I usually come here with something to say but it all turns to mush in my head. Because I'm never sure of myself. My opinions, my creations. Everything I do and am is insecure. I know the world isn't watching because the world doesn't care. I am only accountable to myself. People can't hurt you if you don't let them. But it's not that easy. It's not that easy to just stop caring. I want to make people happy. Or do I? Do I hate people, do I love them? Even my thoughts and feelings are unsure. I can't answer the question because I don't know what the question is. Which question will make me happy? Because that's what I'm supposed to want to be, isn't it?
The people shuffle in with apprehensive steps and restrained expressions. How does one even present one's face in such situations? But the great man was there, weak and faint, smiling as much as he could in his condition. He made eye contact with as many of them as he could. The most prominent woman of the bunch spoke fearlessly. "You've been a good husband, and I will cherish our memories." The old man nodded. Then a boy, now a man, rested a hand on the bed rail. "You once told me I can do what anyone else can do. If someone else can do it, so can I. Thank you." The old man's smile was firm and formal. Then the girl, now a woman, approached. She looked like she was about to speak, but she didn't. Couldn't. The old man lifted his head ever so faintly and she leaned to him. He whispered to her, "life waits for no man, and bows for no woman. But it slows slightly for beauty, especially the beauty of a generous deed."
In the first week, I adjusted my ways of everyday life to make it somehow include you. I would walk a longer way in the hall just to see a smile on your face that was clearly meant for someone other than me. I sat in my car during the mornings before class, just hoping to catch a quick glance at you. I texted you over the smallest things, waiting for a reply that usually never came. But in every week following the first, the adjustments became a little bit harder than the weeks before. I started hurrying to class and hoping my phone would die so I could have a reason to stop existing in the world around me. The little things that once made you so special became burdens, or maybe I just saw them for what they really were. You were like the bruised apple of the bunched, and I had somewhat hoped you would taste better than the rest.
Grave flashes of light admonish the quilted sky into a battered terrain of quixotic colours that bleed into your conciseness . Splintering images that haunt as you stare into the abyss between the flashes. Each a canyon unto which you see reflected your own predicament. your mood senses each deranged explosion as a confirmation of your impending doom. Nothing will save us now. No god. No religion. No truth. Nature exists to instil in us a damning fear of the unknown. But it's not the unknown we've come to fear. its each other. and the things we've left unsaid seen in the grandiose expression of feeling draped in the imagery of the stars
I will attend High School next year! Year 7 2015! I'm already reading study and motivation tips online so hopefully I'll get good grades. I really want straight As and Bs, I love school. I don't know why but I feel as though I'll enjoy the adventure of High School. Essays, Studying, Homework...annoying but if you do it, you'll do really well in the future. I'm so excited to start learning new, different, interesting subjects next year. I just want to graduate Primary School so I get my summer holidays (6-weeks) and enjoy the journey. I wish that I have fun discovering lots of new information in the future!