|
fireflyislandavenue
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Queen of Flowers
Interests: candles, picnics, stars, kindness, smiles, kisses, boys, girls, photographs, nostalgia, accents, foreign languages, flowers, fortunes, tarot, love, rainbows, sunglasses, scarves, nail polish, ribbons, drawing, painting, hats, friends
Expertise: looking at pretty things. i'm also oh so indie rock.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
7/26/2005
|
|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| There are a whole lot of memories hiding in old entries. It's amazing to see how much I've managed to change. Or how I've happened - not managed - to change. Many of my insecurities I've taught myself to keep inside instead of showing to others, and a lot of old habits have died or become less pronounced. It is interesting to think about.
I am going to college in five days and I am not sure how I feel about the future. As an optimist, I traditionally just always feel good about things like that, but honestly, it is more a mixture of me being confused and nervous and far too excited for my own good. I think that is a good thing, though - I think that these experiences need to be confusing and bittersweet because otherwise we wouldn't get as much out of them. Without anticipation, even the sweetest thing is only average, and without nervousness, when everything turns out all fine it is just how it is supposed to be, not an amazing event. I would rather things be magnificent.
Growing up is a strange occurrence. I am beginning to think that it never happens. When I was little being this age was being "grown up" but I feel no more grown up than a kitten. I suppose this is something that will just take time to figure out, and maybe all I'll figure out is that that is true.
| | |
| I think I am ready now.
When I was little I would catch fireflies in my hands and keep them there as if I was a jar, as if catching them would put all their greenyellow lights into me and I would be brighter. They always stopped blinking when they were in your hands, and now I know why, but back then I just thought that they were sad, and once one started to fly away I would let all of them go and that would be that. Then I'd wait a while and start again, feeling bad for them but wanting their warm glow.
Now I am eighteen and almost one half, now I am an adult but not grown up, I am responsible but I want only to drink tea and lie in tall grasses and watch thunderstorms and smile at strangers. This is silly, these numbers are silly, and I want to be in love with someone and not just life and the world, for they'll always be my loves, but sometimes that's not enough. I want to learn until my head hurts. I want to read until my eyes burn. There is not enough time in the world for me to do all I want but prioritizing only wastes time. I've read every book in my local library and I want more.
I don't really have any secrets. Sometimes I wish I did, like I sometimes wish for tragedy, but those wishes hurt when they come true and I can never keep any secrets about myself. Sometimes I think I would be more interesting if I kept more inside, but that makes my ribs hurt, so I don't try. I'd rather be happy and free than interesting, I think, deep down.
That is the last thing about me for today. I am always happy, or at least that is what people think. I can find happiness anywhere, except when someone is lost forever or when it is deep into the night and I am alone. That is when I am completely happy and unhappy at once, and it is a strange conundrum, and I am often unsure of what to do. Usually I cry and write happy poems. That is what I am doing tonight. But my poems are done and I'm no longer crying, so I suppose I could go read instead. Read about war or dragonflies or the history of language. Or all three. Find me a book with all three and we'll talk.
| | |
|