The voices outside echo for some reason, one I don't know the answer to, and I attempt to remember: You are far away. It's funny how distance is the looking glass through which I seem to find my solace, my keep, my love. I am the lucky one.

Do we know where our travels will take us? Do we know if the stories we ordain to write and know are truths, or falsehoods? We can only lose ourselves in the memory of tomorrow.

"You must be a Seer"

"It's strange how you can't do the right thing because it's not supposed to happen"

We were lying side by side - whenever I think of our time together, I want to be laying with you - barely touching, the touch wasn't necessary at all. We were past pleasantries and peonies but beyond cigarettes. You knew me as only you can know me. I think I know you.

"Let me in! It's not funny!"

Why are we a generation of people who know merely how to think but not to do?

"Soft hair curled around her shoulders, which were hunched over, all her energy focused on the beauty she held in her arms. It was tiny, wrapped completely in a tenderly made blanket, soft peach hair barely on it's head, eyes closed, mouth closed, curled up tight."

"And when they kissed, she could feel it just above her ribcage - when he played with her, his lips dancing in front of hers, she would lean forward and he would back away and laugh."

There is a shadow of realism in my life. I do not know you any more then I know myself. Should I go backwards? Where is it the most likely I ended up losing myself? I am rebuilding me with bits and pieces of you. You are wonder.

- There are dead bodies in my old elementary school - I don't know why, but I've started covering my face when it starts to show an emotion and closing my eyes - I am a strange person. The stranger me is resurfacing thanks to Kit. I'm okay with that. - My rain boots make me really, really happy. My brown winter boots cause entertainment for others. - I learned for the 14th year of my life why I shouldn't do drugs or drink. Because I do neither, it's a good chance for me to get some shut-eye - Submitting a game is like wishing on an eyelash. Where it goes, nobody knows, but you've sent it out anyway. How it'll come back, is information we lack, but you're expecting it anyway. - Rhona is quite possibly the most boring math teacher I've ever experienced, but sweet all the same. - Martha Fischhoff is a mixture between a student and a teacher, so that I have trouble taking her seriously sometimes and almost expect her to be complaining about herself the way students complain about other teachers. - I am a major part of the dance community -- 6 dances so far. - Most of the people I know are vampires. - I am not as trusting of a person as I thought I was. Lucky for those of you trying to figure me out, it only means I go deeper, I think. I'm not sure. The more I trust others, the more I realize that I have more trust to give. It's not negative, it just means that I'm letting go of fears I didn't know I had in the first place. - Although it can be burdensome, I fear losing the love of others. And there's one person in particular whose love I don't want to, and may, lose. - I can't wait for next weekend. - Distance makes the heart grow fonder, yes. Sooner or later, does it become unbearable? - I like making lists. I guess it's the Virgo in me. - Most of my closest friends are Capricorns. I'm nearly surrounded by them - Can't steal happiness.

soft, periwinkle kisses on my cheek. Soft, periwinkle kisses for yours. I miss you softly, I miss you strongly. Why, however, my mouth wanders ever closer to yours and yet still strays away I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I wish it wouldn't, I wondery why, I wish it would.

Good God, can you not tell how much I miss you? Life strays far away from my mouth, I try to hold it steady like my hands appear to be. Not so, not so, not so. These words happen to fall from my mouth - from my fingers, from my eyes, from my lips. From my lips, from my lips, from my lips. How, I wonder, those lips, those words, would like to know your lips, your words. My lips would like to know your lips. My words would like to know your words. How is it that you don't let me in?

CASE 1: Time: 11:39pm

Date: December 17, 2006

"Blood On The Sheets":

Right hip, just below the bone, to the side. Two equilateral triangles facing away from each other, each composed of three dots. Two dots of the triangle pointing south had begun to bleed. Subject reported a need to make sure all the other dots bled or she would not be safe. Reported feeling as though there were "something in her blood". Triangle pointing north refused to bleed, but she reports as "getting it eventually". Wound bled more than expected, hence the blood on the sheets. When subjected to examination, patient was willing. Oddly enough, no traces of PG-41 were found. Possible they bled out.

Dr. Pleidings, I'm leaving this case to you. This is not the first sign of inter-planetary interferrence I've seen, in fact, it appears to be the fourth. This is, however, the first official examination after it was reported. You have far more expertise in this feild than I, however, please send me all of your findings on this matter. My main question in this case that I would like to have answered is: Why her? If you need me to send you personal information on the patient, please ask and I will have it sent.

My regards,

Dr. Strombergson

Let it go on the record that Mademoiselle Lydia Mercedes Von Berg is a goddess, and let it also be known that I love her. A lot.

you hear that? I LOVE YOU. ::kisses::

I walk in to my house and my mother's back is turned to me. There's a woman I do not recognize standing at our kitchen table, obviously waiting for my mother to finish whatever it is she is doing. There's an envelope waiting for me on the table from the US Postal Service, with my name scrawled hurridly on the front. (I guess time really is shorter for everyone). I rip it open as best I can (as best I can) and discover my old blue wallet, all (important) contents missing. My old bank card is there, but the $180 that I was entrusted with over the summer isn't, nor is any other sort of money, change or otherwise. My high school ID rests in it's old place, and the face slightly smiling up at me I do not recognize. I find my permit, some reciepts, and a Herrell's dollar in the place where the money should have been. And it isn't the money that I care about. It was a pleasant surprise to get this wallet back. Here's the thing: I can't help but think that it means something. My blue wallet was hidden within the confines of Mary's blue courderoy purse, along with her wallet and cellphone: where did her possesions go? Why was I the only one to recieve a practically empty and basically useless wallet? Do I need to be reminded of the past? What am I forgetting?

The sound of the soup rising to a boil sounds shockingly familiar to the sound of my dog licking her paws when they itch her. Kind of makes me not want the soup, but I can go along with it. Whatever. I just hate the feeling of not being able to do anything. So I'm going to go feed Margaret. (thoughts are so much more decisive when you see them written before you, but make so much more sense when they're inside your head)

Pans got it up his sleeve. Silver sleeves dangling, holes like silver seeves sifting silver snow, searching swiftly so as to succeed in serendipity. Something not so often accomplished in a generation such as our own, generation XZWhogiveasafuck. I think we give ourselves too much credit, we disinherit our own blood from those below us, those after us who have bared themselves unwillingly to enter. Naked as we cross this vast expanse, this pre-cast expanse of who gets what and what gets who, we do not resist nor do we hide as we are wind-whipped with wonderous hymns. The voices may hurt our ears but not so much our bellies once we've detached ourselves from the life-cord that holds us to living. We are all dying, all of us, the moment those silver scissors descend, dragging with them cold and winter, seasons. The moment the thumb and forefinger of one already dead strive away from eachother and then meet again, sharply, too hard to be apart for so long (one can only take so much, after all). But in their rejoice at being reunited, in their rapture at once again being so close to their one, their only true, true love, the have cut the cries of the pasty white being who shone with all the knowledge and intelligence stored in his mother's mind, they having shared one body one mind one soul for so long a time, this, perhaps i shall go so far as to call him angel, knows all, sees all, believes most, knows all falsehoods before they are presented. But once those silver lovers, those tiny things more powerful than an angel reunite, it is over.

rain has the capability of making music without noise, without harsh temperaments and a orchestral thunder in the background. I have the capability of loving, without realizing it. I have the capability of being selfish, realizing it, and doing nothing about it. I have finally figured out what backwardsly selfish means, what it encompasses. I have finally heard, loud and clearer than need be, the voice in my head that tells me what to do. I always thought it was me.

Is it me?

nature versus nurture. I love the weight of a child on my hip.

I adapt easily to fluid movement, every fingertip and toe point an extension of my being, my body never stopping to reach the end. Even when I hit the finish, it is soft, almost bouyant - I never really stop. Classically trained at the small ballet studio in the basement of a Taiwanese Restaurant since the eager age of six, achieving airy, light movement is something I have learned to easily tap in to when I need it. However, I made the delightful step of realizing the depth of the dance pool, and immersing myself in it for as long as I could each day. The steps and movement quality, at first strangers, became my dearest loves. It was all brought to a jarring stop when I was chosen to be in the guest choreographer's dance group for that spring's dance concert. DeAnna Pellachia did not tower above me, nor did she overpower me. She stood, as solid as a rock. She was brimming with energy, every muscle and vein in her body pushing and reaching with an amazing bound force. But that was just it - she easily held her energy, tamed it, and used it to her advantage. The energy obeyed without a fight, moving with her lithe body, providing her with an unseen glow and a fire in her eye.I watched her move with what seemed to be all the effort in the world, and yet effortless all the same. Myself, and two other girls were mesmerised; we had never seen anyone like her. She taught us, slowly, all she knew. Listening is far more involved than just your ears, you listen with your reactions and your mind. Bound energy is achieved by holding it under your skin, and not releasing it until you wanted to. I learned When she looked you in the eye, she did not back down... to be continued.