Today I wondered, deep down inside, what it really is. All this hype, all this energy that goes into pointless fundamental things.

Prompt: Nothing has changed.

Still weak at the knees when the certain boy of the certain type looks at me, still sappy in my eyes as I cry like a vacuole needing to implode. Really focussed on nothing, and always concentrating on so many, so much at once. Congratulations it's all over. Nothing really does change except ourselves and how we take what we are given. Good or bad. Whatever it is. Nothing really has changed. I can't believe that for everyday in evrey moment I see what has changed in me. I see how there is a certain light deep inside, I see how I do not now hide.
I wrote and I wondered, whatever you will think, this is what I feel. When I was a child I was innocent and playful while hiding under the covers to express all methods and sorts of mad emotions. I know and feel all this. That is the truth. But also there is a certainty. When she died, was lost to me, the light and this world, when her mother had to bid her farewell that certainty disappeared and it was oh so very hard to remain on track. As I steadily tried, moved up a step only to lose by over five, under eighteen still and I know what great anger, great betrayal, great sadness. I know these things. I could tell you these things, make you feel things, become aware. But I would still just be the girl who right now is focussing on how good you look, how much she flusters under your attention and how ridiculous she feels everytime she gives in to ridiculous impulses. I was thinking as I told you "it's a long story" you want to know what I was thinking, considering? "One day I'll tell you it over a drink." but I wasn't concentrating on what I'd tell you. I was concentrating on spending time with you. Because we move, we grow, we come full circle and we learn. Yet there are some things that are not lessons but rather ideals and we are allowed and even obligated to live as that teenage girl who wants to think about how much she dreams about standing with your arm draped around her shoulders. Draped on her, around her.
Feel jealous about things that will not happen, want things to wear that would never fit. I try to live both ways, as that care-free teen free of responsibility who is living on hormones and fantasies, and that deep, mystical, place inside which is all about thoughts, belief and rage.
But it's a balance I need. Because I can't go so one way or so another, I'm out of depth when it's too shallow and I'm frightening when it's too deep. Find a way, connect, touch, breathe, scream, now. Windswept, loud, blowing deep and hard, the wind hits. Fly away and don't you dare try hold me back, there are chains on my feet and they are there not to hit me with pain or hold me back, or for you to grab, shackle, loop and pull me back but for you to hold on to, shackle yourselves to and follow me up. Let me go, or come with me. I'm going either away.

Crazy that I'm here. Crazy that someone on the other side of the world can hear me, read me, even see me. Madness. Very good madness. Listen please. I'm not presumptuous, lord I hope not. And I'm not angry, compared to what I used to be. Now I am only tired, and waiting. Not waiting tiredly, or even impatiently. Just expectantly, as much as I can