There are days where I am alone.

There are days where I am alone. There are times when I sit and just stare. Today is one of those days. I feel lost at times. To write things down does help. Some of my toughest times were written down, in a book, that I later put a nail through… now that book belongs to my sister and I hope it helps, but that is not what I am here to write about, but this is my blurb so deal.

Writing helps to clear you mind of the ideas that slow you down. The kind of things that cause you to space out at work, or just sleep til 5. The kinds of things that make you feel like crying, but you have no time to cry or can’t find the time, or just don’t know what time it is here. This is one of those days. Well actually this is that night. I am sitting on the sidewalk of the newest experience in my life and as I sit, I wonder… I contemplate things. I write them down, but yet so far, nothing has made it to my finger tips that softly caress my keyboard as I stare at the starless sky, filled with clouds and a moon bright enough to light the street sign. The corner of Handy and Coolidge, right before Garfield. Ha, Garfield, I grew up to that cat. I would sit on my bed alone in my room and read each book I would get. That was the extent of my reading other than maybe the random Goosebumps or “choose your adventure”. But I would still sit there, content in my stories.

I remember one well. It was when Garfield found an egg and out of this egg a chick hatched. It immediately took Garfield as its mom, and I related it to my dad. My parents are divorced and it has often given me a night or two awake. Somehow a simple chick hatching made me relate. So the chick follows Garfield through his world and finally it ends and the chick has to go. Not because Garfield wants it to, but because he was not the real owner of this bird, funny how he wanted to eat, and now they were friends, aww soo sweet. Don’t ask me why or what exactly triggered this to relate to me, but it did and I remember I cried sitting there reading a Garfield comic. I thought of it as my Dad leaving. It was weird. Maybe not even leaving but perhaps even dying. So why today do I write down what happened about 15 years ago? I don’t know.

It is because I am in a new place, it is because I am a thousand miles from my family?
It is because I am feeling free and slowly, it has to all come out. Is it that finally I will begin to remember? So much of my life is a lost memory. When I do remember it feels invigorating. Although sometimes I go back to my past and I meet it face to face. But that has a lot to do with loving love which I will talk about down a page or two. My life. A confusing place to be. But not much more than you. We all live in different places. So that brings me to the next idea and where I began.

I am alone… So how can I find someone in this world where we all have our own stories, our own midnight adventures on the street pouring out our lives. How can two people ever really find each other. Why can’t the internet solve our issues? Match dot com, oh lord give me a tissue. I wonder where I will be and when it will happen, in a bar, at the laundry mat, or maybe when it all ends.(Another story, another idea) Why can’t I just finally find love and not just fall in love with the idea. Why can’t I be filled, not lonely, I guess I see it as complete? But I am not that hopeless of a romantic to be fooled that it would solve all and dry all tears, it just might make it easier to let them fall or perhaps more interesting to calculate reality.

I have thought lately, maybe all this time my goals for fame, maybe all this time it were the same. The same as my love for love. Is it the same love of an idea that makes me me. Have I followed a path that is not complete. Am I following a path, or is the path making me. Like the idea of falling in love with love. You cannot force yourself to love, but you can stumble upon it without a clue. Is the fact that I have fell in love with the idea the same thing about my life my goals… true?

No idea really just a thought.

Seems I have many ideas now. Is my infatuation with becoming famous because I can feel the hurt in a drama or the happiness in a song. Is my infatuation with this idea because it isn’t where I belong, but because I can see it clear enough to bring it to other people, to make them drop the tears, to make them double guess. Or is it a cop out of the American dream, which seems unattainable but maybe it could last. I think I have time and for now I am on another path, I think I can go back if this is in contrast. With this new endevour, I direct, I make the mess. I clean it up polish it right and then I open it up to you. You see through my eyes what I want you to. But still there are those who will see it differently seeing it their own way. But that makes it fun, exciting, I inspire you?

But my question to that, and my goal as well is in life, and this passage I’m writing at 2, AM with the moon and the starless sky, please someone, come inspire me, help me find my 2. 1 and 1, together under this sky, simple and alone, but with the 2 it feels like home. Without the anxiety, without the stress, we would live our lives together in this mess. I guess I am hopelessly lost in an idea that perhaps if I found you it would be less dry. Things would taste and feel exotic, the empty bed would just be better, the lights would be on when I came home, and if they were off, to you, they would glow. Maybe they would stay dark and it would just be simple, your touch on my skin and a tight grasp till the natural lighting from the sky, let me look at your face, your second face silly. That’s right there are two faces to every girl. The face you see when you come home from work, the face you see when you are covered in daily dirt, even the face you see when you cry. That is face one, the one without the sky. Then there is face two, the one that the sun will now show. Now there is face two the one where you are so close. You are face to face, all blemishes to see, yet all I look for and hope you see the same in me, is to see a sparkle in your eye. I want to find that sparkle and have it last forever, I want to find that sparkle, not make it an endeavor, by this I don’t want the games to play, some drama here or there, is fun but maybe just today and tomorrow, and then a day off, sure it can be exciting I won’t deny that feat. The simple touch and connection I want to find, seemingly something you can find. So in this second face you and me, we will kiss and it will last, last and last, just because kissing is amazing to me, and in that second face to kiss with an eternity going by. The longer the better in my eyes. Sometimes to be slick the writer will say it lasted for the perfect moment, but want the moment to be more than just a moment, I want it to be the rest of my life.

I look and wait for more, for me I want someone to make it more.
I will give you a layer, and a deep one at that, but layer two and three you need to work to get. If you have what it takes, if you can give and take and take and give… Lets barter our lives, lets work through these days, and live.

So as I dry out of thought for the night, I sit in California, sweatshirt and pajama pants, nose is cold, mouth is dry. I am waiting, underneath the night sky. I am waiting patiently, with the random tearless tear in my eye.
I am waiting for you, for you and I.