Scared.

I edit because I care.

It seems to me that I am about to relive the pain of jumping without arms to fall into, all over again.

How can there still be things to be upset about?

And for what is not the last time, I surrender the fight.  Can she be happy?  Can he?  Then let them.  I can make logic from this, and eventually I will believe it.  I’m strong enough to handle this, and I’m well aware that in this situation, I have the least to lose, no matter how I might feel while I let it go.

It’s just…how to avoid the regret, I’m not so sure of.

Moments of grace.

The sky is sparkling tonight.

Each crystal catches the light, dancing upon the wind, slowly swaying with the playing of the moonlight on the snowflake.

It’s cold, but I don’t care.

I might not feel my toes, my nose, or the tips of my thumbs.  But for a moment, in the dark, only ever in the dark, I can feel past the trees and the glow of the buildings into something I could imagine as soothing and eternal.  Wonderful wishing, this moment of grace.

Quietly my mind sweeps the area around me.  I have to be alone to be so free, forgetful of being lonely.  I wish my mind worked in other ways.  Ways of pretty girls with flowing skirts, and eyes like the stars in the sky, the stars I can’t see through the clouds.  Their laugh could make the world feel better, their smile cause time to skip its beat, until their destiny is fixed forever into stories told to make little girls snuggle down for happy dreams.

I keep my voice to myself and pull the scarf up to my eyes before I allow my arms to trail out.  For a moment I watch as my warm coat melts each beautiful flake, each precious and unique flake, that might’ve been caught by a pretty girl’s lashes.

Then, I let myself begin to turn, because the sky is sparkling tonight, and I decide to feel what I could never be.

NaNoWriMo 2006

My last three posts are a short story I’ll probably carry into my NaNoWriMo.  I’m thinking.  I didn’t have planning time before because getting to a foreign country is so much work.

Any thoughts?  Good start?  Is it a typical, or annoying premise? (Something I’m always worried about is being too generic.  I’ve been spinning around the story to try to get something out of the ordinary.)  Help, four days into the month, could be fantastic.

…thanks.  ^_^

As a footnote, please, as always, be completely honest.  If it’s terrible, I’d rather know that than write junk.  Agreed?

Chicago, Part 3.

I didn’t want to tell you. But honestly, I did. “Ellery White.” (last name subject to change) Our address was unlisted anyway. Not that I honestly think that would have kept you away.

“Nice to meet another person blatantly named after a writer.”

When I glanced up it was the first time I actually noticed you.

Chicago, Part 2.

You were a bit of a mystery for a while. You were too familiar to be anything but.

“Hey you.” You were only recognizable as a stranger in the dark, clouded twilight. I didn’t even bother registering your voice as audible to me until you planted yourself on the concrete next to me. “I said hello.”

I looked up. You were a stranger, remember? “Hello.” And I looked down. Suddenly, my pen poised over the paper, suspended and uneasy by both the idea of a stranger and the idea of sketching real words.

“So. How are you?”

Chicago.

No matter how I look at it, I always mean to say “I want to find someone.” “I can’t wait until I’m more mature.” “I want to get out of this place.” “I need to find myself, somehow.” It never means what I want it to, or what other people imagine it too, because I’m not naïve enough anymore. Who said too much past means no future? I wonder, sometimes, if it’s just me. This happens multiple times over a day, but never so fast. Sometimes I can actually believe I’m just confident. Maybe.

Hey, maybe I am. Maybe I’m confident enough to know what I want. Maybe I’m assertive, to admit that I’d like to find someone. I’m not made for this alone thing.

Then I look around. I’m not made for any of these guys, either.