May 20

I thought about her sky blue eyes, and how any color made them jump out. I thought about the look she always gave me, how I knew it was flirtatious the first time I saw it, and how I got used to it, but how each time it made me feel like she was interested. I thought about lying on my back, and her lying in between my legs. I thought about running my hands down her sides, and about her ass, digging my hands in. I thought about how she'd inhale sharply at that point, like all girls do, and how she'd grab my shirt a little bit tighter.

I thought about lust.
I thought about love.

I thought about becoming one with another person.
And I thought about becoming one with myself.

These thoughts scared me.

May 19

I think about all the bad that's happened to me, and I can't help but see little pieces of good scattered here and there. Unfortunately, they're just little pieces of good. There was one big piece, or maybe even a few, but people like to twist good things into bad things, and bad things begin to seem like they're okay. Shit's twisted, man.

May 14

Motivation is hard to come by these days. Persistent rain, constant schoolwork and no girlfriend to talk to or see all point me towards the snug comfort of my bed. Keep in mind that comfort is the enemy of achievement.

But when I'm a month from the end of school, is attempting to achieve anything worth the effort? I'll ponder this as I lie in bed.

May 7

Sometimes you just gotta write about it. Sometimes that's a poem, or an essay, or a story where you weave your problems into the characters, and hope they can find a way out. Sometimes it's a letter, that you don't write a "dear ___" or a "sincerely, ___" on, because you have no intention of ever sending it. If you're writing a letter to no one, it's because someone needs to hear, and that someone might be a different part of yourself.

Maybe when we write, we're giving lines to the one character in our story we can control, so that maybe they can find a way out.