Quota.

To provoke/cause/stimulate/incite:
7 smiles
10 laughs
4 decent, meaningful conversations

via at least:
1 love-note
2 phone calls
14 compliments (ave. 2/day)
7 sms' (ave. 1/day)
5 jokes (clean and unslandering..hello google)

One of the boys.

All the boys looked fantastic tonight. It's funny that nothing's the same yet this fact is: I am assured by the company of them...any or all of them.
Dearest boys (it seems strange to refer to you as men except for when I pray for you- incidentally not often or often enough), thank you for sculpting me into the strange child I am today. I value you all deeply and I know for a fact that if you were all impossibly compact into one, I would be head-over heels in love with you!

But your not and thus neither I.

From frustration to memory to purpose to hope

It's just one of those "i'll make money when i create something that the world realises they can't live without while simultaneously curing myself of this ridiculous obsession with love and meanwhile stop favouring that one red-haired kid in my classroom because he reminds me of that somebody i could potentially fall in love with just because he's like no other i could relate to but would rather keep me at arm's length providing me with one more stranger to stop crushing because i have something to prove and the world to win in my efforts to gather selflessness from the odd crooks and crannies which renew my hope and revitalise my being remembering that i cannot live without my God because pathetic are us humans but i'll still learn to love ever so gradually under the cover of a faithful lover" sort of days.

Yes, one of them.

what

am

I

doing

?

where

are

you

now

?

read me.

I wish it wasn't this bad... and sometimes I even wish wishing actually worked.

JunkhouseDollyard.etsy.com

you're creativity inspires me

...quite literally!

Dearest, this is the coldest I've ever felt towards you. No, I checked, I'm not angry, or upset, or frustrated...

It is as if we have come to the point where Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. Like this icy cool temperament that has plagued me from the outside finally found it's way into my unsuspecting heart. &. My, isn't it strangely satisfying! I feel like I could walk away from you and feel lighter.

These character swings are heightening. I swear I'm stable, yet these symptoms resemble schizophrenia. I'll be in tears in the next instance, probably guilt-ridden that I should even consider forgetting this friendship. Why am I refusing to remember the fact that my own pathetic natures have been burdens to my friends, my real friends.

Our 10 minute conversation was forced and dry, and for once, I just wanted to end it. And did.

I suppose I love you, still.
I will close my eyes, sleep, and wake up caring as usual, I presume. I hope.

She obsesses.

I searched you,
as I heard your voice, I dissembled the words you spoke, the tone you spoke with, the dynamics of volume and expression in your voice and the fluidity of your rhythm. Using my understandings I deciphered the meaning, your meaning. Through the cord and in the frequency, I tried to find something, someone... you. So, in a bid to buy time for tracking down the unknowns I searched for, I kept you on the line. Lately, in most of my phone conversations are efforts to prolong conversations, with the other being the one to taper off and suggest leaving. This happened with all six people I called within the last 24 hours.

I feel like an explorer walking along borders of insanity. It appears I instill a fear upon those in my company, that I possess a strange obsession they prefer not to be apart of. But really, I just want to know you, I just want to know real people. Given the opportunity, I would dig deeper than people prefer because I'm ever so convinced that building friendships between utterly real people creates impossible bonds of incredible strength (with the accumulation of love, truer, and strangely real)! I like real. I've just about had it with my hallucinations of who people are, I barely know half of my friends. I will only say I know two halfs of all the people of my world. One: my sister, two: I call her my best friend. We try together, we hit dirt together. I only know half, I imagine the rest. Sometimes my make-belief's of friends veil the real them, because I, well, let my imagination run a little far, a little wild.

That, is one of the problems with me. My obsession with truth and my hunger to be informed scares mostly, everyone. Heck, it scares me! I think people are afraid I'll fall in love with them, that's not the intention, but to be honest, I'm insanely attracted to the truth, and knowing the real in people may just result in that, ugly as the truth may be.

Dearest reader, I've never fallen in love, but I fear I could, all too easily.
(However, with you, I'd never want to) At present, I seek truth and the realities of those who share no similar passions to me; of those who show little interest in my friendship with them. Because although I search for people to know and to fall in love with, I am uncomfortable with people knowing and falling in love with me. Oh, ain't she the perfect hypocrite! You may know too much, I might have to kill you.

Strange, I know.

sort of like paper cuts...

At least 3 times on an ordinary day, I will experience an anxious frenzy about the location of my phone. On a bad day, this occurs most half hours to an hour or so (...I still manage to forget my phone on occasion however, quite frequently too).

This quick-fix anxiety, whether coincidentally or out of aggressive progression has evolved severely to a fear of misplaced friends.

Lately, I wonder where my friends are. I find myself patting my pockets and talking to the photos on my wall, asking their still-frozen representatives why the real thems aren't here with me. I am comforted tonight by Armani (the shark). I closed his stomach so that white stuffing no longer spews out of him. We are both pleased, and I think he looks much better, even if only by 4 safety pins. He knows the feeling. After all, he has been wondering where I am most of everyday for about two (and a third) months, hoping that I haven't forgotten my promise to fix him. I had, but remembered and finally did good on my word.

Similarly, as with my phone frenzy, I realise soon after that I haven't lost them, my friends. One very vital detail to appreciate is that friends can walk, phone's can't. Therefore, if I am suddenly without my friends, most of the time it ISN'T because I left them in the last shop, but because they chose to walk their way for a little. & that, is totally acceptable. I think I just wish I didn't have to re-realise this most second nights.

I have a solution.
You take the pains, as short or sharp as you may be frequented
and you feed it to your very own Resilience.
Yes, everyone has one.
Watch it grow, watch it grow! (I have much to feed mine)

The truth.

i am "beloved" to a beautiful lover. i am. i am.

[if there was no eternity, if...there was no promise of forever with you... your love, has satisfied and continues to fuel every hope within me. i can live, fearlessly, now and/or forever. and i know forever exists, but if there wasn't, i wouldn't have chosen any other way. you're the only one who knows me, knows me full well. i know we will never be apart. But if, if it were only for this long, it would still have been worth it.]

love ya plenty, Stupid Chump.

Don't go back there, I beg you.
Don't go back. Do not back track the way you fell.

We are not too different. We struggle the same in balancing the nature we know well from the one we know we should. Yesterday I succumbed to temptation, it nearly killed me. Today, I feel colder. It sucks you dry and leaves you barren. This is my fear, for you and I alike: that we become so consumed in our addictions we grind the joys that once strengthened us into a pathetic impossible pulp that we could never piece together again.

When you were stronger you said you'd never turn around.
Don't
close
off
now.

So then, resilience may be in different measures between us.
I do believe you have a little left.

If so...use it.

You make me want to prove to you how much further you can run when you have nothing apparent to run for, when nothing belongs to you, when everything you called "mine" is not whole or worth the mention. (I'm beginning to think you may be my motivation! If everytime I flew close to giving up, remembering you in this pathetic state gives me that little extra, to both fight for you and prove you idiotic)
So scream from the mountain when you've reached the top, or even from the valley to the height you know is rightfully yours. But do not become silent. Do not let your bones deteriorate into something timid, exhausted.

I can't afford for you to add to the number of dying on my watch. I mean it. I can't afford to let you go either, because then my word is rendered invalid. The word I spoke or wrote that I would be your friend, I am your friend, is true. The friend who throws around "I love you" aplenty, with the intention of those special three never loosing their meaning. Actually, in theory, as we grow, as we learn (as slowly as either may be) the definition of love should be greater, therefore the words I let leave my lips should be fuller. Because the longer love holds you, the tougher it's been, the uglier it's experienced, the more beautiful it becomes.

I will be as faithful as I know how... I just don't know how to very well.

MOVE! (I say it with love!)

Believing, in black and white.

I meant what I said when I said "regardless". I just forget sometimes that I said it. Much to my relief, you remember your promises to me more than I, you (not that I should be justified, just assured through my failings).

So when my worth, in the sense I used to measure it by, suddenly falls to pieces, I am left just with you. Anyway, we never measured the same. Your scales drastically surpassed mine, always. When my mess is at my feet and I can't see a clear space to stand in, there is still you. I've forgotten what it was like to have just you.

So what if I loose the attention; if my face becomes disfigured; if my speech becomes stutter; if I loose my wit; if I never make anyone laugh again; if I am undesirable to employ; if I am undesirable for company; if I cannot dance; if I am infertile; if sound, smell, touch, sight and taste all blur into a grey deadpan; if my writing becomes disorganised words making readers cringe; if it never rains; if the sun never smiles; if my sister never talks to me; if my friends are disgusted in me; if I am never trusted again; if I let down the children; if I become responsible for something horrid; if my rights are taken from me; if I am never admired, never thought of as genuinely beautiful; if I am never told the truth; if the words "I love you" never grace me again; if my input is always discarded; if I am to be forever alone; if I am surrounded in only suffering; if I am helpless to everyone needing help; if everything I touch turns to dust and becomes ugly; if I lose everything...so what! So what if I become a negative? You said you'd love me regardless. My life is more than the worse-case scenario. You have more for me to do here, something wonderfully productive. My insecurities pale before you.

You said you'd never leave me nor forsake me. I believe you. I believe your word. I believe your love. I believe you.

Strength like no other. Shield me, Love, I am a little pathetic. Thank you for holding me together.

I can breathe again. Your truth is the breath of cool, fresh air rescuing me from the intoxicating lies I let suffocate me.

I never believed it would happen to me.

My surface worse fear (aside from loosing loved ones, being infertile, unable to dance, laugh, hear, see or remember) would be an inability to write. Not in the physical sense of holding a pen and flicking symbols into arranged rows or columns, but for me to loose the rhythm of my thought. If I were unable to construct and/or express the meaning of myself, all inclusive, I might just fall to pieces...

and I fear this here is in progress. Why can't I write this out? Please! has anyone seen my words?

It appears the fabled "Writer's block" has found me.

I just wanted to prove my worth in words.

My quality is dropping, this process is painful but apparently necessary.

Whispers: We were meant to live for something more.

But I lost myself.

I need to start waking up and consciously remembering my reason for getting out of bed every morning. The onset of mediocre is leaking back, accompanied by whispers of deceit and morning fogs of worthlessness. My mornings do not belong to you, nor the rest of my day. You cannot take my joy or purpose! I have a strength eternal, He is with me always.

I've just realised you are poison.

Now you have to leave.

Hydrated and Dehydrated need love alike.

I need much.
I want even more.
In fact, I usually attain more of what I want at the expense of that I need.

Oh bugger.
So very glad am I that I may take refuge in this home of mine.

Ps: If I ever (by some strange happening) open up a cafe or a boutique of my own, never will I put up the sign "experience essential" in my search for staff. But I will instead, take down names, numbers and emails of all and call each as each vacancy opens up in the order they came. I will make judgements based on their real-life interactions upon meeting, rather than upon amatuer writings on paper. I will. If ever there be the need.

Pps: Hire me please. I've never aimed so high. I've never been so desperate.