were written by
A girl
I lie on my back staring up at the sticky stars on my celing wishing I was somewhere else.. ANYWHERE else. Underneath a million stars without any wishes. I am incapable of sitting still. I constantly have to be doing something.. doing anything. I pick up a book and read the same sentence 87 times before putting it down. I turn on my computer and search for someone to talk to. Someone who will honk the horn in my driveway and take me away. Just for the chance to drive aimlessly with a stranger. I turn on the TV and flip thru all the channels no less than 4 times before turning it off. I pick up a notebook and scrawl a few lines. Then I tear out the paper, crumple it into a little ball, and throw it across the room. These pieces of crumpled paper tell the story of stories untold. I have a lot of notebooks. They're all filled with unfinished stories. Endings without beginnings. Beginnings without endings. Stories like this.. And he shouted for her to come to him and he would give her the world. At least, he would give her his world. For his world had felt barren before her, filled with late nite TV and empty beer can dreams. He laid his world at her feet, begged to be let into her circus. He let a tear fall for her and then he clung to the rope that tore him down and washed away his castle in the sand.. Stories like this.. And then he smiled. She wondered how he could find the strength to brighten her world when so many nites were spent trying to rebuild the castle of broken dreams, and memories, and burdens. And then he closed his eyes and she wondered how someone so beautiful could carry such a heavy load on his sunburnt shoulders. And she knew that despite her aspirations, she would never be the one to heal his open wounds, and erase the scars... This is how my stories play out.. the characters trapped on my paper.. in a vicious circle. Forced to play out the same scene 20 times and then again. Their destinies stuck in my pen. A literary hell. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of sitting still. I get even sicker when I think of working in a pet store or a department store, or any place that sells stuff to the public.. for an indefinite amount of time. Hi, how can I help you? Don't tell me 'cuz I don't care and I don't really want to help you. Hi, how are you today? I don't really care.. so don't tell me. That'll be $23.60.. I long for spontanaeity. I want to wake up at 3:23 AM just to go out and ride skateboards in a random parking lot. I want to leave work early so that I can sit in the passenger seat of a car going to the mountains of Yuma.. or maybe even Colorado.. just so we can make snow angels and drink soy lattes in a Starbucks 500 miles from home. I'm attracted to people who make life changing decisions without taking 10 minutes to think about them.. who don't really have any REASON.. who do things just.. because. I want to quit my job tomorrow, pack a change of clothes, a few CDs, and whatever else will fit in my backpack, and drive to New York. But I am cursed by my obsession with movement.. by my constant desire to break clocks so that I am oblivious to the amount of hours left in a day. Because I know, a few months from now.. I'll be lying on my back somewhere in NYC, staring up at sticky stars.. wishing I were anywhere else than where I was. Currently reading: Ash Wednesday by Ethan Hawke Listening to: Dashboard - Saints and Sailors Thinking of: What mile marker sign Adam is reading right now -*-*-*- 22 Nov 02 that it is part of the destiny of the human race in its gradual improvement to leave off eating animals.." -HD Thoreau 
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