Talkingbird123's Blog

So lately I haven’t been sleeping much, but tomorrow I think I’l start sleeping more. I want to be free from everything, these nightmares, these dreams. I just want to be me.

I think when you come back, I’ll start to live again. You’ve become part of my heart and soul, and once you leave, I can’t be happy.

I think this may be my all time favorite photo of myself. This is exactly how I see myself. Eyes opened, eyebrows slightly raised, and twinge of a smile. It feels warm, it feels like me. I feel exactly like this picture, happy. Not excited, just comfortably happy.

I have one photo that might contest with this one. A picture of me and my mom when I was really small. My hands are reaching out for her, and we are both smiling. We are both happy with each other.

I don’t know if there will ever be a time in my life when we are both happy like that. When will we ever get to spend that time together? She is happy for me, and I’m happy for me, but that doesn’t mean she is happy. She does not have her own happiness, unless it has to do with me. That’s love. When your happiness is impossible without someone else’s happiness. My happiness goes only so far without her near me.

This photo reminds me of my mom. It’s warm like she is.

I think I have been longing for more.

I think some changes in my life are due.

This hunger never goes away, and it eats at me during the night.

I can’t escape in my dreams, my eyes are far too tired for sleep.

My waking life needs to become like my dreams, so maybe this thirst will begin to be quenched.

I need to satisfy my needs.

One day, in the not so near future, but not so far off future, I hope I have a child just like me and you. I’ve often thought about what it must feel like to be pregnant, filled with another life. I’ve frequently longed to give love unconditionally to something so pure and innocent that this world has yet to taint. I know it’s odd because at my age it is typical to long for other things, but my body tells me something other than my mind. I don’t want a child for many years, I’m still to young for that, but I can’t quench this longing to give my whole heart to something, something so fragile. I would give it all the love I have to give it strength, I will love it as I have been loved.

I have been fortunate enough to be well-loved. I may not be the best person, but I am always surrounded by love. It is the one thing that escapes time and distance. I hope that one day I’ll give something a love that surrounds them completely. A colorful world filled with dreams and passions, and although one day it will have to face the conquests of this world, it will know that it has enough love to make it through.

I hope one day our love for each other overspills. Together we have filled each other’s pots with love until it has become too much that we make new pots to hold our love. And as both our hearts mix, a perfect new love is made.

I hope that it will have my imagination, my optimism, my ambitiousness, and my love. I hope that it will have your wisdom, your honesty, your rationality, and your love. I hope it will see the world with both our eyes, wide like mine (always the wide-eyed dreamer), and clear blue like yours (to see right through the illusions of the world). I hope it will have all the best qualities of ours, and be what we cannot be, our future after we are long and gone. As I get older, I learn more and more why people have babies. They give life meaning, and they give you a future.

I don’t think there is anything greater than giving your life for another life. There is nothing greater than the gift of life.

I think I’m one of the few people that hasn’t experienced hardship in this world. I’ve never felt hunger unless self-inflicted, or thirst unless I was too lazy to grab a glass. I’ve never seen someone die, I’ve never seen someone born. I haven’t seen much in these past nineteen years though I deeply long for it. The only type of torture I have endured is the longing for something much to great for myself.

I haven’t seen anything, yet I preach like I know everything. I’m a blind artist, painting with my words of which I have yet to see. It is all dream still, and the paint I believe is still wet. If I venture into my dreams, maybe I will begin to see. Maybe these paintings will become less beautiful, less of an illusion.

Have you ever noticed that the quietest people always have the most to say? Or what they say seems much more profound than people who always speak? Is it because we are used to the sounds of everyone else, and not theirs? Or cause those thoughts they kept hidden for so long have become much more valued treasures, and they only present them on rare occasions?

So then I thought about me and how I have a tendency to always speak. My words always escape before I can bury them like the hidden treasures they should be. Maybe I can’t keep my gold to myself, or maybe I just want everyone to see it’s value. It’s probably just fool’s gold, but I send it out to the world. I share it with the world to show some merit, some value, but it is nothing of the sort. It is cheap, it is a lie, it is nothing.

Maybe I’m going about this in the wrong way. Maybe my ideas and thoughts they are seeds. I don’t give them a chance to grow in my head to become great oaks, but as soon as the sappling is strong enough, I give it to the wind. Maybe I think all my seeds deserve a better place to grow, somewhere more fertile, somewhere more sustainable. And although my seeds could get washed down a river, I know eventually one will take root in someone else’s yard. They can admire it’s beauty, and use it however they wish.

My ideas are not just mine, they are for the world’s. And if I can have numerous opportunities of growth, so should everyone else. I want to share my seeds with the world, maybe they’ll find somewhere better to make a home.

Sometimes you’ll want to run, and leave without a trace.

You’ll forget that there are people who will run after you.

So if you ever decide to run, I will run with you. I will hold you’re hand, and we will run away again. I won’t run behind you, I’ll run next to you. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I would like to thank everyone for ruining what I thought I was going to be a good weekend.

Sighs

Worst fucking weekend ever…

End of Story.