Sir, can you please help me reach that book ?

Yes, yes. I realize it has a torn cover. Yes I realize it is out-dated, and there are better versions of it. Yes, I realize that the wording is less complex, and yes. For the last time, I DO want that book. Not the other you've been trying to sell me for the last half an hour.

I want the one who's cover is falling off, and where I can delve into the deep confines of its tattered and bruised spine. I want the book, where its words are not altered to the minds of those who cannot comprehend or understand the complexity of it. I want the book, that one up there. Hidden from the view of those who do not understand your charm. Hidden from those who would not see you in the same light I do. I will not brush the dust off your hard cover, and I will not dog ear your pages. I like you just the way you are.

So please Sir, can you help me reach that book ?


I want you, and nobody else.
Can't you see that ?

Untitled - 11/9/09

Confined within what little space she had left to breathe, she reached out her left hand and tried to grasp mine. Her soft fingertips fell just short of my body, and she missed again.
I left her that day, lying cold and alone on the sidewalk. She could not breathe here, the air so polluted with the false promises people provided her with. I offered her needle and threat to mend her broken heart, but she pushed me away more and more everyday. She told me she would learn from her mistakes, from her foolish times where she had let people hurt her. But she would never learn.
‘Love is not something that is supposed to mend my heart’ She told me, hoarse and thirsty from all her cheap talk. ‘I learn from the foolish acts of love, from the insanity that it provides me with. From the fall, I get back up.’ She blinked away the last of her salty tears, and rested her head upon the cold cement.
I walked away, as her eyes shut and her sobs were muffled by the backbeat of heels on the sidewalk. She was droned out by the city noises, and nobody noticed her shivering cold body there. Her heart did not beat, and it was not my fault. One day, perhaps she would see that she was the victim to her tough love; I was just there to help her.

10/09/09

She sat, gently resting her head against the palm of her hand. She had asked herself, why the sunlight shone upon her face the way it did. She asked herself, why she was given the things she was given, and she had asked herself, everyday why she did the things she did.
‘Life escapes the best of people’, she would explain to me. ‘We do not live our lives for ourselves, not at all. We are born with a blank canvas, and paints, and we are left to develop our painting skills, we are left to understand inspiration, and seek guidance. But above all, we will never stop looking for the approval of others. They will sit and view our canvas, but we will continue to erase, and paint over until we see their approval, and satisfaction.’
She gently rose from her position next to the window, and she took a heavy breath. ‘Life is not lived for ourselves, and nobody can see that. We strive for huge things in our lives. Things that are barely achievable. We want big houses that we own, we want fancy cars, we want the best computers, and we want the best clothes. We want those $300 shoes, and we want that $500 bag. We search for the things we do not already have, we look for things that other people would like, and in the midst of all this, we loose who we are. Because in life, we do not live for ourselves, we live for everybody else.’

Haleigh Taylor Torrance.

My beautiful friend Haleigh wrote this for me, apparently it just flowed she said.
It came from nowhere, and the words all just strung together.
I guess that's one of the reasons I love it.

"I couldn't find the words to say, to get her to notice me. So, I stood there, in silence, watching her, stare out the window. The way the moon reflected in her brown eyes, left me breathless. She hadn't said a word all night, just sat and stared. Oh, how I wished I knew what to say, to offer some kind words.
I just couldn't.
So, I did the only thing that I could do. I sat next to her. I looked her her for a moment, taking in her features. I wanted to tell her how beautiful I thought she was. I wanted to hold her, to make her feel loved. But I didn't. I took her hand in mine. I wanted to tell her how I felt.
How she made me feel.
But, I can't.
There are no words.
There is no way to describe it.

So, there we sat, hand in and hand, starting at the moon. and for those few, beauitful moments.
I felt, at home."

The Falling Tide

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her observe whatever was so fascinating about the outside. She was beautiful to him; her long brunette hair travelled to the small of her back & framed her porcelain white face perfectly. He watched the rise and fall of her breathing and how her small frame moved slightly every time she made a movement.

But he knew nothing of why she stood so perplexed at the sight of whatever was outside that frosted window. What she saw would not matter to him. What she saw was millions of miles of freedom. She saw everything in herself reflected in the outside. Outside the life she had longed for everyday. But now she had it, it meant nothing to her.

She wanted to be free. He just wanted to show her he loved her.

She knew it was a mistake.

He knew it wasn’t his fault.

She turned from the window and faced him with sad eyes and he immediately knew. He rose from the bed instantly, dragging his body, now scarred with years of ink. He would only think of himself as a canvas to years of her painting. He would not regret the paint, would only look back and see the good. He promised.

His feet were heavy on the wooden floorboards, and they creaked, as she felt the heat rise in her face, and her eyes began to trace the lines of her paintings. He moved heavy, though he felt weightless, and as he reached her, he held her small frame close to his body.

He clung to her, like the early air clings to the morning, with hope that dawn will not break its presence, with hope that the dawn would not bring the tide, which would wash her away. He held tightly, in hope she would not be broken away by the dawn that the sun threatened. The dawn, of which was now creating a musty light, illuminating the specs of dust floating and dancing freely in the air.

But as the sun must rise, the sea must fall away.

And as the sun rose, she felt his tears fall into her hair, and he gently whispered his goodbyes, to the falling tide.