he's not a giving tree

When I was little my dad was, as many children see their fathers, superman. He was the strongest and the fastest, and the best chocolate chip cookie baker. He was my tree. Solid roots that grew deep into my ground and supported me against his trunk. A tarp of leaves to catch me when I fell, and limbs that reached down to me and guided me to the top of my potential. But as I continued to climb, his limbs started to bend, weakening under the strain. They stopped growing, and stretched to a point where they could no longer hold me. They're bark flaking off and disappearing into the fading leaves below. I continued to climb for as long as I could; convincing myself that everything was the same. That this tree had not changed. Until eventually I fell, tumbling into nothingness, where leaves should have been there to catch me. I had not given up. It wasn’t his fault. The weight of my body had grown to fast for him and he had done everything he could to hold me. Right? So I began climbing again. But sharp thorns poked out of the bark, piercing my flesh and tearing my skin. Short branches broke off at the slightest touch, leaving behind rough sticks that scratched my legs and tore my clothes. His trunk did not bend towards me the same way. It seemed to be twisting away from me in disgust, yet it begged me to continue climbing. I gripped each limb of the tree for as long as I could until my hands grew sweaty and slippery, and I found myself on the floor yet again. Yet, none of it was his fault. But what else was I supposed to do? How could he expect me to reach the top of such an impossible course? I’m still climbing.

wow lovely

I write this a while ago. Then I found it. Don't you love it when that happens?

When I grow up I want lots of children. They will have ringlets and shiny patent leather shoes and they will play with Marissa’s cats. Marissa will have fluffy cats. Who are all declawed. I want to live somewhere beautiful, that looks like country, but isn’t because the city’s right there. My name is Alexandra. A lot of people call me Ace. I don’t know why. Well, I do know why, but it’s a shit story so I'm not gonna tell it. One day I'm going to make up a story about how I got my nickname and tell everybody. You’ll be the first to know.

My moms kind of like a gypsy. She wears long skirts that jingle, and ties her hair up with butterfly shaped clips. And she’s always dancing. Well that’s what she does. She’s a dancer. I dance too, but I do not want to be a dancer when I grow up. We move around a lot, me and my mom. We always have. I've never lived in the same place for more than 5 years. This is the longest time I’ve been anywhere. It’s my 5^th year. Sometimes I'm scared we’re jinxed. And something tells me I might not be here next year.

The items I would grab if my house was on fire would be…

1. My computer

2. My dog Lola, even though she’d probably make me regret it. (I'm just kidding)

3. My phone, so I could call the fire department and tell them my house was on fire, and then sue them if they didn’t save everything I had to leave behind. Then with the money I win from the lawsuit I can buy all my important stuff…except not really. Like photo albums, journals, and my stuffed animals. Those are the things that really matter. Not anything I could buy back. But having the money would probably make me feel a little bit better about losing everything.

That’s a terrible situation to think about. Losing everything. I hate losing things. But I suppose I'm not very original in that ideology. Most of my friends are people who have lost things. Not stupid things like a homework assignment or their appetite. But like, things that will still matter to them 50 years from now. Their father, their independence, their freedom, their virginity. But everybody has a sob story. What I'm trying to point out is that I seem to be attracted to people who have lost something meaningful, or something I perceive as meaningful. But people who don’t flaunt their loss. People who hide it. I don’t know how I got into this subject. But I’ll end this now. Is this supposed to be an autobiography or something? If so, I hope you’ve learned something about me. I didn’t really follow the instructions. But really, what’s the fun in that?

something i never told my mother...

A strong, black railing outlined my aunt and uncles house in Florida. Soundly standing on their front porch, dividing their house from the yard. The black paint had chipped off in some places, exposing a rusty metal surface beneath its smooth facade. My aunt, uncle, and older cousins had gone to the store to pick up dinner. Upon realizing that we had forgotten our toothbrushes at home, my parents had driven off to the local CVS, leaving my youngest cousin and I alone in the house, with only our grandmother’s snores to keep us company. I was two years older than my cousin Grace, who had just turned four and had taken it upon herself to remind me of this at least three times a minute. She also reminded me how her mom let her hold the spatula and flip the pancakes every morning, and that she was the only person in her family who could count to ten in German, and that she jumped so high on her bed she could touch the ceiling, and a countless number of other facts that I had no interest or desire to hear. I tried to distract myself from her irritating bragging, but was unable to get rid of her annoying voice mumbling every fact about herself into my ear.

She continued, “…and I can fit my head through the railing without getting stuck and-”

“Prove it.” I said finally, hoping I would be able to trap her in a silence long enough to escape to my room.

“Okay.” She said naively, making her way to the front porch. It was not the answer I had hoped for, but at least it would be entertaining. I did try and warn her that she could get stuck, and that she would be in trouble if our parents caught us, but she was completely confident in her abilities.

She grasped two poles on the railing and slid her head through easily, shooting me a triumphant smile from the other side of the fence. Her smile quickly faded when she realized that her head must have suddenly grown larger, and would no longer squeeze through the posts. Pushing against the railings she struggled to free herself, but was unable to squeeze her ears through the solid structure. With our grandmother sound asleep the only option was to wait until our parents returned, hopefully well prepared with a remedy for trapped heads. I sat with Grace on the porch. She was not nearly as annoying now, it seemed being stuck in a fence had quieted her.

When she got hungry, I went into the kitchen to look for a snack and returned with a box of raisins. I took all the raisins out of the box, and lined them up symmetrically on the edge of the porch. I watched mesmerized as a small ant scurried up the side of the porch and found its way onto the wrinkled raisin. I picked up the raisin and examined it, captivated by the ant’s ability to camouflage with its food. I then fed the raisin, ant and all, to Grace. I waited until another ant crawled onto one of the raisins, before feeding it to Grace. She had almost finished the box when my parents got home. I picked up the only remaining raisin and flicked off the ant before popping it in my mouth.

his name rhymes with smile.

i was listening to this song when you first told me.

its sickeningly ironic.

It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song.
You can't believe it; you were always singing along.
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can't remember; you try to feel the beat.

Your name doesn't make me smile anymore. The moment my smile turned down, I was listening to this song.

So pretty/so smart
Such a waste of a young heart
What a pity / what a sham
What's the matter with you, man?

Don't you see it’s wrong/ can't you get it right?
Out of mind and outta sight
Call on all your girls, don't forget the boys
Put a lid on all that noise

I hear you're living out of state, running in a whole new scene
They say i haven't slept in weeks, you're the only thing i see

I'm a satellite heart/ lost in the dark
I’m spun out so far/ you stop, I start
But I'll be true to you
I’m a satellite heart/ lost ïn the dark
I’m spun out so far/ you stop I start
But I'll be true to you no matter what you do/ yeah I’ll be true to you

sickening.

i won't be true to you. no matter what you do. yeah, i won't be ever be true to you.

sincerely,

when i write...

When I write, I hope that my words can keep up with the multiple thoughts jumping into my head. When I write, I try to remember why it is that I loved writing when I was younger, and why now I never feel like my words sound good enough, strong enough, or thought out enough.

In 3^rd grade, my teacher pulled me aside one day and demanded that I admit to having plagiarized my book report. I didn’t even know what the word plagiarism meant, but I knew I was in trouble, and I knew I had done nothing wrong. I honestly denied my guilt, but even after a conference with my mother she was not convinced. The writing contained too few mistakes and grammatical errors, and had a ‘voice’ strong enough for a much older student.

In 4^th grade when I turned in my first written assignment, I was not accused of plagiarism. Instead, I was moved into the 5^th grade reading and writing class. When I write, I try to remember what motivated and inspired me to write in the past, and I attempt to bring that feeling back to life again, but I rarely succeed.

At some point during middle school, despite encouragement and enthusiasm from my teachers, writing lost my interest. I went from carrying a journal everywhere, to only picking up a pen when it was mandatory. Then people stopped pushing me to write, so I stopped pushing myself. By the time I realized I missed writing, I felt as if I had fallen out of it completely. The strong writing ‘voice’ my teachers had discussed so frequently, seemed to have been lost amidst everything else, and I never took the time to even rustle some papers around in hopes of finding it.

Suddenly, I want to find it again. During the day, hundreds of thoughts shoot into my head in the form of paragraphs, books, and articles. Unfortunately, they seem to jump out of my head, just as quickly, before I even get the chance to pop off my pen cap. I often wish that I had a voice recorder taped to the inside of my brain, to record every one of these thoughts before they disappeared into the black hole of my head. If that were the case, I would probably have at least 10 novels written by now. I am trying to learn how to catch these sneaky thoughts before they disappear, hoping that one of them will contain my ‘voice’ and lead me back on track.

I never draft or outline as suggested when I write. Instead I try to let my thoughts flow freely onto the paper, ready to be rewritten and edited later. In my mind, writing is like watching a waterfall in action. My hands like the water spilling across the rocky keyboard. Outlining is like creating an obstacle course for something not meant to be contained or controlled. I find it much easier to filter it out once its reached the end, rather than interrupting the flow continuously during the process.

When I write, I grasp onto anything running through my brain, and then attempt to follow it through to the end without stretching it out to far, or letting it get away to soon. I try to let my writing speak for itself, and to let everything I know and am learning, find its place somewhere in the passage.

i love...

i love symbolism. 

sometimes, i just can't stop thinking about it, as my friends will constantly complain. 

symbolism seems to give me reason to find depth and meaning in coincidences and mistakes.

 like what i imagine faith would feel like. 

it provides something to believe in. 

something i can use to prove to myself that the cycle of life does in fact prove a purpose. 

i love movies based on books.

i always read the book after i watch the movie.

(if i do it the other way around, im usually disappointed)

i like to see how hundreds of peoples interpretations of one book, combine to create a million pictures that you watch flash before your eyes as words are brought alive.

then, i like to read the books, to see how one authors imagination created so many different and complex ideas. 

its like a huge puzzle in my head, and all the peoples opinions are the pieces. 

then i can take ym own opinions and interpretations, and fit it in where the pieces from the jigsaw are missing...

and suddenly everything makes sense.

A View of the Sky

Recent high school graduate

A shopping mall

After a thunderstorm has passed

Reminiscing on how things have changed

The assignment was to use the character/ place/ thoughts/ etc. and write a short story around what was provided. I decided not to plan it out at all, not that i usually do, and to just see what happened. this is what happened. 

You know how the sky is after a huge thunderstorm. The clouds drift in their own directions, splitting the sky, and surrounding everything with a deep blue glow. Sometimes it looks as if heaven were opening up right in front of you. I wish I could be sucked up into it, heaven I mean. Not that I want to die and go up there, but the sky just looks so inviting, as if a pair of arms is about to reach out and grab me to bring me up, and I wish they would. I could stare up at a sky like that for hours, just waiting hopefully for those arms. Well its one of those nights tonight. But I’ve decided to not waste my time staring at the sky, since those arms have never showed themselves, although once I swear I saw an arm hair glittering off the sun. So instead, I’ve stuck myself somewhere where I can't even be tempted by the sky and all its temptations. I’m sitting in shopping mall, specifically in the food court. I often worry about the people who willingly decide to go to shopping malls. No silence or peace, all chaos and commotion. No privacy or space, and definitely no fresh air. Every other corner smells like crappy Chinese food samplings or receipt ink. And there’s never a view of the sky. I’m here because I'm worried that if I'm anywhere with a view of the sky, I might just attempt at jumping into it. After all these years of temptation I’ve been able to hold back, but its getting harder and harder. Especially now that I have nowhere else to go. Well, that’s not completely true. I’m not homeless or a runaway. I have a job (part time) but since graduating high school (as of two weeks) and still not having any idea what I'm doing with my life now, jumping into the sky sounds like one of my best options. I guess it’s a bit of a hyperbole to say that malls have no view of the sky. I just realized that I've sat myself under one of the few skylights in the food court here. I guess no matter how hard I try to separate myself from temptation, the sky will always find me. On the other hand, I'm the one who sat down here, so maybe I'm the one who’s always finding the sky. 

at my fingertips

i decided to start this blog because i wanted to start writing again. when i was younger i was writing constantly. you wouldnt be able to find me without a notebook at any point in my life up until around 8th grade. i guess i sort of fell out of it. got bored with the mundane and fruitless creative writing assignments assigned at school, and my own mind seemed to filled with other tasks to be able ti even squeeze out a sentence let alone a journal entry. so i started a blog, thinking that since im on a computer half the time anyways it would be easier. i didnt realize that it wasnt about whether writing was easy or not, it was just about motivating myself to do it, which seemed impossible for some reason. but now i think im finally feeling some motivation. 

keyboard at my fingertips; nothings stopping me. 

Not Much.

I'd like to stop thinking of the present, as in right now, as some minor insignificant preamble to something else.

thats it.

Finding meaning in something meaningless

I'm sprawled on my bed, my computer carefully balanced between my pillows. Its 12:52 on a friday night, but not any friday night. The LAST DAY of school friday night. I got home about 20 minutes ago and jumped into the shower, rinsing off the chlorine from the pool party i had just gotten home from, and was then immediately greeted by an angry mother. so it goes. but that was then. and this is now. and right now my headphones are blasting Girltalk into my eardrums, the Jonas brothers are staring up at me from the Seventeen magazine cover, and my yearbook is laying lonesomely on my floor, its pages being blown around randomly as my fan pumps oxygen through my small bedroom. 

I still cant believe this school year is over. It all went by so fast. One minute I'm walking into a brand new class, and the next minute I'm being thrown into a pool in celebration of another year gone by. 

I was planning on going on a Short speel about being 15, and how my mom shouldn't expect me to be in anything different, but i decided that's a bit too overdone. 

Life is spinning by. or, high school at least. 

i cant believe I'm a JUNIOR.

baller. 

will attempt to get some sleep now. o wait...it's summer. so on second thought, no i wont!

My Sonnet To Summer

Salty waves crash against the shore

Sand seems to glimmer off of the sun

I hate the cold water, yet go in for more

Our feet stick to the ground as we run

Homework never has to be done

No need for teachers, lockers, or chores

The only rule is to have fun

I leave behind soda cans and apple cores

 

The warm air opens and cleanses my pores

There is no need for worries or stress

The rain never stops our adventures outdoors

I always wear a bathing suit under my dress

 

Summer seems so far away

I wish it were summer everyday

the World Wide Web of possibilties

The Department of Psychology, at New York University recently released a study on all the negative aspects of the Internet. The cyber dangers, children’s overexposure, and the ease in which people are able to access information they haven’t worked for.

These same people seem to be forgetting the reasons the Internet was invented in the first place. We have the power to connect with people on the other side of the world. We can spread ideas, share cultures, and inform ourselves more than ever before. The world’s capabilities have been handed to us on a silver platter. These possibilities are all at our fingertips, literally a click away. But now that we have access to these amazing opportunities, many seem to be drawing back in fear, reluctant to change and adapt to the new technologies that now our fill our homes.

The Internet is woven into our lives, and we have grown to be dependant on it. Dependency on the Internet is not a bad thing. We are as dependent on the Internet in the same ways we are dependent on electricity, money, and education. Dependency is not threatening, it’s stabilizing, and the more accessible things we can depend on, the more stable our world will become.

  As we converge into a web and media based world, some old comforts may become scarce, such as newspapers. Newspapers are not dead, but are slowly changing into more web-based sources of information. They are transforming to keep up with our fast paced society. Many people are resisting this change. Change alters our lives and forces us to readjust, which can be scary, but is an essential part of growth in our society.

The Internet is often to blame for corrupting youth. Yet, the Internet is not a human being with emotions and schemes. It is a technology that enables us to take advantage of it. It is dependent on us whether we use these advantages in a positive or negative way. ‘Corrupting the youth’, lies completely on us. Some people will exploit the resources offered, but we must trust that the larger majority of people will use the Internet for what it was created for, the betterment of mankind.

The average teenager spends 31 hours a week online, and although this statistic stirs fear in many parents, it’s actually quite comforting. The MacArthur Foundation recently published a study on the effects of the Internet on young adults.

“Their participation is giving them the technological skills and literacy they need to succeed in the contemporary world.” Said Mizuko Ito, the leader of the study.  “They’re learning how to get along with others, how to manage a public identity, and how to create a home page.”

Social networking websites have not eliminated human contact with each other. On the contrary, they have merely made it easier to stay in contact with more people. People are buying more and more commodities online, which helps the environment by reducing the amount of pollution created driving, and reduces the use of paper and plastic bags. Information is accessible to people regardless of race or economic standing, thanks to the Internet provided at public libraries and schools. Online, we can educate ourselves on topics we’re passionate about. We can become published writers. We can share our photos and videos with the world. We can submerge ourselves in new cultures, ideas, and lifestyles. We can open our minds, and try to better understand different beliefs and customs. Maybe we are over exposed, because we’re no longer confined to the boundaries our own societies place around us. We have been given the power to enhance our lives for the better. Whether we choose to do so, is up to us. 

A Villian if a Villainelle

Blood pumps love through my heart

But my love cannot find a place to go

I search for meaning inside my art

 

Your love seems to hit me like a dart

But my mind is confused and wandering so

Blood pumps love through my heart

 

What is the point of a brain and a heart

In this game of life we’ve learned to know

I search for meaning inside my art

 

Tell me I'm pretty; tell me I’m smart

Convince me that our love will grow

Blood pumps love through my heart

 

But how can I be sure that once we start

Your heart will not find someplace else to go

I search for meaning inside my art

 

I am assured that you will not part

Your love is the arrow, my heart is the bow

Blood pumps love through my heart

I search for meaning inside my art

Poems Seep Into My Mind When I'm Sleepy (see, even that sounded poetic)

An old hammock

Strung from the bark of a branch to the root of a neighboring tree

Its rough fabric pressing into the bare of your back

Engulfing your small body in its open arms

The long strands of overgrown grass and weeds below

Tickle your dangling feet

The hammock sways ever so slightly

Resisting the wind

Wind, that is all you can hear

Unless you are able to open your ears wide enough to hear the ant

Scurrying along a tree

Or a slug slithering along the sidewalk

Leaving a fresh trail of slime behind him

But all you need to hear is the wind

And the grass as it whispers secrets to your feet

Should be sleeping..

I am awake against my consent, anxiously awaiting an email that could very well determine my grade in AP world history. So i have to stay up and wait until that email arrives, and i decided to spend this time blogging; something i've been meaning to do for a while now but haven't been able to make time for. 

TIme to ramble about life, log off, check my email, log back in and probably post again. just watch. 

I went to a Black kids concert! it was AWESOME. if you don't know who they are check them out at myspace.com/blackidsrock

there an american indie rock band from Jacksonville, Florida, and they're starting 

to build up quite a fan base. One of my best friends seems to have a knack for picking out musicians before they get big (she had me listening to Kid Cudi months ago) and I went to the concert with her, so i have a feeling that Black Kids are on their way to stardom as well. 

get their music on itunes (i recommend i'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you) and watch their vids on youtube. 

the Sunbears performed as the opening and they were also very good. myspace.com/sunbears

Apart from concerting, I was in a fashion show :) That was lots of fun, but seemed to give me another reason to procrastinate on all the other homework that seems to have popped up these last two weeks of school. 

But i shouldn't be too hard on myself. I have been doing a pretty good job keeping on top of all my school work, and im getting better at the whole procrastinating thing that seems to be woven into my subconcious.

TWO WEEKS LEFT.

ahhh

i have been so exhausted recently. i swear, if this email doesnt show up soon, i may pass out befre it gets here. that wouldnt be good. 

must wake up. 

Love Manifesto

I had to write about love for a project my dance company is doing. So I'm just going to journal randomly and hope that something half good flies out of my keyboard. 

LOVE

could the topic be any more broad?

Love is like a color slide, begging to be held up to the light. Yearning to show it's true colors. But we are scared and unsure of this thing we call love. This thing that has been sown into our future since birth. It resonates inside all of us.  A natural feeling that no one quite knows how to express. 

So we walk with our hands covering our eyes, out heart cowering in it's corner, scared to open itself up. But occasionally, someones curiosity gets the better of them and their hands are pried away from their face and we are able to get a peek at LOVE. Able to hold it up to the light and let it's rainbow of colors dance over us and seep under our skin and into our soul. But love is dangerous. If your hand covers your eyes again, even if only for a second, love will retreat away again,leaving your heart to beat lonesomely in your hollow chest. But if you uncover both eyes to soon the light will blind you, taking away your vision, leaving you blind and unaware.

How do we possibly strike a balance in this delicate system. Do we throw ourselves blindly forward hoping that love will grab onto our hearts and keep us from falling? 

Or do we cover our eyes forever, shielding our sacred hopes from the dangers, resiting love as it tries to pry open our eyelids. 

Love is so complicated.

even the word itself:

Love; a strong positive emotion of regard and affection

A bit of an anti climatic definition. We defined love, yet somehow we have given it power over everything in our lives. Our otherwise meaningless lives that seem to circle endlessly around it. 

Is love something that can be seen? heard? touched? smelled? And if it can't, then how do we possibly feel it? if love is not addressed by any of our senses, how do we ever convince ourselves that it exists. Love has no equation, or theory, or reasoning.

Maybe love is like God. Sensed by something else all together. Something that people are willing to believe and put their faith in without seeing a fragment of evidence. Aside form the feeling engulfed in he pit of our stomach that constantly assures you its there.

It presses on our hearts and mutes our logic. We have no control over it, so we compensate by giving people power over our hearts. Then at least it is slightly controlled, and not wandering loosely, free to do as it pleases. But love can not be bound or controlled. Control is logical, and love is not. Love is passionate, and merciful, and emotional. Love has no lines or boundaries, except for the ones we place around ourselves, the ones society and culture entrap us in. SO love pushes and throws itself against those boundaries, shattering them like glass, sending sharp specks of glass against our heart. 

I don't think Webster can give love a definition. I think we all define it differently. I love and have loved many people, but there are few who I think genuinely love me back. It doesn't take very much, or very long, for me to love someone, but to trust someone scares me to death. I could count the number of people I trust on one hand. But how big of a part does trust play on love? For me, clearly not a large one. 

I am often reminded that young people throw the word 'love' around meaninglessly. I think it depends on the person. I have never told someone I loved them without genuinely meaning it. 

There are 6 people that I trust.

One of them is no longer on earth. 

There are hundreds of people that I love.

Hundreds that say they love me back. 

There are 3 people who I wish loved me back. 

Thats all for now, I have to go do that homework that I've been avoiding all week. I'm not gonna reread this, so I'm sorry if their are any mistakes. 

Love.

The Idol Franchise

I'm watching American Idol, and I am continuously surprised by the lack of good performances on the show. When the contestants are all SO GOOD, it seems like the show is taunting them with the fact that all these other less talented people have made it big, as though they should be learning something from them. 

Now, the contestants aren't AMAZING, and the performers aren't HORRIBLE, but they don't seem to compare fairly.

I would really like to see Simon judge some of the singers that have performed this season.

I just watched Anoop get eliminated, and I'm not a huge American Idol fan but it's really sad :( aw, poor Anoop. 

And that brings us back to my first point.

 Anoop can sing better that most of the guest singers they have featured. It clearly takes something other than talent to become famous in today's society, and as  much as American Idol has tried to disprove that, the show has just made this fact clearer in my mind.

Agree? Disagree?

And then there was a Blog.

So its a little late for me to jump on the Blog.Everyday.April.Challenge. bandwagon, but I am going to try and start blogging everyday, or night, since thats usually when i end up publishing these things. 

Changing the subject to something i actually want to talk about.

How do you go about starting a blog. I've been reading alot and they all seem to just...start. They just jump onto a subject and go for it, ignoring the fact that nobody knows who they are or why they're writing. This feels very awkward to me. 

So I've decided to take less than a minute to just explain who I am and why I'm writing this. 

This is Me in Under A Minute:

I love to drive with all the windows rolled down, and to try out new flavors of chai tea. I love going to the same restaurants over and over again, and usually ordering the same thing. I get freaked out by ketchup juice that drips out of the bottle when it hasn't been shaken properly. I hate hospitals and will try to avoid them at all costs, which is not always the wisest decision. I love to dance, but only when it means something to me. That reason can be silly or deep, but it has to be something. Drinking Starbucks makes me feel like a celebrity, and admitting how much time I spend on Youtube makes me feel like a dork. I'm writing this blog because I want to harness and nurture my writing, and I want to connect with people through it. 

That's me. That's all. 

Adi.

Getting Started...

For me, starting is always the hardest part. Whether its doing my homework, getting out of bed, starting a new book, or writing in a new journal. It's always hard for me to push myself to begin. Once i've started there's no stopping me, but getting there always takes some strength. 

This blog is a perfect example.

I have wanted to start a blog for a V E R Y long time now, and the only thing stopping me is the fact that i have to begin. I'm telling you, that gets me every time. 

But i'm finally starting. continuing shouldn't be to difficult, at least i'm hoping it wont be. 

This is me pushing myself, so please excuse me if the writing sounds choppy and insecure. i just wanted to get something out there. I just wanted to finally begin.

Because all stories need a beginning.