Saturday, December 22, 2007

In my dreams, I was an artist

This is basically a place for me to throw random pieces of writings. Yes. I write. I just keep most of it on my hard drive to rarely be finished, only begun. My thoughts, ideas, imagination in type. And now for a smidge of the public's viewing. 

This one's from this summer. I believe. Idk. I just found it and thought to post it. 


Sometimes she felt unoriginal. 
"I used to be an artist. In my dreams, I was an artist."
Her mind would twist into knots. She wanted things. She didn't know how to get them. But life kept handing- no, throwing- tangerines at her. She preferred to have a mind of her own, but she never felt completely 100% original. She found a base of herself in other people, she didn't coome up with things completely on her own, but still took credit for it. She was a poster. An idea thief. The world's plagiarist. And yet she admired originality and individuality. 
There were times her heart didn't know where to go. He changed her. She let him change her. She let him find her, pull her out from the self-conscious, afraid girl and become this free spirit, this exploding supernova She fell, wanting his arms to catch her. They never did. She fell. He walked away. Her mind became a whirlwind. Directions blurred, there was no sure way in which to go. She felt there was no knowing herself. She could not be known. She could not be predicted. She could not...know what she wanted. There was no knowing. 
She did things for the wrong reasons. She could never decide. She did not know what she wanted. Her mind spun. It was empty. She was. Her mind. All empty. It was an imaginative place. She could travel the world, invent ideas and lives that would never exist, but she could not pull from it. She hated hurting. She grew used to it. She molded her mind to avoid it, she learned how to approach people devoid any expectations. She applied his behaviors to the world. But he was different, he was not like other people. She could not place him in society. He could not be predicted. But she knew him. She saw through him. She thought. Then moments came where she knew nothing. He threw her off. Other people were like him. But he was not like other people. He could not be known. He hid himself. He was so mysterious. He weaved in and out of her life, here and there in spurts that were both poisonous and sweet. He had ignited a revolution in her that others could only hope to follow but even she could not find his footsteps.

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