Fourteen

And no joke, I was sitting there with my calendar open, years flashing by in my head. With my backpack open on my lap, squished into the corner seat of the subway, I opened the vinyl cover of the set of papers that mapped out a year of my middle school life. Staring at the pages, I flipped through, month to month, looking, as I realized that soon it would be June, and another summer, another transition, and half of us would already be fourteen.

Remember back when we were all in fifth grade and turning eleven was a big deal? When being fourteen was one of those far off places of such maturity? Being all grown up and sophisticated with big issues and life that kept going in a dramatic line of constant excitement. Eleven was big enough for us, and we owned every bit of knowledge above those who were still stuck in fourth grade. Slowly we would creep up to be teenagers, but thirteen didn't count 'cause you would still be in middle school, and fourteen would be a teenager. While we could barely feel it, those mythological times were dawning upon us with every Friday afternoon, until we filled those silhouettes.

Soon we would be celebrating sweet sixteens and normals sixteens, and we would feel like kids, but be in the shoes of adults. If we can go from being 10 to 14 without too much changing beyond a bra and a few inches, then how long does it take for us to be eighteen? We would be standing together, remembering when we were little kids. Hopefully.

The best part is, I had these deep revelations about ten years flying by, just by riding home with my planner open.

Paths

I somehow realized, that we are each individuals, with personal stories that are going on right now, even when I'm not around them. I only come into contact with their stories when my own path crosses theirs. But when I walk away, every one else's story keeps going. And even those who you are close to, your friends, are entirely different beings than yourself. Sometimes, I lose the sense of who people really are, and start to fill in things about them, which are pretty much fictional and based on my own impressions. So I have to wake up and realize how far apart I am from everyone. You can't live in anyone's head. And misunderstandings/miscommunication alone can create that huge distance. Once accepting the fact that we are entirely different and independant, when stories do come to interact and meet, it seems like a miracle. That people that could be running around on entirely different paths of life, somehow find each other for split seconds in time, and let their stories touch.

Rhymes

Let go of the words, there's no going back. don't try and find reason, because the reason is dead. And when all that you can remember has lost it's meaning, get rid of those memories too, and then you are free. This is not an epiphany this is simply a chant, used to prevent a hopeless rant. This isn't poetry this is a part of me that bleeds. Rhymes just seem to appear, making me nervous about posting here. I could go on forever with this perpetual doubt, others guessing what this is about. But I tell you you're wrong, this could mean anything, fit any situation with the right reasoning. Today is the day that I'm over the hill, after bridges crossed, I have met my will. I used to remember to an overextent, spacing out on the world, didn't know what people meant. Walking down broadway and 158th I reached a point of neither love or hate. Trying to remember how it felt, things that once made my heart and mind melt. Realizing these were my feelings no more, I felt my inner existance begin to soar. For this is the freedom, the start of my new life, seems it's all going by, in about three-week-sized bites.

November

There are wet leaves sticking to the ground, and trying to kick them would be pointless. Fortunetly, kicking leaves, hoping that one will come along with you, for a foot or two, is a fairly low key pastime. Because, in November, the gray sky has a beauty to it. When time stops and even though the wind is rushing, it gives a certain kind of comfort, like a hug. And wandering under the canopy of clouds is like being safe under a blanket. Somehow thoughts never stop running, and even the murky waters of a gutter puddle, crowned by brown foliage, reflects the tiger striped sky in a way that seems like a miracle.

When you step out onto a clear block of concrete, there is a certain amount of truth that is not necissarily depressing, but real. Fog is clarity to me when there is no other way to look around. Just keep going down the street, and go towards that green light, because that green light is the only thing you've got left, and even when it turns red, take the risk. So why is November so wonderful? Because my head is spinning and I can't think about anything in the right way and the only way that I can soothe my remorse is to not lash out. Kick November leaves instead.

Hate

Wouldn't it be great if the ones that we hate, we could respect? Instead of hate? With the human natural instinct to love, and all the hate in the world, there must be a lot of intense people with a certain... negative talent. Thus shouldn't we respect those people as we respect others who have talent? It would be a great outlet for all that energy we're destroying the world with. But as you who know me know, I am not one to be talking about anti-hate. I'm not the most peaceful person in the world. But this is an idea for myself. What if all that hate I put out to *****, instead was respect for her ability to move me to such strong emotion? What would happen then?

Moment

What am I going to write about today? Lack of revelations... revelations stored in my head momentarily forgotten. Experiments with light and life that reach no end except for that it is done. It is done and now it can never be done again. Ever. Once a moment happens, it is done and the moment is over the moment it happens and can never be recreated. If anything could ever happen twice, what would be the point of the 'time' concept we fabricated? Isn't the point of time to tell the difference between a moment and another and to mark that something happens and never happens at any other 'time' than then? 

That sounds about right if anything else is right in this world. Thank you for taking this fictionalized and conceptual moment to read my babbling.