Yeah? Yeah.

I've decided to do it. The words are coming, now, at 2:45 in the morning. I won't make it; I won't make it, but I am going to try. My fingers are flying: lighting strokes on plastic letters, and the images stored up all day are pouring out.
I am unashamed of my love. I will write it out, a letter or poem at a time, and - there it will be, transformed from a cloud inside my mind to something tangible.


A poem I wrote once, in April:


Reaching Out: Part 1

If my slaved-over, soul-exposing words
can reach your heart, then the world could
never give me any promises more potent than
your smile, your open eyes.

If the sentiments exchanged would find in
you a range in which to roam, then all the soul
of hearth and home would hold no fetters on my
heart: it is gone, but not alone.

If these keystrokes or this pen could pin
your heart to mine, then all the stitched-up
pain of life would be a piece of cake, dark
wine, and moonlit mounds of pine.

Trying.

Life is weird.

Dear Best Friend.

I want to see your face, to speak so we can see heart-to-heart, to sit on a park bench somewhere and say that no matter what, I am always ready to be your friend. I will always be there for you, thinking about and praying for you.

I can’t save you from those murky depths. Perhaps my mistake was in thinking that I could, that I could find the solution for something so huge and heart-breaking.

For one who is so used to writing, I really don't want to write any of this down. Please, let us be able to talk, face-to-face.

I love you so much, Angela.
Yours truly,
Irene.

Funny Sort of Weather Patterns

It's raining and I'm writing, listening to the new and old favorites I've found:

Needtobreathe (Something Beautiful; Streets of Gold)
Neverending White Lights (Dove Coloured Sky; Always)
Ludo (Love Me Dead; The Horror of Our Love)
The Hush Sound (Eileen; You Are the Moon)

Someday I would like to deejay my own radio show. I lack the radio voice, but perhaps I can at least write out the playlist and enlist a smooth- voiced, witty friend to crack jokes between songs.

Something to add to my Bucket List, alongside Sing in the Opera and Learn Ballet.

Outside, the trees are kneeling, locked in an insane tango with the wind and rain.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (Home)
Mika (Love Today; Big Girl)
Dan Black (Symphony)

More Midnight Ruminations

Trying to write a story...it's hard. I don't have time to really work on it to the degree I'd like because I just want to put it out there quickly while the idea is in my head, and I have learned that if I write an outline, it will never get written.

But the form and the style is not what I want or like. It feels...dry. Technical, like my journal instead of a story of two best friends and their varied lives. Ha...and my journal tends to be very technical. I leave my emotions alone for the most part and tend to my thoughts (they are separate entities, usually).

I think I blog better after midnight.

AND I JUST WANT TO FINISH THIS STORY, for once in my life. Characterization is just so freaking hard, especially when I'm patterning the story after real people. At least my grammar is impeccable.

For the most part.
Perhaps.
Indeed.

I have become somewhat of an ornithologist, a cursory one. Right now I am reading Hope Is the Thing with Feathers, a book about extinct birds such as the Auk and the North Carolina Parakeet.

And now I am going back to my story. Adieu.