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Isn't it amazing how, no matter the color of your computer screen, it always emanates a blue light? Like a blue aura that is not at all calming like blue should be, but electric, and buzzing, like a television someone has left on throughout the night, you know it's on but you don't want to leave your bed to turn it off, so you end up not sleeping. I just find that interesting. I turned out the light in this room earlier, it was just me and the computer. I almost heard someone whisper "you're beautiful" in my ear, but it was just a memory. I hate the feeling of being alone. It's like being blind. Only the blind like when you could see before. Or when you have the lawn gnome you stole last night snatched from your own deck. It's a feeling beyond disheartening, beyond dissappointment. I had to turn the light back on. One of those silly fears that the ghosts will come out to get you. I had a dream, recently, a month ago, I fell asleep, my room was dark, my computer was emanating that blue buzzing light, I laid down on my futon, and immediatly was off in some dream world. Except nothing changed. My room was still dark, my computer was on, I was facing the same way. And there was this voice.....I don't remember what it said...but it was the most terrifying voice I've ever heard in my life. And it was right in front of my face. And I woke up. I'm still not entirely sure that it was a dream. I remember how alone I felt that night, when I woke up. Like no one was there to save me from the voice that would inevitably come back to haunt my dreams. I just lay helplessly, defeated, alone on my futon in the dark, until I managed to flee from my room and find salvation in ginger ale and my mother's clock that chimes away the hours and even has a pendulam. I wish that someone else was awake right now, so that they would turn on lights, make noise, do family activities, like watch television and eat. Even though I wouldn't join them, their life and noise would distract me from my loneliness right now. It's so cold. Why does it always manage to be cold when you're lonely? Where is the greater good in that? Thursday night I went to Asheville Pizza and Brewery, where I drowned in loneliness. I watched drunks play Mario Cart and pretend over pizza. I watched bands play, and band girlfriends cry. All I did was sit. Until I realized I was going to be home late, and my mother was going to scream at me. For some reason, I have this fear of being screamed at. Beat me, shoot at me, throw me into walls, none of those things are quite as bad as being screamed at. I'm not sure why. A friend of a friend's came, offered me something beautiful so I wouldn't be afraid of the screaming. I still have it. She told me it was like a sunshine euphoria, and it would make everything okay. I was shaking uncontrollably at the time, and couldn't help but say yes. Though I still have them. I'm afraid of them as much as I am of screaming. And I'm still shaking. I think my nerves are shot. I hate this time. There's something awry about it. Like when you pass the exit that you meant to get on, and then realize there are no turn arounds for miles, so you just keep going, thinking about that exit, and how you missed it, and how bad it sucks. That's what this time is like. But somehow, I have managed to find something genuinely beautiful in it. Something that makes me happy, even now. Even when I have sunshine euphoria in my purse and I shake uncontrollably, I have something that, even in the dark grey areas of my subconcious, makes me happy.

We drove over a mountain last night, my boyfriend and I. I love how streets look at night. I can never quite take a picture of them the right way. How the pavement is the same, essentially, but not. How the sky is the same shade of dark, but not. I love the feel of vehicles as you sit in them, and they purr and hum their way around curves, jolt their way up hills. It's all very simplisticly beautiful. Even better is being with someone like him. It's all very intriguing, really. I feel like life is a story, like everything is engrained and handwritten in pen in my head. Somtimes, as I read my journals, those memories come flashing up. Pages that I have forgotten. It's like discovering it all over again, and the beauty refreshes you gently, not as sudden as the first time. I don't feel so lonely anymore. Today's story has lightened everything, and my eyes feel heavy like I could sleep. The sound of whispering has faded away. I do feel a bit beautiful tonight, I think, if not where you can see, than at least in my mind. There is something of a placid peace, and I know that the story goes on. That this world, as disastrous as it is, bears something for tomorrow, whether it be death or love. Ironic that it seems that is what it all boils down to. Sometimes, on some random, desultory nights, I cry for the world and its state of pain. There is no help, no savior, and we all know that. But why must we drown ourselves in loneliness and fear? I'm not sure if we're perpetually more afraid of death or love. It's not the fear of things, but the knowledge that they are ending. I think that's a thoughtful story for a different day, though, my muse is going to bed right now.





"I cry for the lovers who learned about endings"