjoy the moments where my mind and I have some time to absorb every detail that surrounds every step of my travel. My journey is monotonous, I awake every morning with the same goals I had the day before, and the routine sooths me. If I were 3 years younger then I am now, and this thought had occurred to me then, I most likely couldn�t help felling a little depressed. I can�t recall the exact moment that my mind was changed, that my life was looked at through a different set of eyes, but at this point it doesn�t seem that important. The important part I believe is that it is what it is today, not what it wasn�t yesterday.
I awoke like every other day, feeling the urge to stay asleep, to huddle back underneath my covers where I felt safe and warm. I knew that no matter what it was like outside, it wouldn�t be as good as where I was that very moment. I lay silent, let my mind recall all that was dreamt, and every morning, I am reminded of a poem that I had read a long time ago. The words are fleeting, but the idea is as clear to me now, as when I first read it. The poem talks about a beach, and a man walking on this beach. He realizes that one day, many years from that moment, which he would eventually forget what it was like to be there, and forget what was in his thoughts through every step that he took. He reaches down and grabs a handful of sand, with the intent to carry it home with him. Yet every motion he makes, every step he takes, a few grains seep through his fingers. He notices this and begins to weep, knowing that by the time he gets home, there will be no more sand. He screams "My God, can I not grasp, them with a tighter clasp. Can I not save one from the pit less wave?� My dreams are the many grains of sand, and no matter how hard I hold them, they will eventually fall into the water, where I have no chance of regaining them back into my possession. And by the time I awake, till the time I leave my house, my dreams are already lost.
Still half asleep, I trudge to the bus stop, where I know I will be whisked away to school like every other day before. This is the time I enjoy the most of my day. I put on my headphones, the sounds of the world disappear, and from the time I start the music till the time that I arrive at school, I am serenaded by the sounds which seems to bring out the most of me. Without my music as my key, I cannot unlock my soul. Without this, I am a drone. No purpose, no thought, none of myself is brought out for the entire world to see. This creates my essence, this is what people whom I interact with throughout the day will remember of me. My sense of sight is over saturated with the beauty of my world as it flashes by through the window of the train. It is here, where I am surrounded by people, that I feel totally alone, and totally comfortable with who I�ve become, and who I shall eventually turn out to be.
My stop is signaled by the squeal of brakes, and at this point my mind and body are equally awake. It takes a while for them to catch up to each other, and would also take three times longer if it weren�t for something called coffee.
�Get to the fucking point already. Jesus, do we really care about every step that you take, every move that you make, every single day I�ll be watching y�.. Sorry, got off track. Still, Is it of utmost importance to describe every single insignificant detail of your pathetic life?�
�I�m just trying to tell a story that might inspire someone else to��
�Do you think that your silly little life actually inspires others to better themselves when you yourself are probably more pathetic then the stupid people who actually waste there time reading your diaryland?�
�Now there is no reason to get snippy, we are the same person you know.�
�I know, I just hate being reminded of that fact.�
As I was saying. I get to school, have my morning smoke, think of everything that comes streaming through my mind. There are days were I do nothing but this. I over analyze things that I will never remember, or even things that have no real significance to my life. Eventually I will slip into class, learn what is presented to me, then leave.
�You really turn me on wild, really wild, and you are very beautiful, sexy body and you are gorgeous, and sexy big boob and rising nipple, and sexy pussy and beautiful sexy bum, and sexy legs and I fuck you when you fuck me and we fuck all night and we fuck all day and my big rising willy.�
�Gross man, shut the fuck up, I�m trying really hard to tell a story!�
�What do I care, I�m not in it. Besides, I already know this story, maybe I should give away the ending to the reader.�
�Come on, you don�t want to do that, I worked hard on this.�
�In the beginning of his story��
�Don�t!�
�He says that there is no way to explain certain things, so he makes you read a pointless story and at the end he says, I Told You At The Beginning Of The Story That I Can�t Explain Most Things, So What made You Think I Would Try To Explain Anything To You?�
�Fuck you buddy.�
�I Hate you.�
11:03 p.m. - 2002-06-15
Recent entries:
An Athiests Prayer - 2010-11-22
An apple on a tree - 2010-11-07
At work and bored. - 2010-02-08
Faces - 2009-10-17
Time for a rebirth - 2009-10-16
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