Knowledge

The mental universe is a dark labyrinth.
Every field of study is a new corridor of the labyrinth.
When you learn, you light the way through these corridors with candles.
Most of the candles stay lit, and you can revisit the lit caves that you have illuminated before.
Sometimes, a candle will burn out, and you will have to restudy it -- relight the candle.

As with any adventure, the first candles you are given excite you, and you begin to look into many different corridors, back away, choose another, until you run out of candles and have to take a break.
But there will come a time when you know you have gone deeply enough into the labyrinth that you will have to decide once and for all which corridor to travel down.

Well, that was my analogy for the insurmountable obstacle that is choosing a major and a particular field of study in a time when you feel so curious about every area of knowledge that making a choice seems absurd.

Valentine's Tower

'we were a little puddle of vitality and young love in a big empty place. i dont know, it was an odd feeling'


Boyfriend and I were having an odd day. I was sad for no reason, crying my eyes out for some subconscious BLUGH that I was feeling. Boyfriend came over late, but he got there. He took me away, through an eerie black sunset, under a sliver of moon and one bright star, to a cozy cafe in the mountains.
He coaxed out my smile, and we decided that we were in for quite a lovey, romantic evening. The thin lady of a youngish, indeterminable age and tattoos let us stay past closing time.
We were called by his acquaintance, an older woman, telling us that she needed a ride to the hospital. We ditched our plans of watching Black Stallion and trying champagne (Just to make sure we still don't like the taste). He drove like a mad man through the dark and the fog, down out of the mountains.
We waited in the ER lobby, the ER room, the hallway, the OR waiting room. When we got there, the place was bustling with headachey, feverish people and children with confused, tired expressions at having been woken in the night. I felt confused and small. We waited in the ER room as the woman became unconscious, and we shared the tiny brown chair in the corner by the sink.
People came and went, patients checked in and were then checked up on, and checked out. People watched us watching them as they passed by, first worried, then relieved. An old couple was taking a disoriented old man home when the husband walked towards us. He had a little plastic tub with a sandwich in it that reminded me of how starving we were. His plaid scarf delightfully mismatched his plaid jockey cap and slippers. Poking his head in a bit through the curtains, he said that he thought it was really good that we were comforting mom, and comforting each other.
That was really nice of him, I told Boyfriend.
The moral of today's story, he said, is that the system is stupid and slow, and people are too busy to listen.
I thought about that for a bit. Then i responded, I think the moral of today is that even though life can throw some nasty turns at you, you can still find compassion and humanity in people. Like the lady who owned the cafe and that old man. And all the people on staff here are stretched thin, but they are trying their best to make a difference.
We were questioned over and over, we were ushered from chair to chair, we were left in a big room full of single seat chairs that gave our spines a strict talking to. The only other man, an old man named Henry, was staring with a loose jaw at a television, seeming not to comprehend anything that was on the screen.
The hospital was deserted now. We were the only two people waiting, and we hardly saw any of the staff walking around. Once Henry had been called away, we turned off the horridly loud TV and tried to turn some chairs to make an odd, gap-ridden bench bed. We talked the entire time. Boyfriend and I have never been bored by each other. I think that's amazing. We talked about the cafe we want to own, and how I want to have a house with a Tardis mailbox, a horse named Beans, and an outhouse made of one-way mirrors in the middle of a garden.
The halls were far from silent, because the elevator would ding and open, without anyone getting in or getting out, and then close and move on. The little intercoms would buzz. There was a constant buzzing in the air. Boyfriend and I talked about how we are going to have to decide whether to stay together when I go to college or not. It was bittersweet: we love each other so much that we are okay with either of us doing whatever we really need to do in life. That just makes it harder; it makes me want to stay with him forever. If we have to split up, we know that we will horribly, selfishly wish that the other person misses us to death. But all the feelings are mutual. I don't know what will happen.

I felt young, I felt powerless, I felt oddly free.

Tired of Hypocrites. Frustrated by People.

I'm so tired. I have been drained lately- drained by stress and school, and drained by frustration caused by people. Nothing rubs me in the wrong direction like a hypocrite. If you complain to me about something you think I am doing wrong, you should correct that behavior in yourself too. If you then change your mind and decide to complain about the exact OPPOSITE of your first complaint, then I have nothing to say to you.
Yes, you. Stop it. Can nobody understand that I am human? I cannot stick to my standards that I set for people AND make everyone happy AND know exactly how to handle each situation so that it works out in their best interests.
Lately, I have been lowering my standards for people, and that does not bode well for me. It stems from me having my own shit to deal with, and then i let those standards slip a bit and I do not keep tabs on the status of the relationship like I should.
God forbid that I am human and that I make mistakes.
I'm tired of being let down. I am tired of people promising me things that I never see: it would have been better if you hadn't promised anything at all.
My mood has changed, I feel sad now. This blog is a ranting site for now, until I get inspired by something enough so that I can write about it.

Weary Hearts

I found myself talking to friends a lot tonight about the nature of love and our love in particular.

I came to the conclusion that when we are tired and our hearts are weary we stop, and we go to each other to recharge and get faith in love again.

There is a fine line between use and abuse. We use everyone; we would not be connected to people if we did not use them and have them use us for something like company or security or love.

Abuse would be when they don't attempt to repair the damage they cause to you. 

I think tonight I recognized that one relationship I have is a balanced equation of need and help, of give and take. The other is abuse, and though I cannot stop caring for this person, I need to break ties with them in order to stop this pain. (yes yes i KNOW I said "them" instead of a pronoun that is grammatically correct... shush!)

Sad Night

To say I am tearful at the moment is an understatement. The tears seem to be in a hurry to escape me: they are in such a hurry that they stream in unison from each eye, making butterfly symmetry on my cheeks.
I give people too many chances, I am told. I am really feeling that now. I have a research paper to do tonight, but I doubt that that will get done.
I am afraid to lose you, my darlings. Though you who are so close to my heart are so few in number. I would give you endless chances, if I could. I am afraid that one day I will not be able to support you or put on this mask any longer.
I love you, my darling.

Where I'm From

We had an assignment in English: to use the structure of a poem we were looking at to tell where we are from.

I'm from spiky oak leaves that stick in your heel.
From acorn and caterpillar season, from Robins in the redberry bush and daffodils we planted ourselves before we could spell, that bloom through earthquakes and bulldozers.
I'm from torn, springless, bucket-seat couches with tacky buttons and sinking orange foam.
I'm from Christmas trees reaching toward a twenty-five foot sloping ceiling, from mother's homemade centerpieces and cider, and  Grandma's sugar cookies.
My childhood hangs in the purple moon on the Christmas tree.
The rest of my childhood lurks under thin dusty films in prominent corners of my room and mind
    in the Tinker Toy orange stick that fell off of the back deck, in the soulless ceramic horses that wait in the shadows to be given life.
I am from abstract and impressionist paintings. The Monk Knocks Twice. From hand me down pianos, from the coffee table that holds pictures of faces lost to time and love letters in a feverish scrawl.
My heart lies in journals, sketchbooks, and Australian pop CDs,
   in doors of spiraling wood and Purple Passion comforters.
It is the reflection of a cat's eye in the dark and the patter of rain on a tent tarp. 
   the plaintive wail of a train and the setting of a vibrant sun.

i should i should i should

I should be doing homework. I should be doing homework. I should be doing homework. God, the echo is like the beating of drums in my head; like the Master in Doctor Who hears tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, so I hear the cacophony of my conscience warning me not to log on to my blog, not to open my notebook, not to write anything but my essay for Comparative Government on global statistics (the most vague prompt ever).
Do you actually know what I should be doing? I should be utilizing the scant inspiration that I can oh-so-rarely scrape together these days and pouring it onto a page. I should let colors fill my mind, and music resonate in my ears. I can't, I can't, I can't. I must endure.

Some Inspirational Lyrics

I spoke earlier of some Ingrid Michaelson songs and other amazing pieces of art. Some quotes :
 "There's a corner of your heart for me.
There's a corner of your heart just for me.
I will pack my bags just to stay in the corner of your heart.
Just to stay in the corner of your heart." - Corner of your heart- I.M.

"Rolled around on kitchen floors.
Tied my tongue in pretty bows with yours.
And now we pass and just like glass
I see through you, you see through me like I'm not there.

You could make my head swerve.
Used to know my every curve.
And now we meet on a street,
And I am blind. I can not find the heart I gave to you." - Glass, I.M.

"So take my hand, you're treading water
And I feel sand slipping underneath my toes
Nobody knows
Where is it she goes
When those sad eyes start to close
Nobody knows
Where is it she goes
When those sad eyes close" - Porcelain Fists, I.M.

"And maybe i'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know ...
oo young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So i'll wait for you... and i'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late...
It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever" -- Lover, You should have come over. - Jeff Buckley


"Because the keys to the kingdom got locked inside the kingdom
And the angels fly around in there, but we can't see them" -- Girl in the war -- josh ritter

 okay, last one for now i swear, since these are usually a bore to read anyway.
it's the entire song Temptation of Adam by Josh Ritter and it is a masterpiece
""If this was the cold war we could keep each other warm," I said
On the first occasion that I met Marie
We were crawling through the hatch that was
The missle silo door
And I don't think that she really thought that much of me
I never had to learn to love her
Like I learned to love the bomb
She just came along and started to ignore me
But as we waited for the big one
I started singing her my songs
And I think she started feeling something for me

We passed the time with crosswords
That she thought to bring inside
"What five letters spell apacolypse?" she asked me
I wandered over saying WWIII
She smiled and we both knew that she misjudged me
Oh Marie it was so easy to fall in love with you
It felt almost like a home of sorts or something
And you would keep the warhead missle silo good as new
And I'd watch you with my thumb above the button

Then one night you found me in my army issue cott
You told me of your flash of inspiration
You said "Fusion was the broken heart that's lonely's only thought"
And all night long you drove me wild with your equations
Oh Marie do you remember all the time we used to take
We'd make our love then ramsack the rations
I think of you leaving now in the avalanche cascades
My eyes get washed away in chain reactions

Oh Marie if you would stay we could stick pins in the map
Of all the places you thought that love would be found
But I would only need one pin to show where my love is at
In a top secret location 300 feet under the ground

We could hold each other close
We'd stay up every night
Look up into the dark and pretend it's the night sky
Pretend this giant missle is a old oak tree instead
And I'd carve your name in hearts into the warhead
Oh Marie something tells me things just won't
Work out above
That our love would live a half-life on the surface
So at night while you are sleeping
I hold you closer just because
As our time grows short I grow a little nervous

So I think about the big one
WWIII
Would we ever really care the world had ended?
You could hold me here forever
Like you're holding me tonight
I think about that big red button and I'm tempted"
i think you should listen to all of these songs, and i bid you farewell for now

Impromptu - Falling in Muck

This is an impromptu blog: something I've never tried before.
I'm trying to remind myself that this can be seen by whoever deems my blog visually appealing enough to stick around and read something.
Jeff Buckley's music got my tears flowing this evening because GOD that man's tunes were beautiful, may he rest in peace.
It got me thinking, as I frequently do, about love. Love love love, Love is All You Need, Love is a Battlefield, Love is -a homeless guy searching for treasure in the middle of the rain and finding a bag of gold coins and slowly finding out that they're all filled with chocolate and even though he's heartbroken he cant complain cause he was hungry in the first place- ... okay that last one was a Bo Burnham... hehe.
I wish I could compose amazing songs like Ingrid Michaelson does. Her songs so well reflect my feelings on most occasions!
Love befuddles me. I trip on my words and I float off the ground a bit, I'm sure. I smile without knowing it, and certainly without knowing how to stop. I ache and burn with this love, it must be a curse. It must be.
GOD, NO. How could I be cursed to feel the most amazing of warm, giggle inducing comforts? I lose my mind in embraces and all worries and doubts are erased.
Oh but the curse; ah, what a curse it is. The curse that many people have- to become so completely trusting of the person you are infatuated with that when they step out of your life or turn on you, you are crumbled down to square one, where you have to rely on yourself and your friends to build back the entire foundation you once stood on. The foundation you were on when you haplessly and voluntarily stepped off and fell in a mucky bog of love. Oh don't worry. It was their fault, the one who you fell for. They were there, goshdarnit! How could you help yourself? How could one who is sane refuse such bliss as was promised there?
None, of course. Don't be ridiculous. What nonsense.
They tempted you, they saw you fall, they smiled at you and made you feel amazing as you fell. Then, they stood slightly to the left and stared as you splattered face first into this new cold stone pit you find yourself in.
woopsie. They didn't see you falling so fast, OBVIOUSLY.
Well now, this is awkward. You have this face of yours splattered all over the place with nothing to show for your time in the air. So, as in any awkward situation, they turn on their heel and pretend they did not just see that happen (for your benefit, of course. Wouldn't want you to get embarrassed...).
I have gotten very tired, writing this. Nostalgia is one unkind little female dog.
I am actually not too cynical, contrary to the theme of this post. Love will persist. Love will remain supreme. Love is the reason for continuing.
I am going to try and live as I have; for the pitter patter in my heart and the peace of mind that takes control of me when I am so helplessly mired in love.

Tangles

Every time someone thinks about you, you are a character in their story. Think of how many stories you are a part of. You are mentioned by every person you meet, and by countless people that notice you from a glance. Feel like a superstar- there are countless tales being woven with you, from you, about you, around you.

I feel like I'm submerged in tangled story lines with bits sticking out, all frayed at the ends, and knots where I can't linger long.
I can grasp at the strings and pull them down around me or tip-toe my way through them and attempt to not interfere. Who can watch stories unfolding for long, without interfering?
I wish I could develop these characters how I would like to. To do so, however, would be to control the story in its entirety by controlling these vital puzzle pieces within it- they are the basis of every story. Nobody can truly do this. 
That would defeat the purpose of living; of everything.

Villification

I'd like to first say that this was written a LONG time ago, but it documents a process that quite often occurs on an emotional rollercoaster- that process in which you attempt to villify him/her...
_____________________________________________________________

His face looked like a rotten tomato next to mine, marring the pictures in my albums and oozing over my good memories like a fungus, a virus, and a parasite. His hair was greasy and stuck out at odd angles, jutting into the background and messing up the lighting. His skin was oily and unpleasant, with pockmarks and scars raking across his face. His nose protruded into the fore focus, stealing the limelight and dwarfing his infinitesimally squinty, crooked eyes. His eyebrows looked like growths of mold digesting his forehead at awkward angles, putrefying his expressions into a smoothie of complex miscommunication.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I look through the photographs of us, wondering how I ever could have missed it. It was so obvious now that he is a disgusting creature of little to no worth.

God, I miss him to this day.

On the day- the day that I realized how tantalizing a sunset could be when it poured sideways across bare chests and parted lips- that I had been anxious he would decide not to come over, the contusion I sustained on my fragile knee ended up lasting longer than our relationship.

The Fever

The breathtaking ache fuels the contortion.

The heat in the eyes creates rippling distortion.

The eyes have sunk

The mind in a funk

The body has lost all proportion

The flames lick higher and higher.

Thoughts and memories make fodder for fire.

Though her health would improve,

The girl cannot move.

Her life is consumed in the pyre.

Her faltering footsteps reach

For the ice of the floor beneath.

Her paces show on the ground

But what cannot be found

Amidst this heated chaos is relief.

The dice of fate have been cast.

Each shudder of breath like the last

To pallor she succumbs

And with a pulse rate like drums

Her hull is shattered: she clings to the mast.

Sleepwalking

A fickle wind blew outside my door,

Beckoning me towards the moor,

With frozen feet, around I crept,

While the hounds on barren floorboards slept.

So beleaguered was I with cruel unrest,

 That limbs of my own upon none such request,

Sought fit to carry me out the garden,

With frozen sprouts and flowers all trodden;

The hounds awoke to find me outside,

And no explanation I could provide,

Would clarify: by what implement

Did my body divine such discontent

As to send me thusly from safety’s bed

To amble through the bog to catch chill like the dead?

Old Friends

   She touched her hand to his cheek, all the while frightened that every time she reached for him he would be further away, and the journey back would grow longer and longer.

Emily’s black heels were short, but clacked nonetheless on the sidewalk as she checked her cell phone for the time. Turning to replace it into her coat pocket, she tripped over a dash in the cement and dropped her shopping bag before regaining her balance. She sighed and bent down to collect the pastel colored stationary, ball point pens, printer ink, and college ruled binder paper before she shoved it all back into the shopping bag. Standing up, she brushed off the dirt that marred her bag’s dignity as well as her own. She tugged her chic black coat down over her belt line and hooked her right arm through the bag’s handle as she walked around the street corner.  

                It was late December, and the streets were cold in San Francisco as the wind harassed people’s hairdos from the sea. Emily jogged forward a couple steps to catch the door of the café before it swung shut. Her mask of concentration and pensiveness severed in two as she caught the eyes of the tall, blonde man sitting at the back. His hands were in his pockets and his short hair made him look cheerful as he sat up and unleashed a beaming smile that shot across the room to grab Emily’s hand, as if to say “What are you doing standing by the door when you could be over here with me?”.  She was helpless to resist. His hands came out of his pockets and he lifted out of his seat as she reached the table. Without so much as a “hello” or a moment in which Emily could put down her bag, he took her right hand and pulled her to him. She let out a surprised giggle as they embraced, and one of her heeled feet bent upward toward the ceiling as she attempted to make up for the difference in their height.

                The embrace unfurled them both before they were ready, but he held onto her hand as they took seats across from each other at the stylishly circular glass table. Emily let go of his hand only for a moment to put down her bag, and they immediately grasped both of each others hands. She could not stop grinning, nor could he, and she attempted to bite down her smile in order to start a conversation. All the while, her tremors of excitement caused her golden earrings to bob and sway among the locks of her dark blonde hair.

                Sensing her dilemma, he mercifully spoke the first words. “It’s so good to see you, Emily. It’s been really hard to read your letters and hear you over the phone without being able to hold you.”She let out a small hum and nodded shyly.

                “I’ve started to hate Seattle,” she said, “Just because I thought it’s what took you away.” She admitted, looking down through the table between them. He laughed as he, too, admitted that it was a stupid decision to have moved to (the golden state/the windy city. Wtv it is for seattle) ______. “And I got new stationary!” her face lit up as she described her recent purchase. “It’s always fun to buy new things, especially something that I’d write on practically every day. I suppose you might’ve gotten bored of my old plain blue stationary.”

                “I actually loved it more and more with every letter. But oh, that’s nice too,” he looked at the new orange and white patterned paper she took from her bag. “Emily? You might not need to use that paper anymore, though.”

                Her face fell. In fact, if an ordinary frown is “falling”, then her face was more like a tumble down Niagra in a rusty wheelbarrow. “Do you mean…” She bit her lip on the left side and fiddled with her hands. “You don’t want me to write anymore?” His eyes widened almost frighteningly.

                “No no no! Emily, I’m just saying that they aren’t going to be necessary anymore.”

                It was her eyes that threatened to split her skull this time. “No way. No WAY!”

                “Yes way. I already picked out an apartment. It’s over by _____. I just have to get my stuff from Seattle. In fact, that was my second reason for coming here over the break. I wanted to check out the place for myself and make sure it’s as good as the guy said.”

                “What was the first reason?”

                “You.”

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Emily got back before he did. She unloaded her stuff onto the desk in the front of their condo. With a sigh, she walked into the bedroom, took off her shoes, emptied her pockets of their cell phone, coins, and notes, and fell face up onto the foot of her bed, a shoe in each hand. She lay looking up at the ceiling and let the shoes drop from her hands onto the floor. Charles jumped up onto the bed with her and purred in her ear as he danced in excited circles around her. She greeted him with a “hey mister” and a back rub before she dressed down into house clothes.

Her hair up in a messy yet functional swirl, her black cami letting her bra be visible from the sides, and her bare feet poking out from under her black sport pants, Emily cooked his favorite soup. She was ladling the udon into two bowls, adding brown sugar to her own and red pepper flakes to his.

The key turning in the door gave her time to put down the pan onto the stove before he came in. She went over to the entryway, kissed him on the cheek, and asked how his day went.

“Dear God, it was brutal. I know you don’t want to be bored with the details of it, but let’s just say that Harry has another thing coming if he thinks I’ll cover for him vacationing in Florida while I give him credit on this project. Sweet Jesus, that man is obnoxious.”  He saw the food on the table. “Oh you didn’t have to… is that udon?” He folded his jacket onto the back of one of the chairs before sitting down to the bowl in front of him. He picked up the spoon and was about to take a bite.

“Yeah, my deadline is apparently tomorrow for that article on those stupid traffic circles.” She said as she took the bowl out from under him and switched it with the one across from him. Nonplussed, he dug into the one she gave him and closed his eyes with the pleasure of the first bite. His dark hair hid his face when he bent over the bowl. He hummed when he ate.

Emily sat across from him, watching him eat with a contemplative expression on her face. As usual. She picked at her food, as was her way, and they ate in the usual silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence, for they were beyond that being a possibility.

Once he cleared the plates and wiped down the kitchen, he undressed in the bedroom while Emily went back to her upward facing position that she had occupied before, at the foot of the bed. He pulled on some boxers while she slipped out of her pants. They crawled into bed without words. She looked up at the ceiling. He looked at her. Feeling his gaze, Emily slowly turned her eyes toward him. His hand rested around her waist. Her arm extended around his head as his face sidled down into her collarbone, and her hand smoothed down his hair.

“Goodnight, baby.”

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It was three weeks later, under a hazy gray day with clouds threatening to choke innocent bystanders, that Emily rang the doorbell of ___(address)____.

                She could hear feet thumping on the floor, padded by socks, as they ran towards the door in excitement. The red paint on the wooden door was smiling at her as it swung inward and revealed its occupant, smiling as before. His hand shot out to pull her quickly from the street and she almost fell over the entryway, had it not been for the stability lent by his arms.

                She was already giggling. He closed the door with his left hand while he pressed Emily to his chest with his right. Pulling upwards from the small of her back, he closed the gap that had been burning between their bodies and they kissed for one sweet, prolonged moment. They paused, and she put her arms around him, holding his neck.

                “Come on; let me show you the place.” The apartment was small, with a dusty tiled floor leading to a dusty kitchen with wooden floors and counters that connected to a dusty stairway that no doubt climbed into a dusty little bedroom. In fact, there wasn’t much in the apartment that couldn’t be described as dusty and small.

                “I love it.”

                They made their way back to the entryway and Emily saw a pile of orange and white papers on a desk in the hall. She remembered her most recent one:

Dear Neil,

 I can’t wait! I guess this will be my last letter, since it won’t really arrive at your current location, should I send one later. SIGH. Oh hun I can already feel my arms around you, and I can still feel your hug at my sides from that day at the café. I’ll see you soon.

– Emily

                As Emily bit her lip in thought, Neil opened the blinds in the front room to let the light in. Pausing for a moment, he also opened the window itself, in order to give some dust a chance to escape before his war against it began the next day. He took Emily’s hand for the umpteenth time and led her to  the (small and dusty) couch. It was the kind of couch that did not support your frame, but rather let you sink like a fishing hook into its depths, giving way as you put weight on its failing springs. Neil sat down and waited for her to join him, all the while keeping his eyes perfectly trained upon hers. Tucking her feet under her, she made herself compact as she melted into his lap. Emily leaned her head into his chest and cupped his neck with her left hand as her right found its usual place at his hairline, teasing his hair out of place. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

                “So what’s been going on recently?” He asked.

                “Oh, not much,” She bit her lip. “I’ve been stressed out a bit because of that dumb article series about traffic that I’m sure I’ve complained to you about. Every other day I have to have another thing-a-ma-bob prepared for it and its just ERGH it’s stressing me out.” She rotated her hands and shrugged her shoulders with expression. “On the bright side, though, we’ve stayed on top of the rent this month. And I mean completely on top of it. Which is nice.” Her hands and head went back to their resting positions.

                There was a silence in which she listened to him breathing and felt the warmth spread from his expanding and contracting chest into her hands. He stared out the window, the smile on his face absent for the first time since her arrival.

                “How is Ethan?” His eyes stayed straight forward and his breathing sped up, even if only by a fraction. She noticed. Her brow furrowed and a puzzled little frown tarnished her mouth.

                “He’s alright I guess. Very involved in work. That’s the usual I guess…” she closed her eyes and sank further into his lap. The silence stretched on while the building made creaking noises in the walls and somewhere deep in a box of Neil’s packed things a clock ticked and tocked beneath a dish towel. His heart beats in her ear were lulling her to sleep and the corner of her mouth became loose as she began to doze. Neil, his left arm around the sleeper, rubbed his upper lip with his right index finger and kept staring out the front window. 

_________________________________

I wrote this a long time ago. It is still unfinished, and I don't think I'll be returning to it. I actually just found it and decided to post it after reading the first two sentences- I haven't re-read it yet. 

I'm just now thinking about what to make this blog into. For now, it is my thought-dump.