Being away makes me think. Always makes me think.
I think about lost friendships and how I wish things were the same.
I think about my resistance to change.
How the crow crowed three times.
How the leaves change colors here,
but the trees die there.
I think about how the grass is never greener
and expectations are never filled.
Expectations. Expectations are set too high.
Making it easy for dreams to get hurt
because falling from a 3 foot hill hurts less than
falling from the empire state building.
I think about his voice. His voice whispering the word 'forever'
and feeling it fall to my feet within a few months, 'forever' was deceased.
I think about how much it bothers me, but I don't bother to say a word.
About how I feel things are different, but know if I say something, he might agree.
I think about how scared I am for him to see what I see.
After seven months all of a sudden, he doesn't like to talk on the phone,
I love you's don't sound as sincere
and I feel that I have to cherish every time we hug,
wondering if it may be the last.
My hands shake. They never did that before.
Knuckles dry up and blister with the cold
and tears form ice on my pale face.
Crying becomes frequent and I wonder if something is wrong.
If everyone cries over everything like I do.
Or if maybe there is something more than to what I look at as nothing
might end up being everything
wrong with me.
I'm sad
at night.
I'm always sad and I think about how this is normal,
apart of my age; it's just a phase.
The person I felt closest to, I've never felt so far away.
I feel that he doesn't want to stay.
These feelings are washed away everytime he kisses me.
Because that's our time.
Nobody can distract him from these lips.
The chaos is gone.
I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I think about him.
I wonder if he loves me as much as I love him.
I know I love him more than he loves me.
I know something is different.
I know my mind is fucked up and I'm not overemotional, I'm just sad.
I know I'm paranoid.
Sometimes I think everyone is out to get me
and I lay in bed at night thinking about
everything
that
can
go
wrong.
Being away makes me think.
Therefore I want to go back.
Because the truth slaps me in the face
like the cold wind and the bittersweet pleasantries.
Sometimes I hate those fucking pleasantries.

"Some people deserve to die alone."

I know there are some really crumby people out there, but I honestly don't think that anyone deserves to spend their last moments of life stranded alone with their thoughts. The quote is from my boyfriend and I was truly baffled. Nobody deserves to die alone. No matter how cruel or evil of a person you are.

But then the question is posed: what if some people want to die alone?

I can't think of anyone who likes themselves enough to spend their last minutes on earth breathing their own air. I know, I would want to be with someone. Then again, I always want to be with someone.

One of my biggest fears is abandonment; being alone, left with nobody, but myself. I think it may be because I'm not fully comfortable with myself. I used to be way more insecure, and I've grown out of that to an extent, but I still have traces of it stuck between the couch cushions and cobwebs of my mind, it's there picking at me.

I honestly think this fear blocks my personality every once in a while, or recreates it; kind of like an eclipse. One day I'm happy and confident and sure of myself and the next day, not so much. I have major, often mood swings and sometimes I wish they would stop.

Because if I keep them up, I will die alone. Who wants to be around someone who doesn't even want to be around themself?

My grandfather passed away this Tuesday and we flew up to New Jersey on Thursday. This past year, my grandpa and my dad got into a dispute and haven't been talking. My grandpa proceeded to take my dad out of the will. So my Uncle Vinny, my grandfather's other son was made the new executor of the will. So basically he was in charge of everything. My grandfather didn't have many friends. His best friend, however was his dog, Sandy. He loved this dog. Sandy was his pride and joy. My uncle Vinny didn't want to deal with the dog after my grandpa died SO HE PUT THE DOG TO SLEEP. My Aunt Joanne grew up with that dog and my uncle made the rash decision before even consulting her. My dad was arguing with my Uncle about it and then stated that he was going to contest the will. My uncle freaked out and told my dad to take his skanky wife and his skany daughter (that would be me) and to go back to Florida and if we were to dare show up at the funeral that there would be hell to pay. We went and my Uncle Vinny, at first ignored me, and then came up to me and asked how I was like he never said a negative word about me. He also called our family trash. My Aunt Donna (his wife) said she was going to kick my mother's ass, but we're the ones who are trash. All this trouble over who gets what. It's truly sad. Like my mother's always told me, "Money is the root of all evil."