You're not sorry.

“All this time I was wasting
Hoping you would come around
I’ve been giving out chances every time
And all you do is let me down

And it’s taking me this long
Baby but I figured you out
And you’re thinking we’ll be fine again
But not this time around

You don’t have to call anymore
I won’t pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don’t wanna hurt anymore

And you can say that you’re sorry
But I don’t believe you baby
Like I did before
You’re not sorry, no, no, no, no”

I wonder what it would be like if things were different.

If I were different.

You're not different, because you are just like the rest.
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Now playing: City and Colour - Like Knives
via FoxyTunes

STORY. OF. MY. LIFE.

going to a dance party in my room. BRB.

Safety.

You make me feel safe.

And in a world like ours, safety is the most important thing you could give me.

10.

1. I would rather get a bouquet of lilies, lilac or tulips than roses. I hate getting roses. Too cliche. It's just not me.

2. When someone says to me, "This happened yesterday and it really reminded me of you [insert story here]" it makes my heart melt a little.

3. I rarely ever just watch TV. I need to be multi-tasking. Usually this means I am internetting at the same time, but that still counts.

4. I make up words. I'll never stop.

5. I have become a bit of an insomniac, yet I love to sleep.

6. I'm obsessed with music lyrics and how they relate to my life.

7. I'm going to dye my hair blond for 2 reasons, one, it's the only color it has never been and two, I'm going all out for Halloween.

8. As many cons as there are to our 'relationship' the only pro that really matters is that when I am around you, I am happy.

9. I love to cook and bake. Love love love it. If I could cook big meals for my besties everyday of my life, I would.

10. I am addicted to tumblr, imgfave and laughing.

Heartbreaking.

Still one of my favorite moments, simply heartbreaking.

Hi, my name is Alice.

I feel like Alice, sleep is my Wonderland.

I'm not calling you a liar.

"you can't be the one to kill the pain anymore.
you let me in but then you slam my fingers in the door.
i've had enough but i keep asking you to give me more.
when i say that there's no way"

Ingrid Michaelson is a musical goddess. So is Florence Welch. The lead singer for Florence + the Machine. So amazing, if you haven't listened to them yet run and buy the CD right now! seriously, download it, iTunes it, whatever. Just get this musical pleasure in your ears. Every song is amazing. It's been on repeat for the last week. No joke.

On another note, I've become obsessed with lying lately. Why people do it, what it means, the beauty behind it and the darkness. Reminds me of the movie closer, a personal favorite.

"Dan: When I get back, please tell me the truth.
Alice: Why?
Dan: Because I'm addicted to it. Because without it, we're animals. Trust me."

7 again.

If.

If I were a month, I’d be May.
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Tuesday.
If I were a time of day, I’d be 2am.
If I were a planet, I’d be Venus.
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a octopus.
If I were a direction, I’d be up.
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be an old comfy chair.
If I were a liquid, I’d be rum.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be an emerald.
If I were a tree, I’d be a lilac tree.
If I were a flower, I’d be a white lily.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a harmonica.
If I were a color, I’d be crimson.
If I were an emotion, I’d be joy.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a pineapple.
If I were an element, I’d be fire.
If I were a food, I’d be lavender ice cream.
If I were a scent, I’d be vanilla.
If I were an object, I’d be an iPod.
If I were a body part, I’d be lips.
If I were a song, I’d be Body in A Box by City and Colour.
If I were a relationship status, I’d be single.
If I were a kiss, I’d be a secret kiss, fast and special.

Obsession.

It would be so nice if something would make sense for a change.

Maybe.

“All my resistance will never be distance enough” Anna Nalick.

A hurt like that doesn’t come around often. Usually, it sneaks up on you, has you gasping for air in the corner of a crowded place wondering what happened. That’s how it was for me. The worst part is that I can’t be mad. I can’t yell or question or do anything externally. There are no allegiances here that warrant my emotions. Yet somehow you have them. At some point I let my guard down, and now here I am, kicking myself for it.

"Don't delay. Something tells me I gotta go away
Maybe it's the way we always stay, when our hearts have gone" Indgrid Michaelson.



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Now playing: Ingrid Michaelson - Maybe
via FoxyTunes

The Quote Life.

"All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust." From Peter Pan.

“Someday, someone is going to walk into your life and make you realize why it never worked out with anyone else.” Unknown.

“There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.” – Harry Crews

“Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment. Which is pretty amazing, when you actually think about it.” Sarah Dessen

“A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other… Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.” Dave Mathews

“I’ve learned that: goodbyes will always hurt, pictures can never replace being there, memories forget the hard times, words can never replace feelings, and heros often go unsung.” Unknown.

“Say I love you and mean it, don’t just say it cause you can.” Unknown.

“Men may play the game, but women know the score.” Unknown.

“I don’t understand how he can be such an asshole and be so nice.” Britney Spears

“one of the cruelest things you can do to another person is pretend that you care about them more than you really do.” Douglas Coupland

“I don’t care how many fish there are in the sea. I don’t want a fish. I want you.” Unknown.

"If one day you realize that I haven’t talked to you in a while, just remember you were the one who pushed me away." Unknown.

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.” Dead Poets Society

"No, I do not love him. Would I be sad if he died? yes." Rachelle.


"You change for two reasons: either you learn enough that you want to or you’ve been hurt enough that you have to."

How did we become so broken?
We fell in love, and at some point, the people we love forgot to love us back.

We stopped looking for the monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside of us

Thank you.

"I’m sorry for a lot of things, but most of all that I never got the chance to tell you that, no matter what happens next, I’ll never be anything but grateful for every moment I spent with you. And even though I keep fumbling for the right words, all I really wanted to say was thank you."
The Land Of Women.

I read this and thought of you. There are a thousand things I want to tell you yet somehow I just can't seem to get them right. So I wait. I wait and I am quiet and strong and patient. As I read this, I realized those were the two words I need to say, so for that, thank you.

Reality.

The cement was cold and it felt nice because the air was warming my skin and the rum was warming my soul. You asked me if I believed you. I told you yes, and I genuinely meant it. For the first time I believed you and I knew you were being honest. It was one of the first times that there was no joking, no messing around, and no laughing. It was one of the first times we were real. I wanted to tell you, but I stopped myself. I think it was for the better.

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Now playing: A Fine Frenzy - Think Of You
via FoxyTunes

be honest.

"I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again."

love the way you lie.

Life is no Nintendo game
But you lied again
Now you get to watch her leave
Out the window
Guess that's why they call it window pane

Just gonna stand there
And watch me burn
But that's alright
Because I like
The way it hurts
Just gonna stand there
And hear me cry
But that's alright
Because I love
The way you lie

Reminders.

Cleaning my room, looking around I find that I leave myself little reminders of the ones I love, and the ones who love me. I used to think that I kept these things because I couldn’t let go of them, because I was a pack rat. In a way that’s true, but mostly, I think I keep these things, these little trinkets that to the untrained eye may be stupid junk, for a very specific reason. I keep them because when I’m cleaning my room I see them and think of the person they remind me of, and it always makes me smile. I love to reminisce, and this helps me do it.

For example, yesterday I saw a pink dinosaur water bottle, made for children, purchased for adults. The liquid inside that they had the audacity to call juice, tasted like swamp water. And not the swamp water that kids make at soda machines where they mix them all together, but actual moss filled swamp water. That was the first thing I remembered when I saw the bottle, but then I remembered why I had it in the first place. My twin, who actually is not my real twin so much as me in another body because of the ridiculous amount of things we have in common, that’s who I had this one for. I bought us both one, she loves dinosaurs and I saw them at the store and knew we had to have a pair. Twins need little twins. Then the bottle that reminded me of her reminded me of her laugh, how it was contagious and could always brighten my day. I wish I could bottle that laugh and sell it, I would probably get rich pretty fast.

I put the bottle down and continued cleaning. Next find: a normal looking, old, piece of paper, folded and unfolded nearly a million times. It’s a letter I have had for 4 years from one of my best friends back home. It always makes me laugh because she is a writer, a great writer, and her letter was in a sense a short story. It was a story about how the pen she was writing with was coming to life and having a conversation with her, about me. I love her handwriting, and I love that letter.

I leave myself little reminders of the ones I love, and the ones who love me.

Laughter.

My favorite way to laugh is with my whole body. The kind of laugh that almost hurts because I am using every single muscle in my body. The kind of laugh where, just for a second or two, I can't breathe. Tears come pouring down my face, not because I am sad, but because my body loses control due to the laughter. And in this moment, this tiny moment in comparison to the rest of my life, in this very moment, I am as happy as I can possibly be.

Because, really, how much happier can someone be than that?

I'm glad I have people in my life that make me laugh with my whole body.

Breakable.

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts
So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

And you fasten my seat belt because it is the law
In your two ton death trap I finally saw
A piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret
Then you drove me to places I'll never forget

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls-
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls-
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

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Now playing: Ingrid Michaelson - Breakable
via FoxyTunes

Wishes.

Some people are strict about wishes. They will only wish on stars, candles on birthday and 11:11. I'm not so strict. I like to wish. I like to wish a lot. It makes me feel like a kid and although I don't expect them all to come true, I always wish for small things so that when they do, I have more reasons to smile in my day. This is why I allow myself to wish on the following things: Shooting stars, the first star I see each night, birthday candles, eyelashes, 11:11, 12:34 and my newest favorite, 1:51. Thanks to Nick Cone for that one. So wish more often, what do you have to lose?

Do You Remember?

I don’t remember how we met, but I will always remember how we ended. There was a moment, just one, and I remember it like it happened yesterday.


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Now playing: The Beatles - Wouldn't It Be Nice
via FoxyTunes

Autumn Chill.

Autumn was setting on the city and as I drove down the gravel road leading to the cemetery I stopped to watch the sunset. The air was chilled, like opening up a freezer and feeling the blast of cold air engulf your face. She always loved autumn, so when it hits, I can’t help but feel her with me. It was October 12th, her birthday. It was one of only three times a year I left my dorm to travel the 400 miles home to visit her. Not many people would do that for someone who was not their blood relative, but she was special, too special to forget. I looked in my bag one final time, flowers? Check. Card? Check. Blanket? Check. Lysol and brush? Check.
As I stepped out of my car and began walking closer to her resting place the burnt colored grass and scrolls of dried leaves gently crunched below my feet. I arrived at her gravestone, laid my blanket on the ground, and sat down, staring at the tomb stone for a few minutes. It always amazed me just how much moss could grow in only three months. The tombstone had turned from beautiful black brick to a field of auburns and olives, climbing over the letters and filling in all of the corners. I pulled out the Lysol and brush, sprayed down the tomb, and began to scrub the moss away. The bristles of my wire brush dug into the lettering, ripping each piece of moss out of its hiding spot as I continued to scrub. The cleaner the tombstone got, the newer it felt, bringing me back to the very day she died with each movement I took. I began scrubbing harder, trying to get the memory to go away. I looked down and my knuckles had turned white.
I took a minute to calm down, closing my eyes just to see the image of her tombstone embedded into the back of my eyelids. Once I regained my composure I reached in my bag and pulled out the flowers. I brought lilacs, even though they weren’t in season. They were her favorite and even though the flowers were plastic, I knew she would have loved the gesture. I set the card next to it and lay down on my blanket. Face up, looking at the sky, just like she taught me. “Use your imagination,” she would say. One cloud was a basketball. Two more clouds, a dragon holding a sword. Three clouds, all little stars, all appearing in different positions in the same sky. I looked at my watch. 8:15, time to head back to my parent’s house and get some sleep. I packed up my blanket and as I stood up, I saw a boy and immediately knew it was him. The way he walked like he was sulking; hands in pockets, face down, baseball cap on. It gave him away.
“It’s been you all along hasn’t it; you are the one leaving my mom lilacs and cleaning her grave?” he asked me. We went from best friends to strangers in a mere minute after his mother died.
“Yes.” I answered, avoiding eye contact.
“You did always know her best; she loved lilacs.”

Chalk Covered Kisses.

As I lift her off the ground she throws her tiny arms around my neck,
Saying hello in the only way we ever have.
“I love you, a bushel and a peck,” I say.
She interrupts, finishing the end of our song.
“A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

She stands on her white chair in the middle of the kitchen
and adds red food coloring to the white cake mix, staining it pink.
It’s one of our traditions: pink cake, purple frosting.
As she sticks her finger in the cake mix to taste test it
I smile, mimicking her actions.

Chalk time comes, like always,
Sticks and stumps of color dumped out across the cold concrete.
Flowers, rainbows, hearts and stars,
The usual shapes and scenes illuminate the gray ground
While chalk covered kisses leave a powdered stamp on my cheek.

Four days pass and like the chalk murals on the ground
I must leave with the rain, back home.
The smiles are gone and her tears are here to stay.
As she hugs me one last time I whisper,
“I love you, a bushel and a peck.”

Little Foot had it right.

“Okay, I’m not a long neck, I’m a big mouth. But I am all alone, I am.”

Carve your heart out yourself.

How dumb do you think I am? If you think I’m that naïve then you are sadly mistaken. I know you. I know how you feel. I know that you pretend. I know that things are changing. I know they will never go back, not now, not like this. This line, the so called divider between us, its real and its taking over and its feeding into what I feel. It makes me ache to see how fake you are. You lie, you pretend, you manipulate. You think I’m the bad one, the bitch, the whore, the hypocrite, the one in the wrong. Stop pretending, show me something real. Something that makes me think you were not lying to me this whole time, because without that, I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to not know how you feel about me.

Empty.

Pen to paper. Finger to key. It always happens, but only if I’m really in the zone. I sit down thinking I am going to write and it will never happen. I sit down with music from Grey’s playing in my ears and it always does. If I ever meet the people that pick music for that show I will be in awe, they find the best talent. Amazing lyrics that reach inside of my body and make my heart literally ache. You know that feeling, the feeling that there is an utterly empty space where you heart belongs because it hurts so badly. Yeah, that one. That’s what happens. It’s the only time I can truly write. When I’m hurting so badly from music or life that it feels like there is nothing left inside of me except words and they don’t belong there either. I have to get them down on paper before my mind explodes into a million pieces and I spontaneously combust on the couch in my living room. I imagine that if that did happen, they wouldn’t find anything expect my singed clothes and lovely jewelry. My rings, both the ones on my fingers and the ones in my face. My roommate would walk into the living room and realize I was empty inside, that I didn’t just make it up. Maybe my mind would be left, because although my body feels empty, my mind is almost too full to function.

The sound. The feel. There is literally nothing better than sitting here typing. Eyes closed. Listening to the rain hit the window just enough to relax me but not overpower my music. Maybe sitting here with a full mind and an empty body isn’t so bad after all.

Hallelujah.

My thoughts just won’t stop running. As I lay in my bed, with Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah resonating from my speakers I just couldn’t get myself to settle down. Turn left, lay right, look up, move my pillows. Nothing worked. Now, I’m sitting here in front of my screen, the thoughts just fighting to make it on the paper. Now it’s Kate Voegel’s version. I heard it tonight on One Tree Hill. I think it’s my favorite version. Each one gives me a different feeling. Imogen heap gives me a feeling of sadness, reminding me of the scene in the finale of season three of the OC. The Jeff Buckley version gives me a feeling of closure, but this one, the Kate Voegel version. It gives me hope. I’m not sure why, but it’s different. Different from all the other versions I’ve heard. I just can’t stop playing it, over and over.

Her Mama.

I have tried to write this story almost twenty times already over the last year. Each time, it has ended the same way it began, with a blank page. It’s not that I can’t remember how it happened. That is the most far from the truth reason. I remember it all. The reason is because it’s never perfect. This has to be perfect, and it never is. This story means a lot to me and until it’s perfect, or at least as close to perfect as I can get, then it will never be done.

Her name was Debra. Debra Jean Devries. People called her Debbie. I call her amazing. She gave me one of the best presents anyone can give, she gave me a confidant, she gave me a shoulder to lean on, and she gave me a best friend. She gave me Barb, her only daughter surrounded by four sons.

I met Barb in fourth grade. We became friends right away; it was just something we shared. I remember one of the first times I went over to her house; ‘mama’ was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us. Before she put the two pieces of bread together, she crunched up Lays potato chips and put them inside.
“That’s gross.” I said making the face a fourth grader would.
“Well, how do you know, I’ve bet you’ve never even tried it, here, take a bite.” Without further questioning I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was delicious. Magnificent in fact. To this day, if I have the option of putting ground up lays chips on my sandwich, I will do it.

For a while Barb and I separated. We were not really as great of friends in high school as we were when we were younger, granted we were still friends, it just wasn’t the same. I would see her mom at basketball at football games and always talk to her, she would say “Nae-Nae, when are you coming over again, it’s been too long.” And it had been too long, in fact, it had been years since I had been over to Barb’s house. The worst part of it all, was that by the time I did make it there again, Debbie was not. I never did make it to the house before she died, and to this day that makes me sad.