A Farewell

Here is my farewell to 2014 in the form of a few of my written thoughts from throughout the year.

Sometimes I wish I had pen and paper with me at all times.

Sometimes I almost cry just because I have to eat my ice cream alone.

Sometimes I need a change of scenery to help me think, to help me not go insane.

Sometimes the weather's nice and I'm still not entirely happy.

It amazes me at times that I can still smile.

Sometimes I enjoy the delicious taste of the expression of rage. Other times I am repulsed by my own abrasiveness.

Sometimes I wish my college life could just go back to reading textbooks and taking exams.

I'm only emotionally stable when it's absolutely necessary.

I wish I was as awesome as I imagine I am.

There are some mistakes that no one can prevent you from. And there are some mistakes that if prevented you would never become the person you are today or the person you will be in the future.

Remembering What was Never Remembered

Sometimes I feel trapped. Trapped in a moment of indecision. It reminds me of a character in a book, feelings induced by words on a page, fodder for the imagination. Some of my strongest memories are not memories at all, or at least they are not my own memories. They are images and sentiments recalled only from words I have read or words I have written. I try to recall the memory, to flesh out the feeling in my mind, only to discover that it never truly existed, therefore it can never be fully felt; it can never be a completely realized thought. At times it is almost disappointing. I love that moment when I am about to remember something. On the brink of recalling a forgotten memory, I pause, physically and mentally, waiting for the familiar feeling of recognition, the understanding that follows my remembrance. When it never comes, it's like waiting for a beautiful promise to be fulfilled only to come to understand that it will never happen, that it never can happen. I cannot truly remember something when it was never mine to remember.

Stasis

Sometimes I forget that the plans I make will actually be fulfilled. The plans seem so far off that that they may never happen. Or they seem so far away that I imagine on that distant day the task will seem easier. Yet it never is. I do not change as drastically as I always expect that I will. I imagine myself becoming more outgoing, more productive, more capable. These ideas never come to fruition. These are the plans that I make that never happen. The ones that would make life easier. The ones that would make me a better person.

[An Imagination Growing Cold]

An imagination growing cold,

Possessing no dream or lasting hope.

I have fallen for a deeper trope:

New words proclaiming meanings old.

Imagination believed the claim,

Embellishing where falling short,

Yet never dreaming it of the sort

Of which to say, "It came

And went; no lasting dreams,

A fading hope already spent."

A feeling borrowed, or rather, lent:

The price, my heart torn at the seams.

Destroyed by words designed to rend;

The power of syllables deeply felt:

To lock a heart or defenses melt.

Some phrases spoken are hard to mend.

I search still deeper in my heart

And find I still cannot believe

The words that pierce my heart and cleave

That beating organ part from part.

I will not say, "It came and went;

No lasting dream, a fading hope,

No meaning beyond a simple trope."

I will not say, "Already spent."

Dreams growing cold: a dying ember

Ignites my soul; it lights my mind;

It forces me to look behind.

It tells me softly to remember.

1/14

Imaginings

I am reminded once more

Of the adverse effects of imagination.

My mind and heart are torn

By these dreams of my creation.

Better and worse worlds than mine

Present themselves in turn,

But each renders reality over time

A place I more frequently spurn.

Feel

              Sometimes I wonder if I am normal.  Though I know not what “normal” actually is.  But is my imagination normal and like everyone else’s?  Does everyone imagine as vividly as I or is my imagination somewhat accelerated beyond that which is “normal”?  When someone tells me of their pain, of their sadness, their sorrow, I feel it as my own.  I hurt for them as though it were myself that felt this way.  Other people’s sadness can affect me in a way I cannot describe.  Although I remain happy, there is a part of me that hurts deeply for the people in my life that are hurting.  I cannot explain the way it feels.  But maybe this is the way everyone feels and I need not try to explain.  I want to help people.  I want to be there people.  And so often I feel as though I don’t help at all.  There are times when I feel as though I only make things worse.  And yet even then I cannot seem to stop trying to help.  What makes me feel so strongly about people?  What causes this great emotion to arise within me about things that at times do not concern me at all?  I cannot help but imagine how people feel; for imagine why they feel that way; imagine what I would do if I felt that way.

I cry when I am sad.  That’s not terribly abnormal.  But I cry when other people are sad.  I’m not sure that that is quite as normal as the other.  But it’s the way I am.  I feel emotion strongly – concerning my own life and concerning others’ lives.  I feel my sadness; I feel their sadness.  I feel.  I feel so strongly.  And yet I would not change the way I feel.  Ever.  For although I do not actually know that I help sometimes, I want to be able to be there for people.  And if it is through an overactive imagination that I can do so, then so be it.