tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61401012011-06-17T18:52:39.959-07:00Su"i gen"e*ris\ [L.] Of his or its own kind.Elainenoreply@blogger.comBlogger961100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-18288448856004793332011-06-17T18:47:00.000-07:002011-06-17T18:52:40.014-07:00

"How could you live with someone like that? How could you be with someone who treats you that way? That's not what love is," she was asked once, the person was genuinely bewildered at why she was still with him.Her response was a tired laugh. "Honey, you sound like someone who believes in love. Not someone who is in love."

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-14672157297615022302011-04-28T19:27:00.000-07:002011-04-28T19:58:24.772-07:00

Joel: I can't see anything that I don't like about you.Clementine: But you will! But you will. You know, you will think of things. And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped because that's what happens with me.Joel: Okay.Clementine: [pauses] Okay. Mr. Fox: I don’t know, but I have a possible theory. I think I have this thing where I need everybody to think I’m the greatest -- the quote-unquote

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-76016324557901934132011-03-25T20:20:00.000-07:002011-03-25T20:22:44.750-07:00

She was cooking in the kitchen, the wooden spoon clanking against the metal saucepan. He came out, asked her what she was doing."I'm trying to live my life without you noticing," she says.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-12688845008746116162009-03-27T06:35:00.000-07:002009-03-27T07:03:38.420-07:00

We lay in bed holding hands, staring at the ceiling fan. The world moved on as we stayed, still, left behind. We talked about what would happen if the world would end. If the zombies really came. If natural disaster overwhelmed the city, or bombs showered down, if the bad guys really attacked. We devised escape routes out of the city, meet up points, secret code words for when someone held a gun

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-88527857668807184012009-02-15T05:22:00.000-08:002009-02-15T05:47:40.909-08:00

Stop talking about love. Every asshole in the world says he loves somebody. It means nothing. It still doesn't mean anything. What you feel only matters to you. It's what you do to the people you say you love, that's what matters. It's the only thing that counts. - The Last Kiss

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-68832763209161663042008-10-19T06:44:00.000-07:002008-10-19T06:47:23.439-07:00

she has to go now darling don't be angry

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-19080448817696330532008-10-10T23:30:00.001-07:002008-10-10T23:50:04.861-07:00

"You must fit. You just... must."She grunted and sighed and squeezed. Yet it still wouldn't yield and remained as strong and solid a form as her feet. They were lovely, the loveliest pair of shoes she had ever seen. They were colorful and wrapped with all sorts of exotic fabrics and textures. Her eyes prickled, in pain, in desperation as she had to leave and didn't want to have to leave without

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-4860950167429746222008-09-19T08:58:00.000-07:002008-09-19T09:06:47.948-07:00

Under me and you.She cannot keep it together, and so, it will fall apart. And all that is left behind, is the gritty remains of the truth. The rug under her feetThe past behind her futureThe words (typed) under her fingersThe feelings inside her heart.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-80440047636998356302008-09-14T19:35:00.000-07:002008-09-14T20:01:20.713-07:00

Most nights he visits her while she is asleep. He appears in many forms. The images change, but the outcome mostly remains the same. They are in high school together, they hold hands at the back of the class, giggling as the teacher snaps at them to stop talking. Later, she cuts class to look for him in the courtyard and he is leaning casually against another girl. She is busty, her face is thick

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-34004149580613883082008-08-10T05:31:00.000-07:002008-08-11T03:19:56.038-07:00

They stared at each other, looking unable to touch. Her eyes focused on him, but he saw her staring straight ahead. He moved to touch her face but his fingers met resistance. He spoke, his lips moved, but the words were received at a two-second delay. Nevertheless, the message itself was still clear. "You are so beautiful."Her eyes shimmered, she wiped it away hastily, her moves stilted and jerky

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-42937225953877900182007-08-03T11:20:00.000-07:002007-08-03T12:18:15.173-07:00

Fourth of July. Fireworks. Sparks. Picnic lunches at the park. Children on their scooters racing, adults standing possessively over their wooden tables, marking their territory with checkered tablecloths and canvas bags. She sat at the edge of the table, at the edge of the family she didn't quite bring herself to move closer to. Her phone rang that day. Seemingly innocuous tinny notes of

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-66881476686101647062007-07-03T17:04:00.000-07:002007-07-03T17:13:00.987-07:00

Anger builds and if you keep it inside, it swirls around and boils down to a dark, tar-like venom, nowhere to go except to attack your insides.It causes constant pain; a permanent, long, ache in your chest, a dull thud at your temples, and inexplicable drawn-out emotional rollercoasters.One moment, she is sitting on the bed, blankly watching television. The next, she is sprawled on the same bed,

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-76127487384548241672007-06-13T17:40:00.000-07:002007-06-13T18:43:36.800-07:00

"Sometimes, you have no choice but to leave without your safety nets."She stood on the edge, danger of the unknown looming ahead.Home, gone. Long time ago, she reflected with regret. This was the most painless because she still knew deep inside, no matter how far she fell, she would return to home. In the end. It happened day by day, inside her, without her noticing. Eventually, her recollection

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-46789679977531063602007-05-27T17:43:00.000-07:002007-05-27T18:09:58.689-07:00

"Baby, stop it. I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know why I keep blaming you. I know it's really all me. Everything you said was true. I feel like you're the closest thing to perfect I could ever know. You're the first real relationship I've ever had. I've never felt so comfortable with someone before. Babes, I love you. Babes, I'm so happy I met you. You've made my life so much better.""You're

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-91895294952183997582007-02-02T12:57:00.000-08:002007-02-02T13:02:02.424-08:00

Baby, I love you in whispers.But it gets softer and softer. In the end, he calls her when she is asleep, and she answers the phone without knowing, and he tells her 'I love you', only she cannot hear it. But he repeats it over and over again.I love you I love you I love you.She is asleep and cannot hear and cannot say anything back. ----They break up the next day.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1170131161541300172007-01-29T20:09:00.000-08:002007-01-29T20:31:05.110-08:00

He was an artist. He molded thoughts into sculptures, scribbled dreams into novels, colored feelings into white canvases. When he met her, she was caught up in the whirlwind of concrete emotions. He could show her what love was, literally, on a scrawled image on a napkin, in a whistle of a tune, in a typewritten poem. When they sat in the car, staring at a full moon, at a curious swirl in the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1168127338258545282007-01-06T15:39:00.000-08:002007-01-06T15:48:58.273-08:00

They lay in bed side by side, the glow of the fairy lights dancing in random sequence on the walls around them. He held her hand, clenched in his own, possessively and confidently as he guided her through the streets of the city. Up and down the stairs, slipping past the turnstiles, shoving into the closing doors of the subway. He massaged her feet, her back, bit off her buttons one by one, his

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1165782737788102992006-12-10T12:23:00.000-08:002006-12-10T12:32:57.976-08:00

It started off as a toothache. A rotting tooth, bleeding gums, slowly disintegrating beneath the surface, exploding in a gush of red, swirling down the sink as she spit, spit, spit, waiting for the pink water to turn clear. Argument. Retort. Silence. Ignorance. Anger. Let me take your photo, he says. Turn around. Her back is faced to him silently, her mouth set firmly. Her face would have been

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1156705248028630062006-08-27T11:59:00.000-07:002006-08-27T12:00:48.043-07:00

They would circle each other forever. Always touching but never meeting in the middle. They sliced through the lake in silver blue waters. She watched his arms glisten under the sun, felt the primal nature of his strength take center stage as they seperated themselves from the world. camping underneath the stars. He always looked out for her, he always provided for her, perhaps that was the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1150982513153620772006-06-22T06:11:00.000-07:002006-06-22T06:25:04.706-07:00

We only influenced each other totally.We only bruised each other even more so.It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, we were stretched out on the couch, sprawled on opposite ends."You're in my blood like holy wine, you taste so bitter and so sweet," I recited, touching your feet delicately. You emitted a brief laugh, but your eyes flickered a different emotion at the undertones of the conversation.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1149352181791021402006-06-03T09:22:00.000-07:002006-06-03T09:29:41.800-07:00

Her skin throbs with the memory of his touch. The blood vessels under pulse and pound in unison with his name, remembering his silky touch, his teasing fingers, his warm lips. She is awakened by phantom kisses on his neck, imaginary hands wrapped around her waist. Oh god, she missed his touch so badly, it burned inside her, her body feels pale and dead, screaming to be soothed by only that one

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1149170663437406302006-06-01T07:04:00.000-07:002006-06-01T07:13:49.416-07:00

"Baby, I love you."He holds on to her waist, pulls her down to the couch, slides her up on the cold marble counter. They are a perfect pair,her back fits perfectly into the crook of his arms, his lips perfectly in the nook of her neck. In front of her friends, they laugh, they smile and sway in unison, they are a team against the rest of the them. It's a little game they refuse to acknowledge.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1147070950706020122006-05-07T23:48:00.000-07:002006-05-07T23:49:10.716-07:00

Round OneIt all starts off with a simple question. A semi-serious answer. It lashes back at her. Angry words. Curled in an intimate embrace, she is shrugged off like an unwanted article of clothing when it gets too hot. Oh no she doesn't fit anymore, throw her out. No sentimental value for this person. "A dog that bites the hand that feeds it because it's been hurt too many times before".It gets

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1146372014509929902006-04-29T21:40:00.000-07:002006-04-29T21:40:15.096-07:00

"We're together but not.""We're not really a couple, no.""He's not my boyfriend.""I'm technically single, yes."She says awkwardly. She says over and over again. She repeats, faltering every time. Then she leans her head on his shoulder, plays with his hands, squeezes his knee. She goes home with him five times a week, she keeps a contact lens case in his bathroom. "Why are you with him all the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1145646221155312142006-04-21T11:56:00.000-07:002006-04-21T12:19:23.606-07:00

Returning to the scene, the same bed over the months, she imagines it standing still as the cornerstone of their time together. The first night, clenched in shyness and awkwardness in the bed, cold arms and limbs wrapped around each other, tense and hesitant, wondering what she had gotten herself into. The bed evaporates, the frame is gone, they are lowered to the ground, she is given her own

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1144967499980368152006-04-13T15:23:00.000-07:002006-04-13T15:38:28.950-07:00

Hey you. Yes, you. The girl that is happy fading into slumber by herself, under her red-flowered bedspread.The girl that takes photos of the yellow lampshade illumanating the frosted rain-speckled window just because she notices.The girl that sleeps on a hill, chewing cookies on a red tartan blanket, listening to French girls singing something beautiful she doesn't understand. Listening to

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1143497387776466612006-03-27T14:08:00.000-08:002006-03-27T14:09:47.793-08:00

The time wastes away as she clutches the digital clock of her cellphone. Tick tick. The minutes tick by and then the hours. At first it builds up, the anger, but then the clock hand (ithoughtyousaiditwasdigital.nosillyit'sametaphor) reaches to the end where she stands and thinks hmm. Alright. Explosion/Implosion? Screaming/Silence?Guess which one the dimunitive girls picks.She slides into the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1143492836365285802006-03-27T12:30:00.000-08:002006-03-27T12:53:56.446-08:00

Click. Clickclick. Clickclick.This is the sound of anger, pent up and silenced. Cold and naked on her side, turning her back on him, hoping that by physically shutting him out she could shut him out mentally. It doesn't work. She is still in his space, still feel the warmth emanating to her back, feel his feet meeting hers under the blankets, the shared blanket there was no choice. The

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1143140091875257862006-03-23T10:37:00.000-08:002006-03-23T10:57:53.430-08:00

He leaves out little treats. Little heart-shaped lures with promises. She picks them up tentaively,one by one, follows the trail. Sex. Love. Quiet moments watching him sleep holding onto you. Stillness where you are allowed to be yourself in a world where everyone tries to pull you into theirs. She licks her lips. Delicious. Follows the path with relish. She is addicted, she cannot stop. He stops

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1141580268573837522006-03-05T09:13:00.000-08:002006-03-14T21:36:46.266-08:00

It was two nights in a row.Two nights she had slid into bed with him, or waited for him to crawl into her bed, reaching for each other's warmth, needing a human body pillow. This was the first two nights they had slept together without sex. At first, she had desired the intimacy, to sleep next so someone, feel their nakedness next to you and only want to curl your arm around their neck and rest

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1140591103153130432006-02-21T22:51:00.000-08:002006-02-22T12:20:39.166-08:00

Again, it is night and she is hunched over in a cubbyhole in the library building. The atmosphere is dark, secluded, isolated, students have already gone home for the day and only one or two people scatter about,unseen and unheard. She has not been here in a long time, she devours the solitude hungrily, not even aware of the litter strewn around her in a messy explosion. Tissues, paper plates,

Elainenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1139344037354475962006-02-07T12:08:00.000-08:002006-02-07T12:27:17.436-08:00

Next to a window cut into the wall she lazes on the bed, elevated four feet off the ground, staring out at the snow flurries. The ones closest to her window pass by lazily, big white flakes of ice floating on gently past. In the distance, millions more whirl and spin interrupting the picture of trees, buildings, cars. The scent of rich chocolate permeates the air. Soft Japanese music intonates in

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1138406270332221672006-01-27T15:19:00.000-08:002006-01-27T15:57:50.380-08:00

When he walks away, she pulls him back to her, clutching his arm, apologizing with a teasing grin, a soft look in her eyes.When she ignores his calls, he sends her text messages repeatedly, calling her back again and again. Now, she lets him walk away. He stops calling.The place is empty. It was as if they never existed before.---She wants to be beautifully damaged. She wants to drown in the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1137337884328429242006-01-15T06:50:00.000-08:002006-01-15T07:15:24.890-08:00

"I can only love somebody that loves me back."He tells her he doesn't love her.... fuck. ------------But really. She's nineteen. She's ma-ture, she's sensible, she's logical, she's so quick and ready to throw her heart out and embrace any other solution as long as she gets out quick and free and unhurt. She doesn't love him. She's used to his warmth, is all. To waking up with her fingers curled

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1136781142331855972006-01-08T20:20:00.000-08:002006-01-08T20:32:22.340-08:00

She twists and turns and recalls a sentence which has become true once again.He's ruined midnights for her.He's ruined nights for her.The phone that is set to vibrate for him, the phone that never rings. The phone she wakes up to every hour to check because her desire for it to ring is so strong she starts to imagine hearing it ring. Her body is taut as wire, her mind buzzing with fatigue. She

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1135204583642082762005-12-21T14:26:00.000-08:002005-12-21T14:39:16.536-08:00

The air crackles with static and words that were too much, too soon.In the winter night, she slips out with shoes but no socks, a black knit jacket but nothing underneath except a red bra and thin sweatpants that do nothing except to cover up her skin. Worn only so there is something to take off as she gets into the car. The car waiting at the end of the road, headlights on, the only car on the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1133107840557734212005-11-27T07:57:00.000-08:002005-11-27T08:10:40.590-08:00

It happened in the oversymbolic woods. It was dark, the tree branches curled and spiderwebbed across the ground, dark leaves creating a soft blanket for them to stumble on. Blankets belonging to sleep, sleep belonging to dreams.The woods had been a pleasant walk with the evening sun, trees reflecting the bright sky blue, soft and harmless. Then the girl, Little Redhood decided to wander off the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1130862433004054812005-11-01T07:28:00.000-08:002005-11-01T08:27:13.073-08:00

Her roommate brought home the most adorable puppy with liquid brown eyes. It brought her out of her shell enough to talk. She laughed with the puppy, she tilted her head at it, she drowned right in its eyes.At the back of her mind, she knew the puppy didn't follow her home but someone else. She tried to ignore that fact when she and the puppy talked for hours. She tried to ignore it when he lent

Elainenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1129076964978826012005-10-11T17:29:00.000-07:002005-10-11T17:29:25.040-07:00

"And I am a writer, writer of fictions I am the heart that you call home And I've written pages upon pages Trying to rid you from my bones." - The Decemberists. Shedidit. She finally ruined the fantasy, much to her chagrin. She touched it with her fingers, caressed it with her words and it spoiled away with her touch, peeling away and became what it was. Just a plain old dank laundry room

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1128820786774655362005-10-08T18:19:00.000-07:002005-10-08T18:21:11.196-07:00

She is so sure she passed him in the cafeteria today.She is so sure their eyes locked for five seconds.She just could not remember his face anymore. So surely enough, she looked away.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1127065761379756032005-09-18T10:49:00.000-07:002005-09-18T10:49:21.420-07:00

She looks at her future on the cards. They tell her to move on, to let go of the past, to accept change. She looks at the piece of paper, folded over, ink smudged, crumpled and yellowed. Laundryroomboy. Okay, she says. She will move on. She goes downstairs and passes a door. It whispers the name of her laundryroomboy. Could it be him? She walked pass, not knowing what to do. She wants to turn

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1125888925822730272005-09-04T19:25:00.000-07:002005-09-05T20:11:13.670-07:00

She met him in the laundry room. Her laundry room boy. No. A laundry room boy. haha.Walking down the flourescent-lit hallways at two am, she hears the echoes of a strumming guitar, beneath the whirs of the dryers and washing machines, surrounded by the whitewashed walls which never talk back (it was their inside joke). She walked past him. He strummed the guitar, providing the background music as

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1121668159179614262005-07-17T23:15:00.000-07:002005-07-17T23:29:19.183-07:00

Emotional cutting. Doing something which will make her feel bad, but doing it anyways. Her fingers, poised about the keyboard, the blank white space of the address bar, little black line blinking. Blinking, blinking, blinking.She types in the name, hidden in her mind like an unspoken mantra, the place she vows never to visit again but goes anyways. She knows she is welcome there, she is not

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1121445370575560082005-07-15T09:36:00.000-07:002005-07-15T09:37:34.733-07:00

She is waiting for the day when she will be staring into space and suddenly a hand will reach out for her.The person whose hand is extended toward her will say, "Let's get out of here." And when she takes the person's hand, she will be free.----- She is playing a secret game with herself. No one will ever know about it. She cannot tell them, she cannot acknowledge it, she must tell people it

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1119613718551203372005-06-24T04:28:00.000-07:002005-07-15T09:38:13.586-07:00

She wears clunky boots with rainbow socks. She pairs hundred dollar lipstick bought at glossy designer perfume counters, where the salesgirl eyes everyone in disdain, with a top she found in the bargain rack at the hypermarket, where the women wear spandex pants that proudly show off their panty lines, scuffling and shoving for twenty dollar jeans. She hides her John Mayer under a layer of Fiona

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1116180122590768912005-05-15T10:52:00.000-07:002005-05-22T06:51:54.163-07:00

She was dressed up in pearls and satin. She spun tentatively on her seldom worn high heels (the ones that made her legs look like a sleek pair of chopsticks), perfumed hair floating in soft freshly-washed wisps. Tonight, she felt beautiful. Beautiful in that dangerous way that made girls heady, overconfident and powerful. That made them want to slow down their walk, tilt their head and do

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1114360096726618152005-04-24T09:28:00.000-07:002005-04-24T09:36:14.196-07:00

It was nothing. Come on. People do it every single day, without thinking. It's as simple as breathing. It's just opening your mouth, allowing your vocal cords to articulate your thoughts. You pick up the phone. You put it down. Deep breath. This is silly.She laughs, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror just to show herself how silly it was. She picks up the phone.Later...It is late

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1109163429280315202005-02-23T04:50:00.000-08:002005-02-23T04:57:09.280-08:00

Laughter was always more happier when shared with more people. And there were so many people, all around her, the laughter seeped into her pores in heady fumes. She was completely surrounded, behind her, next to her, in front of her, faces which smiled and said things she had no connection with.And she had never felt so alone in her entire life. The pain of wanting that one specific thing,

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1108661750388118902005-02-17T09:28:00.000-08:002005-02-17T09:35:50.390-08:00

The ball is in your court.But she keeps forgetting to throw it back. Or, she's just happy that someone actually threw it to her. And she wants to keep it because that's all she'll have left of them before they lose interest and move to the next court.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1108660969500977692005-02-17T09:22:00.000-08:002005-02-17T09:22:49.500-08:00

She assured her everything would be fine. She was sure they would see each other again. They were never the best of friends, the closest of friends. They were there for each other, that was all. It was a bond of convenience, a friendship that happened because they were there, at that place, at that time. It was not interest that held them together, it was something else. It was neccesity. So when

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1107234423286947422005-01-31T21:04:00.000-08:002005-01-31T21:07:03.286-08:00

"Why do you dress like that?" "Why do you act like that?" "Why do you say those things?" She considers carefully, then answers, "So people will pay attention to my clothes and my words, and not notice me."

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1107234232670031042005-01-31T21:03:00.000-08:002005-01-31T21:03:52.670-08:00

She runs her hand down the smooth, green exterior of the journal. The last word was written on the last page. Three years of her life contained in the journal. She smirks as she flips through the book, catching bits and pieces of words. So this is angst. So much drama, so much pain, for what? The anecdotes were sometimes amusing, always embarassing. Had she really believed that? Did she really

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1106835988652067292005-01-27T06:21:00.000-08:002005-01-27T06:26:28.653-08:00

It was her time. She waited, flicking her nails nervously, tugging her hair, looking at her shoes. The moment came, the one she had been dreaming about and wishing for. She was in the moment now, it was time. But she froze. The seconds ticked by painfully, but she still flicked her nails, tugged her hair, looked away... And then it had gone. It was over.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1105435597158318122005-01-11T01:17:00.000-08:002005-01-11T01:26:37.160-08:00

"Hi beautiful." That was all it took to make her smile. The first pull, the first taste and now, she was addicted. It would make her restless the next few nights, tossing and turning with fever, missing them and hating that she missed them. She depended on their words now.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1102334175887704142004-12-06T03:31:00.000-08:002004-12-06T03:56:15.886-08:00

Two separate stories from one single life intertwined. One has nothing to do with the other except they were experienced by the same person and she has managed to connect the pieces that don't fit. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Her head is half-clear, trying to slip into unconsciousness so she can start over a new day. She has tried

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1100078135330620752004-11-10T01:01:00.000-08:002004-11-10T01:17:43.810-08:00

She watches from the sidelines as pair by pair, they close their eyes and lose themselves. She wishes she could but she doesn't want to let go. The wall sticks to her like the melted candy strewn carelessly on the tables. Her body sways with the rhythm but she refuses to let it take her. She doesn't want to lose herself because then people will be able to steal her and change her. She is

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1099326756687777972004-11-01T08:26:00.000-08:002004-11-01T08:32:36.686-08:00

She could see they were suffering, that they were having a rough day. She wanted to tell them it would be fine, that she would be there for them. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She could only stay there on the opposite end, in desperate silence, until they finally left. Then the words spilled out of her mouth, too late, too late. I'm sorry.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1098366897233654842004-10-21T06:51:00.000-07:002004-10-21T06:55:47.880-07:00

The vise tightens around her head, squeezing her temples. She can hear the blood throbbing, throbbing in pain. She bites her lip, her mouth bone dry. "I'm sorry," she says, though in her mind, she is calling herself a liar. She doesn't mean it but she says it because she knows she's expected to. She doesn't feel guilty but she does when she's expected to. And they forgive her and say it's

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1097843033597539612004-10-15T05:19:00.000-07:002004-10-15T05:23:53.596-07:00

She sits down and watches the world move past in blurry shapes, passing her by. Time is moving quickly and she does not notice. Instead, she has a dreamy look in her eyes and a soft smile on her face as she looks at the people but doesn't really see them. Someone slows down in the crowd and snaps their fingers in her face. It's time to wake up.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1095678137128536792004-09-20T04:02:00.000-07:002004-09-20T04:03:36.186-07:00

She had been sitting at the table, reading a book, watching the world past by. Her mind wandered idly. And then, a voice in her head called her name. Called her. What? she answered. Called her name again. Again. What? She repeated, slightly annoyed. Her name. Again. Again. Again. Again. Faster and faster until it became a chant of her name. Shut up! Her mood had dropped. She was now

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1093069196588210242004-08-20T23:10:00.000-07:002004-08-20T23:19:56.616-07:00

She climbed up a steep flight of stairs, looking through orange-colored glasses. There were specks of green crawling from the cracks, desperate to live. She stepped past them. At the top of the stairs, she was struck by the sight of white pillars. Hundreds of them. Curved around to form a balcony, all of them joined by curving,winding flight of stairs. She stood on one of the balconies and looked

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1092209939605024142004-08-11T00:17:00.000-07:002004-08-11T00:38:59.606-07:00

She was at the airport, right outside the arrival gates were passengers were walking out hastily to meet someone or to hail a taxi. She however, had walked out, looked around at the vast, high clinical-white ceilings and then sat down. Then she sat down on her luggage, pink with an awkward bunny drawn clumsily on it. She had a backpack from which she pulled out a book and a pair of headphones.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1090680757486980472004-07-24T07:42:00.000-07:002004-07-24T07:52:37.486-07:00

She is having a bad day. Her hair is tangled up, she stumbles twice as she fumbles her way to bed, stubbing her toe and knocking over a stack of papers which she will have to meticulously arrange. But she ignores the mess for the moment and collapses on the bed, clinging a box of tissues fiercely as she sneezes fiercely, her whole body shaking with the motion. Her eyes shut tightly, are blinded

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1089810314455498982004-07-14T05:56:00.000-07:002004-07-14T06:10:12.630-07:00

She had a dream that appeared in the quality of those old homemade childhood movies lounging by the pool. Overexposed, slightly grainy and tinted blue by the reflection of the over-chlorinated water. Voices like echoes. She wasn't in a dream now. Somehow she always felt spurred by creativity whenever riding on the subway. Maybe the subway was her muse. Maybe the shaky, jerky movements of the

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1089440179705691702004-07-09T22:56:00.000-07:002004-07-09T23:16:19.706-07:00

Clicked on the player, put it on shuffle mode and chose some lyrics: "Look, look what you've done. You've made a fool out of everyone." "Oh you stupid thing.. it wasn't me that you outsmarted. Oh you stupid thing.. stopping it all before it even started." "You were everything, everything that I've wanted..... So much for my happy ending." "As for now, we're gonna hear the saddest songs and

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1088606325603287432004-06-30T07:34:00.000-07:002004-06-30T07:38:45.603-07:00

She stares at them, they stare right back. But they don't see her, they only see flashbacks of the past.. echoes bouncing back on walls in a vast empty space. They ask her a question, they hear what they want to hear. For a moment, she considers... answering differently. She tries it. They look shocked, confused even. They laugh it off, and she laughs it off and that pulls back the illusion on

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1087287245705802352004-06-15T01:02:00.000-07:002004-06-15T01:14:05.706-07:00

She was inside the cliched symbolism. Sitting down in the center of the room, she felt the four white walls close around her. Four white walls, set off by the clinical white flourescent lights, that emitted a dull whir, setting the background noise for the room. That and the occasional clunking sounds from the ancient air-conditioning system. It was a symphony, a cacophony of mechanical sounds.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1085845812655314992004-05-29T08:37:00.000-07:002004-05-29T08:50:12.656-07:00

The sunfire burned as it beat upon her relentlessly. She knew that it was different today. Or that... she was different. First there was pain, pounding and torturous, she remembered trying to form words to describe it. The best description she could muster up was a thick wire coil wrapped around the inside of your brain, squeezing and clenching, along with pulsing barbed wires located near your

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1084904217229386462004-05-18T11:08:00.000-07:002004-05-18T11:19:02.070-07:00

Clear-cut glass with the clear-cut liquid swirling inside it as they push it towards her. 'Don't you want it?' they seem to ask mockingly. 'Drink it and you will be one of us' they giggle, holding the glass invitingly. You can smell it even from where you are. It smells vile, and you know it will taste vile as well. It is poison but it will transform you. It will allow you to see into their

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1084631377364056392004-05-15T07:25:00.000-07:002004-05-15T07:29:37.363-07:00

Understand this, they say. Her lips curl in an arrogant smirk. No. I don't want to, she scoffs. She thinks,I am better than this. Just two words. Understand this..for us, they say. Her lips tighten uncertainly. Okay, she relents quietly. She is worse because she thinks,I am better than this.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1084269057710167862004-05-11T02:49:00.000-07:002004-05-11T02:50:57.710-07:00

A re-beginning. Look around. Have a seat. Coffee and biscotti are complimentary.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1084119461498451402004-05-09T09:17:00.000-07:002004-05-09T09:33:15.903-07:00

It is night. Nothing stirs. No one is awake. She finds this amusing. It's not that late. The house has been awake far more later than this before. The light from the table lamp produces a softened, cinematic glow, casting shadows of the chair and table, giving it an exquisite, almost antique, right-out-of-a-story-book glamor. She can almost imagine the cold, billowy winter outside. White snow

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1083748201208771552004-05-05T02:10:00.000-07:002004-05-05T02:14:26.280-07:00

It's the glass ceiling. She pounds on it furiously. They won't let her in. But she has the pass! Look, look! she wants to show them, but that isn't the way. She's letting the pass dangle casually from her hands, waiting for someone to notice her instead. Look at her and know she's the type of person that belonged in the establishment, on the other side of the glass ceiling. She can wait.. she

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1083428162229308862004-05-01T09:16:00.000-07:002004-05-05T02:07:43.826-07:00

Sometimes, when she writes the thoughts down, they look silly in words. But that isn't so bad after all.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1083427151844889632004-05-01T08:59:00.000-07:002004-05-01T09:03:31.153-07:00

She was walking along the path of her life, so calmly, so quietly, unaware that someone could disrupt it. And then it happened. Someone grabbed her hand, it clamped onto it and she couldn't pull away. It was decrepit with blue-gray veins, wrinkled and liver-spotted. The hold was not strong but she could not pull away. And at that moment, staring at the hand, she saw her path distort and change.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1082563965459591322004-04-21T09:12:00.000-07:002004-04-21T09:16:51.670-07:00

She can sense it. There is hurt and pain. She is not sure whether it is coming from within herself... or someone else. For once, she notices the other people. She feels confused, and slightly afraid. Afraid of confronting feelings other than her own. She picks up the phone and dials a number gingerly with one finger. There is a slight miscommunication. She calls but the person was calling her at

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1082127226670399542004-04-16T07:53:00.000-07:002004-04-16T08:05:04.170-07:00

She will need a place to stay, if she comes or goes my way... The shards of glass that cut her feet, Are not the things that make her weep. She is filled to the brim, after being stuck for so long. But she cannot spill now, not when things are spinning and she needs to catch them all.. and she still needs to keep her mind on it, or it will go away and it will be her fault.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1081870247448838712004-04-13T08:30:00.000-07:002004-04-13T08:34:42.483-07:00

She doesn't know which is worse... the child crying out in pain or the mother crying because she doesn't know how to help. And the accusing stares at the mother, blaming her for the death of the previous ones. But she tries, she does everything she can even when it hurts her, and they push her away calling her bad mother. But she can only stare up with liquid amber eyes, unable to defend herself

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1081841699093310322004-04-13T00:34:00.000-07:002004-04-13T00:38:53.496-07:00

13th April She wonders if darker shadows overcome the smaller, seemingly less significant shadows. She knew it for two days and then it went away. But she did know it, and she had held it for a moment, and she was looking forward to when it would grow up and learn how to climb up the stairs. The tiny, small puppy... an animal. Animals die every day. And then there was the person. She felt

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1081074335591272732004-04-04T03:25:00.000-07:002004-04-04T03:29:17.936-07:00

She couldn't believe that she had just poured out a paragraph of swift words straight from her head. And it was gone. It disappeared, as nonexistent as though she had never written it at all. She was writing about the decision of reality and fantasy. To live in a reality seen through gilded eyes, or a fantasy overshone with the harsh glare of reality? Inspired and torn, she wanted both. To

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1080966826063356912004-04-02T20:33:00.000-08:002004-04-02T20:42:11.763-08:00

this is real In the car headed towards the cemetery, she saw: Passing a stretch of short, stumpy trees, a common sight, lush and green with sharp thin leaves, she noticed a larger tree, looking out of place in the midst of green. It was tall and straight, its weather white wood trunk stark and bare against the spindly dark, damp wood of the other trees. The bare branches spread out like

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1080464268844011882004-03-28T00:57:00.000-08:002004-03-28T01:03:20.046-08:00

She couldn't get to the door. But there were still windows. A renewed surge of hope rains over her as she scrambles towards the nearest one, her hands flailing out to grab the handles. But she was blocked. There was a netted screen over them, she wouldn't be able to get near the window. Her hands slide down the screen, watching a magnificent flash of lightning outside, and then disappearing away

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1080374271365629162004-03-26T23:57:00.000-08:002004-03-27T00:01:22.123-08:00

It taunts her daily and everywhere. The person she will never become. The words she will never write. The thoughts she will never dream of. She stares at the blank page, frustration and anger bubbling in her head, but staying there. Why can't she transition the thoughts to the page? Her hand trembles, she types a few words, and she deletes everything. These aren't her words, these are borrowed.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1079953126350747542004-03-22T02:58:00.000-08:002004-03-22T03:02:10.403-08:00

She feels the ground move, her head clears. She feels lighter. She realizes she is being lifted up, away from the dark heaviness. She realizes something else too. The presence around her. There are people around her. Them. Helping her up. Pushing her above. Away from the darkness. She knows this now. She understands this. She looks at where she is now, the air is sweeter and everything is lighter

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1079714125947482012004-03-19T08:35:00.000-08:002004-03-19T08:38:46.653-08:00

Her head is finally light enough to lift. For days now, she has been weighed down. She had been pulled into the abyss without realizing it. She was scared and surprised at the extent of the abyss. But today, she manages to lift her head up and the abyss fades away in a silent roar. The sun appears, she can't help but allow the curve tug at her lips into a smile. She closes her eyes to let herself

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1079536715964149172004-03-17T07:18:00.000-08:002004-03-17T07:21:53.966-08:00

For the entire day, she is alone. She can sense it the moment she wakes up. It's this feeling she gets, and she knows it's going to one of those days. Where she is by herself eventhough there are people around her. She walks past them today, she sees familiar faces and she ducks her head down, or she casts her glance elsewhere. She smiles and she smiles but she doesn't approach. She takes out a

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1079524782936191072004-03-17T03:59:00.000-08:002004-03-17T04:03:00.983-08:00

She relates to Lisa from Peerless Flats, eventhough she is nothing like her. But she would want to be like her, which is strange to her, because she is so flawed.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1079010670161847892004-03-11T05:11:00.000-08:002004-03-11T05:23:54.623-08:00

She saw him today, picked him out from the crowd, just as she had picked out the single packet of chips from rows of identical ones. Of all the places, she didn't think it'd be at the supermarket, junk food section. But because she didn't expect it, it was perfect. She knew why she noticed him. As she writes this down later, she is gripped by a strong sense of deja vu. As if she has written this

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078928540409066782004-03-10T06:22:00.000-08:002004-03-11T05:15:05.983-08:00

She goes in. She leaves. She feels like she's done this before. She is certain she has lived this life before. Hugging her knees close to her, she rests her chin on them. It is cold and beautiful. She exhales, hoping that a mist of air appears. There is no mist. She remembers things she hasn't done before. She turns away from him and starts to walk away. He grabs her roughly by the arm. He

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078824588622758472004-03-09T01:29:00.000-08:002004-03-11T05:16:22.560-08:00

Things she pondered throughout the day: While idly listening to the radio, in the car, watching the windows mist up with her breath and the blur of trees and houses, glancing down to see the hypnotic white line that centred the road... the words 'fey taxi men' floated into her mind. Whether she had heard it correctly from the song or not, she wasn't sure. But it made her wonder about fey taxi

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078751039522823352004-03-08T05:03:00.000-08:002004-03-08T05:07:05.263-08:00

She crushes the rose against her palm, feeling the fragile velvet petals die. An individual crimson petal falls from her grasp. It was dead. But it would've died sooner or later anyways. Tears fall onto the dead rose, leaving little droplets as they slide down to the ground.

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078668917197728892004-03-07T06:15:00.000-08:002004-03-07T06:18:21.530-08:00

She sits in her room, staring at the disarray of textbooks, at the cluttered pieces of coloured paper tacked up on the corkboard. At her computer, glaring and unforgiving, with monotonous lines of black sentences, like little ants making horizontal lines on her screen. She doesn't know why she's bothering with this. This thought strikes her like the lightning that bolts outside amidst the roaring

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078629246563268452004-03-06T19:14:00.000-08:002004-03-06T19:17:10.280-08:00

In the end... She doesn't want to know what they think. But she does want to know what they think of her She wants to have focus and direction in her life. But she doesn't want a planned, nine to five life. She wants to walk into a room and know immediately where she wants to go. And not wait for someone to call out to her or something to happen. She doesn't want to be reassured. But she

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1078552187408287692004-03-05T21:49:00.000-08:002004-03-05T21:52:49.530-08:00

Soo.... she thinks, as the quiet pause turned into a length of silence which turned into a long span of awkward quietness. She knew she had made a mistake. She was angry at herself for it, but it was too late. Sitting there at the cafe, coffee cup in hand that was repeatedly being sipped out just to do something. Sandwiched between two sides of her life. Her newly found friends whom she had been

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1077990677769451792004-02-28T09:51:00.000-08:002004-03-08T05:03:55.000-08:00

She was quietly and not so dilligently working on completing her damned essay when an IM box popped up. It was that strange person again. Some person she couldn't remember but he'd told her he'd been in the same high school as her which did ring a bell but she recalled she'd never spoken more than five words to him. However, he'd been talking to her ever since last year, sending her pages of

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6140101.post-1070004288486534972003-11-27T23:24:00.000-08:002003-11-27T23:24:57.483-08:00

So. This is the introduction. I figured I needed a blog to enter my lighthearted thoughts. And instead of a mass of text, this will be neatly paragraphed, gramatically correct, coherant sentences. Thoughts about everything, anything.. ponderings. It was just one of those late night things where you're half awake and everything seems like a good idea. From skydiving to hiking around the world to

Elainenoreply@blogger.com0