old journals and the nostalgia they muster up...

I found an old journal from college and came across some intresting pieces of prose... i wish i had never stopped writing in journals they dont crash like computers..... this prose had a really intresting sketch of my lower back piece... and upon reflection is the first ruff sketch of my lower back piece that i share with my brother nicholas.

DATE SOMETIME SOPHMORE YEAR

When the rodeo has displaced all of its cowboys
and its broncos are addicted to electricity,
the west is being held hostage.
When all the wild horses only run free under metal hoods
and use peteroleum for energy,
The trees have all been slayed to make space
for colonists longing to be celebrites
and tourists who want to forget about their lives for a while,
The ransom is the way things used to be....

Call me Mr. Pitiful, Baby thats my name....

Its been a while since i have blogged, but thats not what i would like to waste my time writing about... For my eyes are heavy as my stiff fingers awkwardly try to dance with these keys and make clarity of my static heart... I feel lately my life has been like a vicious game of hangman.... I have exasperated all of my vowels without a clue of a decent consonant to choose...
Anxious for sleep, my lips protrude like a child who hasnt gotten his way. Otis Redding soulfully seranades my weary soul and drowns out the runaway train of my thoughts...... Can i get a witness..... Sometimes i feel bad for feeling bad... I feel like skeletons envy my bones, failing to realize that i am just as bare, frail, and naked.... I often feel like a positve skeptic with red roses wishing that God had made them blue....Many people have said that when i write i sound very vulnerable and sad... I don't know what it is about scratching down syllables that makes me feel blue, or why i can relate to the inner turmoil of Morrissey's lyrics, or why one of my favorite quotes of all time is "everything was beautiful and nothing hurt" by Kurt Vonnegut.... These things are typically reserved for recluses.. Of which i am certainly not.... I am no Holden Caulfield, Kurt Cobain, or Andy Warhol... But what i do know oh witness of my rambling is that i love that i would rather hear sad songs on the radio ....... You can call me Mr. Pitiful... or you can call me honest... As my beautiful brother Nicholas has been quoted to say " vunerablity is a shade that looks good on everybody........

Speaking words of wisdon... Let it Be.....

Theirs a definite point in everyone’s day when one must decide to embrace the way that they feel...You know those feelings that you try to shake off as if they were a stalker desperately clamoring for your attention....No matter how many times you ignore it the feeling just keeps creeping around like a feline on a hunting excursion for mice.... For some this feeling that warrants their sweet embrace is consuming a Double Whopper over picking at a salad…. Perhaps it is whether to waste away leaving an indentation on your couch or going for a motivating jog.... Regardless of the analogy you get the point which brings me to what it is that I am clinging to… the idea that I am clinching is my lethargy and the notion that Liz is sprinting through my mind like a runny nose in December. I cannot force myself to grade another (excuse my honesty here "poorly written essay") on technological advancements and their impact on the 20th century… just as I cannot force Liz off of my dome…. Alas, i will allow my mind to wander like a nomad.... For as the Beatles once so poignantly said “Let it Be”……….

No more pencils no more books.....

I cast a look of discernment like a shadow
On scholars eager for summer to break them into a million pieces
Emancipating their encumbered lives from routines and bells
Their eyes are eager to stare down questions and make them snitch
As shaky hands try to revive deceased trees with lead answers
Fingernails fall prey to sharp teeth drunk on nervousness
Squeaky desks alarm the timid walls of the classroom
That bold and brave boys
And gallant and gutsy girls
Can do more than we give them credit for.

I didn't even have to use my AK... Today was a good day..

Graciously we crammed our long skeletons on my narrow bed.. Inching closer to each other like magnets to metal.. Our bodies bordered each other like a new but familiar territory. Our imperialistic itch rallied to intoxicate our instincts to explore and conquer those boundaries. Our fingers served as flags...And even though our digits moved without a compass our sense of direction never wavered. Void of Generals with their old and outdated strategies. We waged our battles without the inhibitions of an older generation. But fought with the carelessness and vigor that is associated with our youth.

cooler than freddie jackson sipping a milkshake in a snowstorm

I haven't blogged in over a month for reasons to mudane to enven attempt to pawn off as poetic. Right now i am laying in my room staring at a pleothera of old vinyl records, sprawled out on the carpet of my bedroom, they remind me of a time i have never known personally. Words and beats beckon a first hand account of an unfamilar but adorable time.... My body aches as my scared skin coexists with thousands of goosebumps that remind me that i am glad that winter is a fond but distant memory. Today i was home sick from the hallowed halls of my school, stricken with what i beleive to be a twenty four hour bug of some sort... i hate that i hate calling out sick from work... My grandfather worked fourty years as a police officer and in that time did not take one sick day off... My father worked overtime every week at times even after grueling rounds of kemotherapy... So here i sit wrapped in blankets wondering if men are getting increasingly weaker than the strapping generations that came before us.. With their tales of walking to school in the snow without shoes uphill both ways.....being tough in our generation is owning a cell phone without internet, or using a dial up modem instead of having a cable modem....Ohh how things change......

The modern prehistorics

What you is isn't what you are
Your faith isn't what you believe...
like a heretic....
Your size isn't how you look
like a model.....
Your words defy your lips
like Benedict Arnold......
Your originality is an imitation
like a photocopy..
For eager skeletons,
who are anxious to clap
their bones together
for a modern savior
in this prehistoric age..


We are the modern prehistorics

I feel like im in kindergarten

My eyes feel like i just challenged the sun to a staring contest... Therefore this will be brief

My family came into the illadelph this weekend...
We did the following:
Ate cheesesteaks
Loved on each other
Went to the star war exhibit
Ate cheesesteaks
Loved on each other
Went swimming
Sanded and stained my backdoor
Saw Ben Franklins grave
Toured Besty Ross's house
Loved on each other

I really miss my mom right now and she only left an hour ago...

On the chalkboard of my heart.....

Scribbled over and over again on the chalkboard of my heart is the word simplicity..
As the dusty eraser lays on my rib cage the deep smears of chalk sink deep into the foam and reminds me that these syllables repeat over again like a re-run of Seinfeld...
First as a whisper, that stifles slowly as it only scratches the surface
Then in a still voice that traces over the faint whispers of yesterday..
The inflection infects my bones and gives way to words that echo in and out of my hollowed bones..
The syllables send shivers that travel up to where my vulnerable heart clings to security like a tree without roots during a gail...

If life was a math equation it would look a little something like this...

simplicity + patience * faith / trials + tribluations - perseverance = contentment

"let us live simply so that others may simply live"...

Vinylsaurous Rex never was extinct.....

I'm going to recap Saturday like a marksman without an aim....

I went out Friday with Babak, Cobby and "The Miller" to a silly lounge/bar playing ridiculous music for ridiculous individuals.. however the company was dope and the dance floor once again was annihilated, destroyed, decayed, and thus reduced to rubble.... I may not always have my whole mind wrapped around truth... life has a funny way of teaching me things that I thought I had already known, making new lessons out of old scenarios.. With this being said, i don't ever question myself, my brother, or my friends ability to walk into an establishment that has sound vibrating from a speaker and having the uncanny ability to conquer the dance floor like Columbus or Magellan...
So i woke up and went record shopping and got some sick records including but not limited to:

David Bowie (diamond dogs)
The doors(greatest hits),
Rolling Stones (sticky fingers),
Al Greens (greatest hits),
New Edition (self titled),
Dance remix single of Easy Lover by Philip Bailey and Phil Collins,
Doobie Brothers (greatest hits),
Temptation's (greatest hits)
And the piece de resistance a compilation with some of the dopest funk soul songs and Black Betty by Ram Jam....

Going record shopping always mellows me out, i love the smell of moldy cardboard and the thrill of searching through piles of deceased vinyl.. its kind of like walking around and old cemetery and admiring the names and the epitaphs and wondering what will be on your own, or looking at old black and white photographs of people smiling and wondering what pushed that sweet smile on their cheeks... Anyways my record collection is getting stronger like Kayne West.. which means one thing...
dun.. dun.... dunnnnnnn

Vinylsaurous Rex is coming back from extinction.....

Ohh the hiphopera of it all.. I'm Addicted to heart doodles like colleges kids on ramen noodles

Mic check one two.....
I'm Addicted to heart doodles like colleges kids on ramen noodles
Its so crucial, I feel like a baboon that's been bamboozled,
I need a dose of medicine, so i can feel the real like Braille lettering,
cause i cant see n its all irrelevant,senses still pop like I'm suckin on peppermint
As i read through these words,
I'm chocked by adverbs,
and stuck on similes that are absurd
but attack in flocks n herds.
Like the shites and the Kurds
Feelings get crushed, when words get rushed,
then skin gets touched, leaving hearts in a bunch
An under attack, like an itch you can scratch.
Till you can tell the fiction from the fact
get the Harlem shakes like u fiend on crack
So funny that, fiend rhymes with friend
and I can't comprehend, were one ends and the other begins
While feelings creep in, like TLC over again like sin.

Somedays i just feel like spraying syllables like a tommy gun on these duns.......

Can i get a witness?

Like a pencil with a bum eraser, i scribble out my heart in lead scratches and try to rub out each stroke of my feeble right hand.. the smudges smear against this emaciated piece of forgotten wood like the snot on the collar of my flannel sleeve that fights to stop the leak of my runny nose.... The flannel fails, the eraser eventually ends its endeavour.... As Paul Simon graces my ears with 50 ways to leave a lover... i wish i could find just one good reason that would hold up in my court of failed loves...
Today as i was marking papers on the roaring twenties three of my female students posted up in my classroom to complete some work... As each strike of my red pen drew me closer to sanity, their proud voices to loud to be ignored, talked wildy about boys, and relationships.... All the while with each one of their giggly syllables or grunted grudges i digested their problems and praises of the opposite sex and in silent gestures that couldn't be recognized through my teachers front I sat in total acceptance of their plight....

Can i get a witness?

Stay golden Ponyboy........

Lethargic eyes stumble upon the virgin day
Foreign skin desperate for home raises quite a fuss
For a comma, a pause, a break in the monotony of staring my life away
At metal coffins in motion, penniless and drunk on oil
Parading skeletons to and fro, divided in their unity
Robotic arms ally themselves with prosthetic tickers
While flesh and blood disown each other
Machines with different last names forget their common past
And intoxicate themselves with exaggerated stories of an old precedent
With their rusty memories of the industrial revolution...

Today i feel like a outdated machine...Old and usless like a 8track, or a floppy disk.. I am no longer compatable with modern technology...
Nothing gold lasts forever.......

I wish everyone had a replica....

As i lay in my bed that is no larger than the bed of my youth... untucked covers drape over me like leaves in the fall, my pillows understand each other without uttering a single word... the world rages on outside my window...I hear the faint sounds of wheezing as Nicholas' lungs wage a war against the phelm that has attacked his immune system.. 20 feet from were my head rests, my brothers skull sweetly sinks into his pillow as he is rocked to sleep by the sounds of the city... I wish everyone had a twin.. or if not an exact replica at least someone who they loved more than themselves.. someone they weren't jealous to see suceed but longed for their happiness more than their own... to look at someone whose is his mother and father....Who has my fathers smile, stoic nature, and strong spirit... While at the same time possessing my mothers, gentle soul, careless excitement, and passion for life.. It makes all those years I spent desperately begging for people to know that we were different seem wildly outrageous.

The following are lyrics from a song Nicholas and I recorded on saturday... We've made a pledge attempting to be creative more than once a year and not let life swallow up our passion to create things that only we appreciate but find hard to live without...

Black Bible, White Gospel...
Will i ever find, a kitten in this litter
Shes got her claws out
And shes ready to scratch,
like redemption, its tempting..
Saints and sinners, are all losers
Thieves and givers
no winners
They got their hands out
in the offering
they can't shell it out
what a blessing.


"Where so fragile were so calm, were so innocent of what went wrong" John Ralston......

Wishing like Skee Lo.... Hello...

Sometimes i wish that i was different...
I wish my voice was scratchy and distorted like a microphone addicted to reverb
I wish my hair wasn't so thick and difficult but fine and easy like the weekends....
I wish my heart was shrewder, blacker, and colder like the first frost of fall
I wish my brain was witter less analytic and uncontrolably unlikely to communicate with my heart
I wish my hands were frail and boney like a skeletons unable to feel others pain
I wish my bones were brittle, tired, and better at betraying the longing to be touched..
I wish...
I wish i wasn't praised for being different all of the time...
Deep down were all the same...
Waving more than drowning.....

Fiend of dreams......

Today i stood with 30 high school students who wanted to try out for our varsity baseball team in a vacant lot outside our school... the barbed wire glistened as the orang sky shot schemes of purple.. it was like a vibrant drive by of color. The sun bounced off the L, and off my face, reminding me that spring is making its way back to the north. They lined up on the concrete, pretending it was grass while the elevated train screamed by in 15 mintue intervals.. they daydreamed as if it were diehard fans screaming their names... Their were no parents present at the first day of tryouts but in their place sat prostitues and fiends watching in amazement as the young bones of our vibrant youth ran around with leather mits after balls of yarn in the ghetto...In Philadelphia theirs more concrete than grass, taller buildings but smaller spaces for children to be kids... So its not surprising that as i write this i think of our kids and smile at the little joys and privledges that so many other teenagers take for granted and it forces a smile upon my tired cheeks that our kids will play baseball and pretend the blacktop is dirt, that the barbed wire fence is the green monster, and that the crack fiends and prostitues are adoring fans waiting for autographs...all for the love of the game.....

Mama told me their be days like this....

Like catching the end of a parade
Or the last verse of contagious piece of pop music
Your lungs force out a sigh like a bully
Lips protrude, bones stretch like a rubber band
Feeble hands shake like a tambourine
In search of a beat
Your heart attacks pray for inspiration
Like dead trees longing to be tattooed
by the poignant pens of an articulate author...


Mama told me their be days like this.....

Like Bowie.....

Yesterday was evidence that God loves teachers and listens to the prayers of little ankle bitters who know how important a day of building snowmen, making snow angels, and snowball fights are to the human spirit....
While i did not throw a snowball or attempt to bring Frosty to life like Frankenstein....
The day off was a wonderful surprise, like a great thrift store find...
Right now its 9:13 in the morning.. I'm listening to the Shins and the faint converstation that resignates in my kitchen as feelings run through my body like Flow Joe....
Sometimes i feel like their are two or three versions of myself... Each version a new and authentic representation of the man i want to be... Its like a catchy song you cannot get out of your head.. until you try to tell someone just how catchy it is and then..... nothing....
you can't remember the hook, or even hum the beat.....
Bowie said it best.....
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Dont want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I cant trace time

Snowflakes on my mind like a crack fiend

Praying for snow like elementary school kids
Crossed fingers and shoelaces dangle
Like the catholic hope from my neck
Its nice to know that teachers
Plot and pray for snow like thieves
Just like elementary school kids....

I ran through winter with my summer lungs as my shadow stalked me, the night was quiet like a snowglobe before its shaken,
as if the weather man was accurate with the forecast, I ran towards independence hall, passed the liberty bell... the cracked pavement, and those lopsided cobblestones that remind tourists that history can be recreated for the right price.
But i digress and put it in the past......
Today i gave my United States History class a quiz covering Foreign Policy and the Spanish American War.... The war that robbed Washington of wisdom and shoved our loner longings, to the imperial nightmare that Bush covers under tax breaks and 911...Its as Bill Cosby so beautifully stated in between discipling Theo, hugging Rudy and repping for JELLO pudding pops...
"The past is a ghost, the present is a dream, the only time we have is now"
Right on Mr. Cosby... Right on

Sweating to the oldies with George Washington

Its been a long time since i have written a blog... Its not for lack of things to say.. Like a longing that feels to certain to break i kept my syllables (for once) inside the corners of my mouth.. I felt a sudden restraint, an invisible muzzle, as if my tounge was blocking my chances to be heard like Shaquille Oneal in the paint... If i am honest with myself silence used to scare me like a ghost (it still does if i am truly honest) it crept me out, like the creeks in an old house when you cannot fall asleep...quiet frightens me because honesty looms around the stillness like the blade of an axe ready to chop me down to my roots.... As i sit in my room, all that keeps me from enjoying the silence are the cars that are trudging by on interstate 95 and the rythmic sounds of the keyboard as my fingers fumble to deliver this....


I went on a run tonight...
the sky was clear for a change..
and i could see airplanes in the distance
As i ran i imagined playing connect the dots with the stars
I wondered what shapes i could make from those shining stars...
I ran to freedom
and did push-ups were George Washington used to live..
the plaque informed me like a unexecpted punch to the nose
that Washington had many slaves..
The only slave they graced with a name was his cook...
I guess he really liked to eat...
I dont think slavery ever really ended.......

Been along time... i shouldn't of left you..

Cats and mice flirt with survival
over saucers of whole milk and sharp cheddar
While men and women stalk each other for love
with shotgun stares and machine gun movments
Airplanes diguised as satetilites break through
Black blankets of virgin sky
I feel dim
Drowning in a sea of black
Tired of being lit
The wind recesitates lathorgic stars
as if they were drowing
Under water staring up
at the manic world
from the depths of a peaceful abyss.

Bite all your fingernails off...

"When you learn how to die, you learn how to live" this quote is from Tuesdays with Morrie, I've been reading this book for about 6 months now but only recently have I gathered up the steam to push through it turning pages with my index finger like a security guard breaking up a fight.. This book resembles my life like a dog resembles its owner.... The book is about an old man at the end of his life and a young man without much of one...Which is only fitting because i feel like the youngest old man in the history of twenty somethings, but i digress.... Morrie is the older man he is sage-like and stoic, while mitch is stagnant and searching... Many times whenever i read a book or catch a flick i can only relate to one of the main characters and the rest i am very ambivalent towards, i could careless wetether they floursih or flounder... However with this book i relate to both Morrie and Mitch equally which is really odd because both characters are at complete opposite spectrums of their lives... Mitch is attention starved, lonley, afraid, passionless, indifferent, a workaholic while Morrie is faithful, patient, courageous, compassionate... They are like oil and water and yet.....I'am both men smashed together...However though i relate to both i long to connect more with Morrie....

I talked to Rod today after work, and was very encouraged by his words...We talked, we prayed, we laughed, but most of all we were honest... i was honest about my insecurites as Rod was honest with his advice....Talking to Rod made me feel like we were the characters in the book.. Rod of course was Morrie helping me to learn to die so that i can learn to live and I was Mitch afraid but eager to make this wisdom real....

I think I'm finally ready to learn to die so that i can learn to live.....

typing without a backspace...

where do i begin... tonight O and I bartended at Mad river and made way more money than necessary for pouring people drinks and putting up with drunken conversation... so i came home and decided that i would check out Amelians blog becasue it feels like forever since she has posted a new tidbit for me to read...... only to find that indeed my email was awkward and senseless, and that grace is something that i can hope for and cling to but never really feel... right now i feel like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest...Destined to fail.....Falling asleep right now is hard because i kind of hate myself............great....... just 4 more hours till i will be educating young minds..... i think this weekend i am going to crawl into a hole... God bless the internet and self loathing and typing without a backspace.......

I admit...

Today felt like a jigsaw puzzle in which the pieces fought to fit in their respective position.... Last night i sent Amelian pictures from our holiday together..I looked at each snapshot like a car crash, with grinding teeth and steady eyes i stared at each smile, in aww of this time that feels like a unfamilar history, that still stinging....With the pictures i composed a short email..Sluggish syllables filled the computer screen as my fingers awkwardly danced with the keyboard...Everything i wrote felt so distant, so blahh...As i cross examined the email like a lawyer over and over I questioned its motives and hoped that when Amelians eyes stumbled upon them that she would understand that these awkward words are not mine but someone elses.. Someone in need of grace.. Like a band aid ripped off prematurely i need more time to heal........They say that the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem....

i admit..........

Like the Bush Administration i need a plan....

First things first.....I do realize that in my last blog i look like the uni bomber and am aware that i look pretty pathetic... I posted the picture before i left for church and in the last 4 hours I am making changes like Tupac.....

My head is still shaved(which i dig for many reasons but realize if i am honest that my skull is unfortunately a tad bit small to really pull the essential "buzz cut") but i digress....
At church i realized a very important fact that dates back to my first entry as a blogger and that is "Life moves by preatty fast, if your not careful it just might pass you by" This infamous quote from Matthew Broderick sustained me a month ago however looking at this from a faith angle gives me more to work with than just a clever way to reference an 80's cult classic....Their is so much beauty in this world that i have neglected and scoffed at with satrical sighs... So many sunrises i slept through, so many sunsets i overlooked, so many stars i mistaked for airplanes and satelites. Their are many reasons that i have missed out on so much and it is because i lack (don don don...) The two dd's (Im not talking about Rich boy's outrageous anthem for pimping ones ride) The d's i am talking about are Dillegence and Discipline...... All of the great people who have walked this earth had dillegence and discipline.... Ghandi, MLK, Mother Theresea, Diddy, I mean the list goes on and on...So what is the resolution what is the meaning in this reckless preamble... I just realized that I like the Bush administration lack a cohesive plan...

I recently stumbled upon this verse like a penny in Joshua and it spoke to me... Maybe I'll get it tattooed on my person....

Joshua 1:9 "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go."

More than just resolutions

I need a lot more than a Pompadour and rat tail in 08

Isaiah 41:10

A somber day for a badly drawn boy

As the chilly breeze blows off of the Delware River.. i pass my reflection as it bounces back at me off of the pieces of broken glass that are sprawled out like stars on the blacktop.... i see myself and i sigh..
I've neglected my true colors for so long that i no longer feel like a vibrant painting but a gray sketch of pencil scratches that are wick willed and easily rubbed out... I went to work today to make up for the two days i had been an absolute zhombie and i accomplished a great deal..... When i got back from work i was starving... the only nourishment i had had were a handful of munchkins from Dunkin Doughnuts, so i walked up to South Street for a falaffel from Maoz (it was delightful and filling) Still i was mopey and sullen and thought some starbucks might perk me up (usually i wouldn't buy Starbucks but early in the day i ganked a free coupon that Chrissy had sent Steveo) I'll let him know when he gets back from San Diego, I'm sure he wont mind....I walked around a lot and went to all of my favorite thrift stores...

I picked up the following:
An old copy of OF MICE AND MEN
An old copy of NINE STORIES
A really comfortable old purple t-shirt
An excellent Rolling Stones record with thier early hits which is super jazzy and fun
A really rare live recording of The Supremes at the Copacabana

These purchases totaled $12.71 cents.....but feel priceless given my mood... (I feel like Charlie Brown felt when Peppermint Patty kept teasing him with the football, right as he tried to kick it she would pull it out from under him)

I'm going to see the Savages at Dave's movie theater which means the following:
Free admission
Free popcorn and goobers
Free conversation with Mancrush
Possibly some clarity....


Today i feel like the following:
(As stated earlier Charlie Brown)
Simplistic
Sad
Blessed
wrong
Confused
Weak
Contemplative
mopey
Optimistic

We part like the red sea... without Moses

Without the confines of my fraility i paraded my skin and bones on the ashes of thursday, hopefull that I wouldn't hurt so bad as the next day quietly crept over the horizon......Miles from resolution after the revolution, as time zones disconnect the hands on our wrists, the earth moves while I sleep and she roams...
We part like the red sea...

I don't know if word spread of our breakup or if my face was a mobile piece of sad graphitti art but the word on the street was now tagged for all to see...My students asked inquistively about my holiday.... i had to tell them an abbreviated truth, I said, "I have to do me"...(of course this was a severe understatement but i had to be professional) i was understood by them... It was as if what i had said was a universal ideal or a famous quote that everyone knew and enjoyed reciting...However like little lie detectors they knew that it was over between Amelian and they knew that i served as judge and jury.. .It was a strange feeling to have my teenage girls scowl at me as their pupils attempted to throw daggers, while the boys glared at me with a strong but silent admiration.. In my male students eyes i saw a burning glorification as if i were a martyr or a saint, it was as if it took every inch of their power not to give me a high five or hoist me upon thier shoulders as if i had just hit a buzzer beater at the championship game.. While in the eyes of the girls I was sinner and a thief...
(Of course the girls were right)

Listening to John Ralstons "Only evidence" makes me sad.....

She doesn't deserve this....This moring i woke up to go to work i was cold and my bones were numb like winter... next to me lay a beautiful woman, awkwardly sprawled out on my tiny mattress with her bags packed for home... Driving her to the airport we sat like popsicles in my car quiet as mice... Driving on the highway closer and closer we inched our way to the airport and the pain that came with this goodbye... We kissed and said goodbye as the wind tore into my bare legs it was an honest reminder that this story did not have to be written this way... It is here that i will admit without a shadow of a doubt that all of this, Amelian leaving prematurely, the tears, the pain, the hurt.. is all on me...It is my fault, how could i hurt a girl that "thinks that sun shines out of my ass"( quote from the movie JUNO), how could i push away such a strong, confident, beautiful, understanding, faith-filled, inspiring, unique, soul.... How could i put an uncertain end to a woman who possess qualities that i long for and have been yet to find as i fished in the sea for women like Hemingway's old man... I had no choice.... Amelian deserves the passionate unbridled love and affection that she can give, and i am to weak to give that love back to her... I feel like I am eleven years old, brittle and hopeless, young and naive, but above all directionless.... I remember being eleven years old and having my heart broken for the first time... the girls name was Nicole, we had dated for 4 and half days... i remember coming home from school weeping to my father, "I will never find another girl like her"... I remember my father in all of his infinite wisdom looking me dead in the face with those strong piercing eyes and saying, "justin you will find a million girls, you will love but this girl is not worth your tears, one day you will love and a girl who will be worth your tears" My father was right, Amelian is worth every tear in my reservoir, i cried an ocean of salt, until i had no more tears left... I went back to sleep, with no beautiful woman in my bed to catch my tears and hold my hand, I took a shower but the hot water felt like ice on my skin, void of feeling i didn't have the energy to brush my teeth, gargling with mouthwash the alcohol didn't sting, it didnt freshen my mouth pasty and awkward was fine for the dreary day i knew i would endure....I put on my new suit, the same suit i wore out to dinner and narcissitically walked past the mirror in the Loews hotel probing myself at how handsome i shallowly thought i looked.. now that same suit did not marvel me as it had just days prior at the hotel....I felt silly for feeling so proud and bold in it... now in that same suit i felt mundane, boring, and out of touch........ Like that suit, i appear to be so together.. tailored just right, bold and classic... while my insides clash with my faith like a wardrobe to outlandish to resemble fashion..... I know that i will again be myself, but i do not know the day or time that i will find myself filled with the faith that runs through my outstrethed hands like grains of sand...For now i settle for depressing music, and a vicious stare at the grey wall in this living room....and pray that she knows that i love her.... she doesn't deserve this...