Lots of things that needed to be said

Warning: this post is ungodly long and of mediocre writing quality.

Feeling everything to its fullest extent is fine, but perhaps it is best to let the hard times lie a little quieter.

On a more positive note from my last notes... the two nicest things anyone has ever said to me.  Granted, this is not so much a capturing of words and feelings as it is of something beautiful... but I'm learning that such may be just as precious. 

One was a campus security (officer?) at the University of Tulsa, about a week ago.  A friend of mine and I needed to use a school building at something like 2 or 3 in the morning, so we called campus security to let us in.  As we both are rather prone to talking to anyone and everyone we meet, we spent a few minutes talking to the officer who arrived, just inside the building entrance.  He was a very friendly, agreeable man, very pleasant.

I believe it was something about the time of the night and being outside... otherwise, the context has escaped my memory.  But whatever the case, I mentioned at some point in the conversation that I wasn't concerned about being out at odd hours of the night, even alone.  I just don't see the world that way--I have learned about the dangers and have made an informed decision to, essentially, ignore them.  I take a deliberately naive stance and assume that nothing is going to happen, that the people I meet would never hurt a fly.  I figure if I treat people right, they'll do the same for me.  I think that's the gist of what I said.

The officer told me that the world needed more people like me, and that when people started seeing each other the way I do, that things would get better.

I don't know--I've never seen my way as a better way or anything--it's always been simply the way I cope.  I figure if I let myself be afraid, there will always be things to be afraid of, and it'll never end.  Being positive keeps me happy, and being happy, enjoying every mountain and valley in my life, is pretty much my goal.  To that end, I just keep living.  I wing it.  I just throw myself into the world and let something or other catch me, and hope to God I'm not messing up too badly.  Hearing what the officer said... it was such a beautiful little moment.  I felt for once like I'm doing things right, at least partially.

There is crying always in the back of my mind, but there is also laughter.

There are only a few main characters.  They’re the ones who make it to success, who find true love, who wind up with the happy endings.  The rest of us?  We’re side characters.  We get by.

Shalott

I am the Lady of Shalott.

I was content in my tower, observing the world and reveling in it from afar, just bright reflections in a mirror.

It was a prince, ironically, who ended me.  I caught a glimpse of his face, and as he passed beyond the frame of the mirror, I could not help myself.  I turned, I pressed my nose against the windowpane and watched him pass.  He never looked my way.

That was when it ended.

Since when?

Since when?

Since when has the world been so bleak?

Just yesterday, you were a butterfly.  Granted, you never soared, but you fluttered.  You were lighter than air, and the faintest breeze swept you off your feet.  Your colours lacked subtlety, but they were charming, their brightness a gift.  

Just yesterday, you were sunshine.  Smiles came as naturally to you as breathing, skipping as easily as walking.  Your dancing was awkward, innocent, nonconformist.  You left the world a little brighter in your wake, because you loved it so.

Just yesterday, you were a queen.  You ruled your own picturesque, diminutive kingdom with a light, diminutive hand that was quicker to wave than to clench.  You scarcely touched the scepter, but the world worked your way just because it loved to see you happy.

What are you now?

What changed?  Was it the world, or you?

Now, you are tear-tracks, shattered glass, a waif peering through windows at the bright, warm rooms within.

What have you done?

I fell in love.

My writing is deteriorating along with my idealism

 "Once I spoke the language of flowers...
How did it go?
How did it go?"

Being in love is being afraid to say anything to him, wanting to scream "fuck it, you can have him," but knowing you can't, you can't even scream it inside, because it's not really what you feel, is it?  Being in love is wishing you could get out of this, because it's tearing you apart and ruining everything you've fought for, taking you away from people you love.  Being in love is a perpetual need to cry, hovering in the back of your mind and your soul, because you'll never have enough. 

It's perfectly healthy if you're the heroine of a romance novel or a fairytale.  Two human beings in love with one another, it's supposed to be amazing.

If you're not the heroine of a romance novel or the princess in a fairytale, apparently life is just fucking with you.