Day 27

What shouldn't turn into gold?

This day. This song. Her smile, wherever it may be.

Being finite and fleeting is what turns every moment into something worth having.

Day 26

And what is the word?
What word?
That one. The one that means more happiness than you can bare.
Bear?
No, bare. Like feet.
Like feet?
More than you can stand.
Glad?
No, that's too soft. It's bigger, more extreme.
Excited?
Why aren't you helping?
I'm trying!
Useless...
Don't exaggerate.
It's something like that.
Excellent?
No, it has to do with happiness. With joy!
Overjoyed!
Overjoyed!
Finally!
No wonder she doesn't like talking to you.
But when she does, overjoyed defines it!
You're such a cliché.
Me? You're the figment of my imagination that can't even hold a story for half a page.
...

Day 25

Letter found by a dumpster in downtown LA


And I knew it would come to this. So did you. Remember when I went over to your place for the first time and you [smudged by water] within 5 seconds? What was that all about?
Or that time when all you wanted to do was just stay in my arms? Or when we laughed at night so hard and [smudged by water] exhausted?
I remember waiting for you, eagerly, and feeling complete the minute you walked through the door.
The problem was how fully I threw myself at you.
But I won't be a hypocrite. I won't ever hold back. It felt as it should and I acted as I should.
If that was too much or too little or just nothing at all, it doesn't matter.
I behaved as I should have. And I guess, in a way, so did you.
Now we're [smudged by water] but three.
I guess I'm just stuck with you taking property of my thoughts for a little longer. And once that's dealt with, I won't even have that. But I'll keep the pictures. And the smiles. And the way you felt on a lazy Sunday morning sleeping next to me.
But I know [smudged by water] and you don't.
I don't care. Read this and throw it away, or keep it. I said what I had to say.
But, if you change your mind, [smudged by water] night.

Bye
Me

P.s.: I honestly can't deal [smudged by water]

Day 24

I lay ink to paper until it is drenched and its thirst is quenched. I elaborate over useless nonsense until the beatings of my heart are steady and my hand shakes less every minute that goes by. I battle with synonyms until the equal is not just equal, but superior. But my ink doesn't exist.
Although never ending, my paper and pen are code. Interactions. Light.
I spill all that I must on intangible lines and hope for release.
Then I turn on the TV and forget that I used to have a brain at some point.

Day 23

     The Story of the Firsts

Inside the mind of a dream

Ambushed and scared
Moving between spaces unseen

Trickling down through the memories of you
Running forward without much luck
Yet, I push
Insisting on something that feels lost
Numb. Strange. Cracked.
Going nowhere

Today marks the day that never was
Out with the old, in with the usual

Forever seemed easy
Obviously, it isn't
Racing past the point of self deceit
Growing pains that linger
Easy to take on, hard to take in
This should be normal, but it isn't

You've bled me dry
Ordered my retreat
Used me up
.

Day 22

She remained in the space between the tear and the air; the water drop and the ripple; the logic and the certainty.

She stretched and flowed like a snake preparing to strike, but there was no harm intended in her motions. Still she stayed, cat-like, attentive, ready.

She cast herself out into the open waters of a random day and held on to memories of better ones.

Where lies turn to laughter and bruises become flowers, she would stand.

Where time meant nothing and everything, she would thrive.

Where selflessness begins and community is one, she would smile. And all would smile with her, because All is Everything.

Day 21

James had the power to steal anybody's abilities. If he wanted to be a teacher, all he had to do was touch the arm of his favorite teacher and instantly know how to handle a classroom. Likewise for anything else. Music, Arts, Philosophy, Calculus (although he didn't really see a point for all those numbers), anything was just at his fingertips.
It came with a cost, though. Anybody who James touched would start to loathe him. Not dislike, loathe in the most visceral way possible, as in making their life's goal to turn James's life into a living hell.
He thought hard about who he would be willing to have hate him for the rest of his life.
So he grabbed his own arm and stole his ability to handle bullshit. The self-loathing was a mere consequence.