o

_...i sometimes wonder when
___our circle became a spiral
_____and when that
_____spiral will reach
______its lowest point
_________to end
__________us.

Yes.

Four cups of black coffee everyday,
Four times to sip slowly and remember
Us.
You’re still addicted to me,
Am I still addicted to you?

Yes.
Well, I cannot seem to get away.
And though I tried
One summer,
I could not shake your comfort
Or the longing for that purple fleece.

You gave me the Shins and Brushfire artists
So I listen and fall back
Into those same coffee memories and cream-colored skirt.
First flecks of snow--
As you watch me get ready.
I thought you fell in love with me
To the sound of “Butterfly,”
But I cannot be sure.

It may have taken me longer,
Until I got used to breakfast living.
However,
Four fall seasons later and I am there now,
Unable to forget the smell of French toast,
Or the feel of a Wellsburg Valentines Day.
Crunchy leaves remind
Of innocent first kisses,
And discovering the merry-go-round.

Me.
And you.
“Better Together”
(Most of the time).
Yet can we both believe it
Simultaneously?

Today,
I choose to sip black coffee,
At the same time as you,
Hoping the miles won’t seem so far,
And that you will say decide to say,
“Yes.”

Foolish Prints

Sometimes I envision things before I do them, imagine they go poorly, and then manipulate the situation so that the scene I saw earlier actually becomes my direct reality. This morning I saw myself accidentally spilling too much sugar on my cereal. Yet when I did turn the shaker upside down, the perfect amount sprinkled the surface. Consequently, I chose not to stop there. For some odd reason (one I am exploring right now), I continued to pour until I had a mountain of sugar atop the small pile of grainy flakes and a mess to clean up. The scene of disorder on the counter was an exact replica of the picture I had seen in my mind only moments before. It is as though I actually needed the original outcome to occur, but by deliberate force rather than accident. While writing in my journal earlier, I found myself unsure about whether I needed a comma or a semicolon after a particular phrase so I left it at a comma. I went back to place a dot above the mark, but found my pen unable to manage the task. Still unsure about my decision, I should have just left the punctuation alone, but I continued pressing and dotting until the black spot appeared. A simple demonstration of my indecision, and then my natural inclination to push limits. This is how I end up in foolish positions. I say to myself, “It would really suck if I got my shoes wet,” yet I am not satisfied to move away from the lapping waves until one has licked my feet, leaving my shoes squishy and uncomfortable. I somehow need to test the universe, makes sure I am not beyond any natural laws, and consequently, walk away feeling like an idiot because I just could not force myself to withdraw my feet in time. My fears. My uneasiness. They have to prove true before I am able to move forward. Am I alone in this, or do others experience moments like this as well? I mean, I know for a fact that if I hold the button down long enough, the soda will overflow my plastic cup and spill down the sides. But this does not keep me from, every once in awhile, resisting the reflex to stop on time and indulge in the brimming cup. I have to make the overflow happen, only to prove true something I already know. The outside of my cup is sticky as a result—maybe to remind me that I am ridiculous for messing up on purpose. I often wonder if this is some sort of disorder or if everyone else finds themselves casually experiencing these things as well?

Of course I do find the strength to overcome these bizarre, seemingly “natural” responses when I know it could be dangerous. I see myself falling down the stairs, slipping on the treadmill, or accidentally stepping in front of a car and getting smashed to pieces. I manage to resist the temptation to make these types of “premonitions” come true. In fact, I usually treat these as superstitions and proceed with caution. It can never hurt to play it safe, right?

I guess I just wonder why I seem to have the subconscious desire to test the trivial things, attempt to control my immediate future, and end up feeling like a fool. Any thoughts?

I Forgot to How to Love

I've been relatively quiet and "unopinionated" for some time now--a lot more than I used to be. I think I have just been worried about pissing people off. My latest entry did just this, and I have removed it. I offer no apology for my opinion, but I don't think I should have shared it like I did. I lost focus, and this page is supposed to be about creative expression, not judgment. I do apologize for making anyone feel unloved, unaccepted, or judged. I am sorry.

Lamentations of a Lukewarm Writer

I usually feel things deeply at the very beginning of my day, or during the late close of it. Either polar portion of the day is opportune for the recording of my thoughts, as they are too tired to be filtered. They offer honesty and insight and somewhat overdramatic emotions. In the morning, my emotions are tender and sensitive, usually resulting in unreliable streams of thought. On some mornings, I am more than happy to greet the early sunrise. I exhale patiently, thanking God for the very essence of this waking moment. I am excited to live this day. Of course there are groggy days when my thoughts are overcast and I am unable to complete any simple sentence passing through my head. I drift somewhere between comfort and despair in the early loneliness. Late night thoughts are always the “long-time-coming” type. The deeply buried feelings finally surface and I am forced to contemplate my situation, although I rarely arrive upon any definite conclusion. I chew on indecision for a late night snack, digest the day’s happenings, and eventually go to sleep on a full stomach. It does, however, take slowly ticking time for my mind to turn off. I suppose these thoughts grow bored and transcend into the bizarre dream world. They only sort of make sense.
The problem with early morning thinking and late night reflection is that during these times, I am resistant to writing things down. It is not a result of laziness, but rather a terrible fear that at the every moment I begin to record, the moment itself will vanish and I will be left with a mind vacant of any inspiration at all. Acknowledge that I am getting somewhere, and it’s all over then. I’m as useless as an adolescent boy caught up in the latest video game. Throughout the day, I am too busy—too loud to even attempt writing a piece. Instead, I jot down passing thoughts occurring throughout my activities, hoping I will eventually return to them on some quiet evening when I am both capable of dissecting the very potential of that thought. Perhaps something worth creative exploration will surface. Perhaps not. So when do I write? I don’t. I mean, I haven’t done much in the past month. I am a lukewarm writer. I suppose I am simply being a winy and defiant student who is all too eager to offer lame excuses for lack of productivity. But I must find my balance between seized moments of passion and trained discipline if I am to continue.

I welcome any advice.