Journal 15
By Lorena Marie
Day 3
I noticed in the sunlight the ghosts of the cuts I carved onto the temple forver there as reminders. of the dark times my temple has endured. Pale white in the blinding light they screamed a story.
Day 20
I tuck myself in between nightmares and dreams I’ve hidden in the dark corners of my bed.
Day 21
Tell me again how you lost your soul in the city, chasing a girl so pretty she didn’t have a name trapped in the pixie dream made by lost boys.
Day 29
The thing about last kisses with someone, is that you sometimes even don’t know when your last kiss will be. People can pinpoint their first kiss with someone - what they were wearing where they were but with last kisses- you almost never know that a last kiss will be a last kiss. You anticipate another one that will never come.
Day 36
I stood behind a guy in line while waiting for a coffee and his skin radiated happiness. He piqued my curiosity- I wondered what he could be hiding.
Day 36
I stood behind a guy in line while waiting for a coffee and his skin radiated happiness. He piqued my curiosity- I wondered what he could be hiding.
Day 101
I can’t focus on writing or reading in a quiet place- because instead of focusing on the reading, writing, whatever i’m doing, I focus on the quietness that is suffocating me. I need some sort of noise- even if it’s just white noise. In a quiet space, i focus too much on the noise i am emitting- whether it is too loud or too much of a disturbance.
Day 102
I used to think that the phrase butterflies in my stomach was an over exaggerated overused and overplayed catch phrase for infatuation, lust that is, until I met you. Then it meant something more because I could now put a face to the feelings described many times before.
Day 103
He smelled like vanilla but the words that sizzled off his tongue sounded like those of the devil. You appeared to me like an angel but the words that escaped your lips were far from holy.
Day 104
There’s a guy in one of my classes who always fumbles through the door with his hair disheveled and matted to his forehead, with wires and cords sticking out from his backpack. HIs insights in class on poetry are always slathered thick with chunky vocabulary. He always plops his belongings on the floor, and he always uses the same inky pen.
Day 109
I feel small in a crowded room filled with strangers. I feel minute at a theme park crowded with many faces stories, eyes, all looking at me (or so it seems).
Day 109 part 2
I think loudly but not all my thoughts transfer to words, words legible, , understandable, to others. I think loudly but hardly any noise escapes my lips. Just because I don’t say much it doesn’t mean I don’t have much to say.
Day 111
I try not to feel alone when I am alone. I try not to crave a presence when I’m by myself in a room filled with too much air and no one to share it with. I try not to always feel alone- I keep hoping it will better myself.
Day 117 Dating a fellow creative soul is like dancing with your feelings. Daring to share outcomes of your separate creative paths and hoping everything works out for the best, and if it doesn’t you atleast know you’ll get new material out of it. Expressing yourself is a release from the world. Expressing yourself to another person is like exposing yourself and hoping for the best.
Day 118
Summer absences reign high. Feelings infused with exchanged gentle touches. We take glances, touches- while crowded and surrounded by people. The steps get bigger as the crowd gets smaller. I know I get attached too easily- I might as well be smothered with glue.
Day 122
Static from the radio spills into your car, words leaped out the window long ago. Sitting in silence with you warms my soul to the core. It was a cold night, but I never feel chilly with you.