sjsprWriting

Existence.

It’s weird you know? Like a lot of things in this world. But anyway, we are just these random beings just…. Existing… just being. We don’t even know what we are. I mean we know that we are “humans” , that’s what we are labeled but is there something more to it than that? It feels like there should be.

Do we just exist, as in, we are born, we live then we die and that is the end ouf our existence? Or are we born from so...

She goes missing on a lazy day in June.

The sun blazes enough to suffocate, but the breeze keeps anyone from being too bitter. It’s the kind of day that spreads out, uncurls; a mouth caught wide in a yawn, a pair of arms reaching skyward, pulling the muscles, pushing the arms, a pleased groan, a fall back to earth. It sinks into the people, swims in their veins and collects in their marrow. It is seen in their easy smiles, their clear eyes, their flushed faces.

I found myself relating to a Welch's fruit snack I found squished on the floor today. When I picked it up, its gooey self all miserably flat, with some of it still clinging on to the floor, I thought, "How freaking sad." Then I stared at it a little while longer, and started feeling like it, so I think its pretty lame of me. I'm pretty lame sometimes. 

But Ad gave me cheap, vanilla creme cookies later after my lame revelation, and I thought, Wow, this is great. I loved them...

I had always believed in confrontation

In saying what you feel, and never omitting the truth

I believed in the power of conviction,

in words churning into actions

Never once had I felt the helplessness of speaking,

and not being heard.

So how could I have anticipated

the caving-in of my chest

as I stood there, two Thursdays ago,

begging you,

pleading you to stay

“How does it feel?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“You must be sure of something.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just that I would like to know.”

“You’d like to know what?”

“How it feels to exist.”

“That’s profound.”

“Profound, maybe. A difficult question to answer, not v...

She looked at her chipped, red nails, a bit dumbfounded. She remembered having done them the night before.

They couldn’t possibly be this chipped.

Her white, satin dress was torn at the bottom, as if someone had stepped on it the entire evening. She remembered having been sitting down most of the night.

It couldn’t have possibly been ripped at the edges.

Her make up was dripping down her eyelids, as ...

I grabbed my bag and headed out around 2 A.M. The street smelled of stale urine and defective persons. Defective persons. Huh. That’s what I used to call myself.

I got to the park at about 2:17 A.M, give or take a few seconds. The cold air was proving tough on my lungs as oh-so-sweet hyperventilation began to creep in- nothing unusual, really. I trudged along the outskirts of the park, countin...

That misleading reason for why my wallet was depleted, often repeated, is more delicate than those lonely evenings around flames that were oft-fleeting; quite like me, who was always so bent on leaving. The consequence of our unshared breathings misconstrues my secret meetings as something tantamount to deceiving. I wish you could believe in something slightly less defeating than what I had been feeding, to you, but trust it is more convenient by letter than to reconvene in th...

You used to whisper sweet nothings into my ear

Trusting I wouldn't notice how you practiced them in the mirror

Hoping they would pierce the bark I so skillfully grew around my delicate chest

You used to call me the love of your life

And I guess your life was cut short

For that is the only explanation I can fathom right now

To explain your absence

I gave every part of me to you

But you, you gave me what you coul...

To be among the clouds

Or to be among the shadows?

Both situations give way to a new perspective.

Both allow you to see,

In a God’s eye view,

But one you are among the view,

And the other you a merely an observer.

Which would you choose?