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2015-01-06 18:41:15 (UTC)

Beautiful Thoughts (That I Forgot)

"Ships With Holes Will Sink" by We Were Promised Jetpacks

I think I died this time
Suffered bullet holes
And stab wounds in my side
I think I'm solving crime
I've got a couple of clues
And a hunch that swells like a fool boy

January 6, 2015 Tuesday 5:47 PM

I had beautiful thoughts today and part of what made them so stunning was how temporary they were. Unfortunately, that's the same reason I can't write them down. Also, my hands are cold so having them out in the open, smacking the keyboard over and over is not favorable.

Last night I had a dream. I guess it was a nightmare, but it didn't wake me up. It was horrible, though. I killed a lot of people. I had to. I was trying to protect my family and I felt as flesh ripped, I felt the vibrations going through the blade and into my bones. I don't feel like going into details, really, but the blood was so bright and the people... they had empty looks in their eyes.

I just wanted everything to be alright.

I keep thinking about what Sam said yesterday ("You'd be cute together. You should work on that.") and I think maybe she's right. I think maybe I will work on it. I've never really worked for that before, because I think I am fragile. I am weak and I can't stand rejection.

But I don't know. Maybe I'm kidding myself but he seems different. He's nice and I like how sometimes, he trails off into silence when he seems embarrassed or something. I also really like that he looks like Vincent Van Gogh and draws beautifully. I like a lot of things about people and I guess one day, I would like to list them.

Anyway, yeah. Maybe I'll try a little harder to get to know him. Not too hard. I'm still pretty cautious. I look for safety and art and complicated things.

Sometimes, I think I am too abstract in the way I say things.

And damn, I wish I could remember my pretty thoughts about pretty people.

I guess it molded into thoughts about the addictive effect depression can have on a person. The way I hug the sadness to my body like it can warm me up. The way I let it surround me, the way I squint through it's darkness and view the world in grays and blues.

People say it's not beautiful. I say it's not beautiful but I can't help believing that no matter how ugly it can be, it is art.

I can't help wanting it, like it's my insubstantial safety blanket.

I remember the way I was. I remember how horrible it was but none of that matters.

Okay, I oughta go. I have sheeeit to do.

("sheeeeit" is very eloquent, ok?)

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