I'd do it all for you

It's really quiet amazing- how the first time you listen to a song, you could be completely indifferent towards it. You could even detest it, or you could hate one specific part of it. And yet when you listen to it a second, and then third time, it begins to grow on you. You start to find the little quirks in the melody that makes it unique, and you begin to love it. I happened to me recently with the song Guns and Horses by Ellie Goulding (She's a little tiny bit reminiscent of Taylor Swift, also much pop-ier and more upbeat. And from the UK). I sorta liked it the first time through. Not iPod worthy or anything. But i listened to it again and i found i really enjoyed it. I feel like it's times like this where we begin to expand our music tastes, and grow into completely new areas. Like how you listen to music now that you could've never seen yourself listening to in a million years back in 8th grade. Yeah...

Into the rabbit hole

So. Friday I left for college orientation. Set up my room, which is actually fairly nice, especially compared to a few of my friends' dorm rooms, and met a few new people. We don't officially start classes until next wednesday, but until then they have plenty of scheduled activities for us- some required and some not. I'm hoping once classes start, i can get a chance to meet a bunch of new people.

Being so close to home, there's going to be a few people i know of course. I've met up with some old school and symphony friends here, and we've been having fun. I just really want things to start picking up the pace though! Haha although it's only been a day...

I miss everyone at home a lot. Having all of these mostly new people around seems kind of foreign and sometimes i find myself longing for the familiarity of friends and family. Those with whom i know what to discuss, with whom i can laugh endlessly with, with whom I feel at home. I look at my class schedule and see this giant blank gap from Friday at 10am until Monday at 9, and i'm compelled to plan trips back home, even though i know i need to stay here and explore the area and the people. I've already planned some weekends i'll be back for certain events here and there, but i'm going to try and do my best to stay east of the mountains the rest of the time...

I've been getting pretty nervous about auditions for Orchestra. Our auditions are on Wednesday, but while most of the students have had since the end of august to prepare, the orchestra teacher didn't include me in the list.... So i've only had the music for about a week now. He has us playing a bunch of different sections from Beethoven's 5th symphony, one that's far overplayed in my opinion... at least the first movement.

Anyway, this has been a rambling post. I promise something more interesting next time.... maybe
Now to practice and mingle!

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us

I seem to have this habit of being inspired at 2 or 3 am and writing short stories based off of songs. So this time it was a Sufjan Stevens song, one of my favorites. Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRW2g2l49fk

I'm not sure how i feel about this one yet. It has a few things going for it, but generally I think my first one was better. Here it goes~

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us

            It’s deep winter and the snowstorm has created a dark frost over the window.  I’ve been thinking a lot recently, thinking outrageously. I sit here now writing this letter in cursive to you, knowing this recollection will never find your hands. The cold has spread throughout the house and as I write here, wearing three layers of coats and leg warmers, I am reminded of you and that night we were together. The storm carried the same cold, but here it is not your breath I see on the face of the door, but my own. I can no longer seem to grown warm.

            I remember staying awake that night, not quite sleeping, but pretending to, laying fast in bed. Watching that storm grow out the window, I remember seeing the wasp, wings outstretched, creeping along the bedroom wall just above your headboard. You shuffled in your sleep, and eventually the wasp disappeared into the darkness of the storm.

            The next day, the storm calmed and we took a trip north of Savanna- to the palisades. We fooled around the whole way, as best friends do, sharing our love for each other in our laughter and energy. On a dare you stripped naked and ran splashing into the freezing water; I followed shortly behind. The water bit, but the thrill was exhilarating. Racing back to the car to dry ourselves, I remember my brother’s red hat catching the wind- but you were there to save it, and I came out wearing it.

             I remember suddenly growing jealous of you, and all of my old memories returned, and I despised myself for it. The wasp reappeared, floating down through the frost and stung you seven times there on the shoulder, close to the heart. You ran off to the car, washing your face in your hands with your tears. 

            I’ve never felt worse about any time of my life.

            I’d only meant to tease you; I never intended harm. I ran after you and tried to soften the wasp stings, but to no avail. For I saw the wasp sitting on the length of my arm.

            We’ve seen so many things together dear friend, throughout this state and beyond. So many that they start to become a blur. Wonders bright, and rivers, lakes. The Trail of Tears, and Horseshoe Lake. Back then we trusted things beyond mistake. But this was a mistake that could not be taken back despite my efforts.

            We were in love then, innocent youthful love. That day at the palisades haunts me, replaying in my memory too often to function normally… Even now I wait. I tell myself I can wait just a bit longer, I can wait. Oh, Lamb of God, we chased after you that night, sounding the horn. Now all of you that we find is the ghost that was born within ourselves.

            I can’t explain the state that I’m in, the state of my heart. You were my best friend. At the palisades, we climbed into the car from the backseat and I found such admiration in falling asleep, forgetting the wasp and just being with you…

            All of my powers, day after day, are spent regretting everything, all those times the wasp appeared. For I can tell you, every time she did, we swaggered and swayed. I’ve tried throughout my life to lock away these memories and regrets deep in the tower of my mind, the free and beautiful prairies below. But they were never contained. I can tell you, the telling gets old.

            Finally, that last night during the worst leg of that storm, the sting was too strong. We’ve created all these memories throughout our lives- I can tell you the day we were born. But now, my friend, you’re gone. You ran away into that terrible storm. Despite all of our efforts, we couldn’t find you in that darkness and cold. We lost you. But I can tell you, I still love you each day. Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged, I can honestly tell you that I love you each day.

            That terrible sting, that terrible storm. I can tell you….. The predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us.

            I miss you now more than ever. Sometimes I still expect you to come running out to greet me from the woods, saved from the frost. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t love and miss you. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t regret my part in your flight.

            I wish I could take everything back. I suppose that’s the point of this letter- some way to trap my conscience and memories in the prison of paper and ink. I would give up my life to just bring you back again. But, alas, that is not possible.

            Or maybe I thought writing it out would somehow bring you back, move the ghost inside me to come out of hiding and find your body.

            I doubt either will work.

            I love you. I miss you. Beyond words. But I guess I will have to wait until it is our time again. The time of friends. The time of death. The time of reunion…

            The time of love.

Your Ex-Lover is Dead

You might recognize the song. It's grown silently popular in some group streams. It's by a band called Stars, an awesome group from Canada. Here's a link:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55FMOJMhV9s


It's one of my favorite songs ever which  is why, at 3 am a few weeks ago, I decided to write a short story using it's lyrics. This is the result.

Your Ex-Lover is Dead

Looking back, I’m not sorry. I loved you- as much as anyone could love another I believe. But we grew apart. We grew cold. Our hearts died. We still went through the routine every morning and every night, waking next to each other but no longer finding the surge of joy looking into each other’s eyes in the rising sunlight. 

We met again two nights ago. A friend introduced us to one another, as if we weren’t already familiar. As I saw you walk over I smiled at you two and said that I thought we’d met before (I believe in that instant it started to pour). The three of us sat in the small coffee shop, and I suggested that we go somewhere. Do something. Like old times.

We captured a taxi, despite all the rain. Our mutual friend didn’t accompany us, something about an urgent meeting to attend. You and I ended up driving mostly in silence across Pont Champlain, although not an awkward silence. The water seemed to go on without end, just as my heart so long ago. I used to think it would never die… 

As we drove on to no destination, there was little interaction between us. At some point you finally said that I seemed sad. Said that I had seemed sad most of the trip 

You thought I was sad. I was trying to remember your name.


******

I don’t think I every truly loved you. You tried to reach deep, take my heart and sweep me away, but you couldn’t get in. Something always got in the way. I knew you loved me, that look in your eye was a giveaway. And I could see when it died. We woke up in the morning, and your spark was gone. Somehow though, that scar you left is a fleck on my porcelain skin, forever apparent.

Now that you’re outside, so far away and unused to “us”, you see all the beauty that you took for granted. You act differently than you did then. More real. You see now what you couldn’t before…

Repent all your sin.

I didn’t love you. I couldn’t- you made it too hard. Especially after what you did. Before I had the illusion of love, and after there was nothing. Nothing but an indecisive shine in my eye.


******

There’s nothing left afterwards. In the end, it’s just time and a face that you lose. I chose to feel it so long ago, and yet you couldn’t choose. It’s been years now, we’ve both moved on. Moved on in the hopes of something more. Something less deceptive. One of us will find it.

I’ll write you a postcard, I’ll send you the news from a house down the road from real love.

In the beginning, that’s what I thought we had found. We realized together that I was wrong, of course. 

Live through this, and you won’t look back…


*******

There’s something I’d like to say, so I’ll be brave. You were what I wanted. Tall, handsome, gentle, soft. I gave what I gave- what I could give anyway. I didn’t love you, true, but I thought you were as close as I could ever get, so I went all in. I still believe you to be what I wanted. What I want. I’m not sorry I met you, despite what happened. But I’m not sorry It’s over. We had our thing, and it’s time to move on now. What’s the word they use for these occurrences? Closure. That night was closure.
I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save…


*******

Babe, I always wanted you. You know I loved you back then, and I should never have done anything to hurt you. You were everything that I wanted, and still want. Beautiful, stunning even, elegant and graceful. And you always smiled, even through the hard times. You always smiled that thin lipped, adorable smile of yours. Of course I’m not sorry we met, but it had to end sometime. We weren’t right for each other, and we both knew it. Love doesn’t change that. I used to think that I’d like another chance at it, maybe see if we could start things up again- this time with what was missing before. But after that night, I knew that wasn’t possible. I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save…

I write my thoughts in memory of you, my love. It’s hard to think you’re gone now. In a sense, it’s as If you’re dead. I know that we will never meet again, it just wasn’t meant to be. This thought utterly breaks my heart, but I know this is how it must be.
We are alive to each other in nothing but memory.

Here goes nothing

I've never really understood that phrase entirely. I get the implications of course, but the reason that we use it so often is a bit lost to me. This could be of course that i've never actually thought about it before this very second, and i don't care terribly near enough to actually work it out. Anyway, i've started this because of the prodding from a certain friend of mine. We'll see how it goes for a bit. It could turn into hell for all I know. My mind is not exactly a tame place...

Here we go-