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During the day, the room is filled with sweet melodious sound from the lively musicians. During the night, however, when the blinds are drawn, the lights off, the chairs empty, only one sound can be heard. As the clock that is always 2 minutes and 34 seconds late strikes midnight, a presence emerges from thin air. The students of this classroom always see strange things when they pay attention; catch glimpses of shadows, hear rattling by the lockers, feel someone over their shoulder. And the cause of these phenomena appears at midnight; performing a solo piano piece for the dead.
I long for yesterday. I fear tomorrow and ignore the now. Yesterday I was prepared. Yesterday I yearned for today. Yesterday will never be here again. I will never reach yesterday, however hard I try. Today, I wish for yesterday and hope that tomorrow never comes so that I could be closer to the yesterday that I am familiar with. Tomorrow is unclear, unwritten. Today is too fresh, too new. If I could go back, I would enjoy it more; I would appreciate what happened in that now, and by enjoying yesterday as today, I would not dread the tomorrow.
Four friends. Two girls. Two guys. Two loves, Two tragedies.
Once upon a time, there were four friends. These friends grew up together and underwent the transition from children to adults. And, as close friends are apt to, they fell in love. However, there was a slight problem...
One of the girl's name was Aba, the other Bab. Aba fell in love with Cad and Bab fell in love with Dac. Cad and Dac did not return their feelings. They, instead, had feelings for each other. The two guys were, if you haven't figured it out yet, gay. Poor girls.
Redemption; the act of redeeming, or of being redeemed. Whatever wrong that is done can be redeemed. Whatever wrong you do, I will forgive. Through thick and thin. Through rain, and hail and storm. Again and again, I will forgive you. Everyone makes mistakes, and nobody is perfect. Though you have wrong me, I will continue to love you. I will continue to care. No matter what. No sin is greater. I will forgive. If you're wrong, then I will be wrong by forgiving you. Therefore our two wrongs will make a right. If only we combine our wrongs together.
Hoppipola. What does that mean? As the old man jumps in the puddle and splashes the others, a smile comes to my face. They're happy, they're living. And suddenly, I want to be a part of what they're doing. I want to belong, I want to live. Although they are old, their smiles still brighten up the day. To have lived that long is not an accomplishment. It is a success. I would yearn to be that old. I would love to see what they have seen. Their history locked away forever in their insane minds. The key suddenly gone.
Save me a spot in college. Out of the thousands of applicants, only a few make it to their top schools. As the economy worsens, these few become less. There is no space for them. Their minds become wasted in mindless jobs. If they are not prepared, they will end up at dead end jobs for decades, generations. If by some miracle they are accepted into their top choice school, they are fortunate. What about the others? Where will they go? How will they reach their goals? Who will save them a spot in college when they can't do it?
Deception is a two way street. There is always one who is deceived, and one who does the deceiving. Internally, it is the same person. When this happens, one subject becomes two. Two opposing beliefs, two opposing lies. That is the worst possible kind of deception. You have to be true to who you are. Be courageous; face your fears. Acknowledge the truth, don't bury it. Saying the truth is a lie is a lie. Saying the truth is the truth is truth. Don't lie. Because in a crazy world, there is no one to turn to but your mind.
The two sides charge forward. They collide. The front lines, instantly falling down to their knees, forever closing their eyes to the world. Who are these people? No one knows. Did these people know of their doomed fate? Those who are first in the battle are sure to die. Yet, when they take up the front lines, do they know? Are they extremely courageous or simply stupid? Did they want to die? Did they want to disappear from this earth. Did they want to be part of the statistics that degrade each and everyone of the lost soldiers? Did they?
The whole world is our backyard. However, this backyard is littered with old toys, forgotten and lost. Littered with trash, left for the wind to pick up and blow to the other side of the fence, where the grass is greener, where we all want to be. Our lawn is not mowed. Weeds sprout from the ground, seeking attention, but receiving none, growing wildly out of control like children without the proper care of parents. Our backyard is a mess. Who will pick it up? Not I. Not him. Not them. No one. Is the lawn a lost cause already?
An eyelash. How can one single hair be subject to wishes? Its insignificance makes is so unimportant that it has become a signal. A small minuscule eyelash falls to the floor. Our eyes miss the action. Yet it falls to the ground like any other object under gravity. The wind picks it up. Where does it go? Like the tree that falls and does not make any sound, does this single eyelash, after falling from our eye lid and floating away, does it exist? If no one sees the eyelash, does it matter? Can't it just disappear just as easily?
On the last day of school I will request something of you. I will ask you not to move, not to comment, not to push me away. Slowly, but certainly, I will step closer to you. I will stand on the tips of my toes so that my lips could graze yours. It will be quick, and hopefully painless. It is up to you what happens next. I will simply walk away, forevermore a mere memory to you. To me, however, you will be the one that I longed for, the one forever in my dreams, the one I love.
Our hands touched. Not hands per se. Our thumbs. When they joined, your entire body's warmth engulfed me. I felt you breathe. I felt every beat of your heart. Your flutter of eyelids. Every quirk of your lip. I held my breath and made a wish. The same wish I have been wishing since I met you. The same wish that I waste every birthday, every shooting star, every fallen eyelash on. After you removed your thumb, the eyelash was on my thumb. I rejoiced! But before I could seal the deal, the eyelash was blown away, forever in nonexistence.
The wheelchair rolled as you pushed it. In that instant, I pictured you and me, growing old together. We would be forever and always together. Your footsteps echoed through the hall. Your hands holding the handles of the wheelchair, gently pushing me onward. For some reason I would be paralyzed from the waist down. But you would be there. You would save me from a near death experience. You would stand at my side. Your head would rest on mine, you hands holding me close. In an instant that image vanished as you pushed the wheelchair away, leaving me alone.
A splash. One single splash. One touch of a fingertip on the clear still surface would cause ripples that grew in infinitesimal size. They would spread out, ripple after ripple until the naked eye could not see it anymore. Would they still continue after that? What if all the ripples in the world led to one destined spot. What if after we had thought there was an end, the ripples would continue, unseen, forever and ever? They would overlap and create a whole vibration that would stir the sea alive. Stir it so much that great waves would be created.
Will I be accepted? Will I have a future? Sometimes I could sense the future coming. I picture myself in a position and it happens. Why can't I picture myself now? Why can't I see myself in college? Will I become so depressed that I will contemplate and act on suicide? Will a one in a million accident happen to me, the one? Will I die? Will I simply not choose to go to college? Why? I have planned for this day. I have based my entire educational career on my future. What if there is no future for me?
I'm letting my hair down for you. When that day comes, my hair will cascade down my back in curls and waves of great magnitude. They will be made professionally. Just for you. I will let my hair grow so long that it will touch below my waist. When I hug you, you will touch my hair. If I pull my head back enough, my hair will touch the floor. My hair will grow for you. I will let down my hair for you. I will wait until the last minute and show you, and only you, my untied hair.
A key hangs by my door. It is old and rotten with age, but like all things old, it has a history. This history is a mystery to everyone but the key. No one will truly know all the hands that have touched this key. No one will truly know how many doors this one single key can unlock. No one will know if this key once had an owner. How was this key created? By whom? What gave it it's odd coloring and dark spots? What gave it the appearance of its oldness? Not one person will truly know.
There is a purpose to every single minute in a movie. A video is not just made for entertainment; it is an art, and every single minute counts. The directors and producers will not pay a single cent more for a scene, for a whole minute, for a few seconds of extra superfluous film. Every shot counts. The reality of it is that films are based on life. The lover's woe, the lost family members. The happiness and joy of life. All of these things are often portrayed in a movie. So then wouldn't every second of our lives count?
What is beautiful about music? The thing that attracts me is the tones and the instruments themselves. Every instrument is different, just like every person. Each instrument has its own personality that gives it life. Like in Harry Potter, a flute chooses its master. When personalities click, the player and the instrument become one; a musician. They create a rich tone, create more than just noise. They create music, an art that is difficult to do. Most and many musicians make noise. Only those lucky few are able to bond with their instruments to create actual, awe inspiring musical tones.
Sleep evades me. What is it that keeps me awake? Is it the nightmares? Those dreams in which the reality of them scare me to pieces and brings me to tears? Is it the dreams that involve those that I love deeply? Is it the fact that in my dreams, my own personal dreams, where whatever I want happens and whatever happens I want? Is it in these dreams, when even in my own personal deep wishes, the person I love the most rejects me that evades me from sleeping? Because why would I wish to be rejected and dejected?
Footsteps fall. Heel first, then toes. As these feet walk through the autumn air, the crisp leaves crunch under the weight of these legs. They carry the hips of a person who is not afraid of anything. The torso of a proud and rebellious person. The swinging arms of a man not afraid of anything. The proud head held high of a man who is content with life, who wakes up smiling. Who laughs at his own jokes, who never gets mad, who the patience of a monk. This person walks with a purpose and wastes no minutes of life.
Somewhere out there. Somewhere in the world. Because there is only one place in which we live in; our minds. We dwell so much on what others perception is because we are the ones who judge, we are the ones to throw the first stone. Everywhere else is "somewhere out there." We live in our minds. What if this world is just in our imagination? What if we were not puppets to an invisible powerful being but actually creators of our own world. A world that is imperfect and unequal and our purpose is to balance it out by ourselves?
Why is it that every other nation refers to us as America and not the United States of America? Are we so united that to other nations we are but one entire being, not outlined by invisible lines that separate different state governments and state laws? Why is it that we choose to call ourselves United States of America? Is it a reminder to us so that we won't forgot how united we are? How close-fitting we live? How crowded we share our living quarters? How we all fit together like puzzle-pieces, cut up individually and then glued together?
I waited so long that I missed it. And now, for the following month of February, I will not be able to write. What prevented me from writing this month? Was it the stress of Finals? The stress of not studying the night away? The stress that although I did nothing, Nothing is what accomplished? Was it the dread that in the near future, although we'd start out fresh, the dead weight of the previous semester dragging me down and preventing me from moving forward. Was it that I simply forgot? That, once again, procrastination made a fool of me?
Orange colored sky. The blood red sun. The clouds part, letting the sun take center stage, like an actor waiting behind thick white curtains. This actor however, does not need a limelight. This actor, so special and majestic, provides its own limelight, its own shining light, its own bright star. Off to the opposite side, the moon watches. The sun, it turns out, was not showing off its grandeur, but trying to impress the quiet and shy Moon. Although the stage is set and everyone is welcome, the Sun has eyes for the Moon only. Opposites attract; the Sun hopes.
A musician plays his trumpet to an empty auditorium. His sound echoes and bounces back, responding to its own music. A teacher stands in front of a classroom, paying attention to one student in particular, and ignoring all others, brotherly love in his eyes. A doctor walks the halls of an empty hospital. The doors providing direction for him, but being devoid of patients. No one for him to treat. No one to belong in the classroom. No one to listen to the trumpets sweet melody. In a world where we are all individually different, yet all technically the same.
The new year celebrations continue all though the night. The drink in my hands cools as the night progresses. The fizzing drink lays level and nonchalant. The same for my expression. I pretend to sip my drink, while keeping an eye out for people watching me. When all eyes turn to catch the fireworks, my hand purposefully slips and spills my contents into another's drink. I secretly smile. As quick as I can, I walk away and head toward the restroom, to hide. I don't have to wait long. Minutes later, shrieks of panic and pain are heard. I succeeded.
Lips press against my skin. I relish in them, enjoying them too much. My neutrality cracks as I moan out a name. Said person stops. I sigh angrily in between apologies. The person sits up and looks at me lying on the bed. I stare back, trying to hide my emotions, the hurt of the rejection, the sting of tears threatening to escape. Pitiful eyes look back at me, and for the second time that night, my composure cracks. A tear breaks free. Ashamed and embarrassed no more, I cry openly. Arms engulf me, comforting me, but causing more tears.
The image is forever implanted behind my closed eyelids. I tried not to look, but I couldn't resist, and now, I am haunted by what I will always yearn for, and could never have. While I tried to avert my gaze, his eyes seeked mine. The room is full of people, yet his eyes find mine, holding them. I blush. And suddenly I am sad. Sad that his eyes can't and won't ever hold mine again. Sad that the beautiful image of him will dwell in my dreams. Sad he will never make the exception for me. Sad for love.
Although the song is beautiful, it makes me cry. Its beauty is surreal and makes me feel more than I should. It calls out to me, letting me indulge in images of melancholy nostalgia. Of days that once were, where everything was much simpler. Of days that will be, where the future is always uncertain and is sometimes unfair. It speaks volumes in notes. Tears have begun to fall down my face. The beautiful creatures of God have passed their prime and now, its their time to go. Yet there is so much they haven't done. So much they should.
I wish you were here. I wish you were with me. I long for you. Wherever you might be, whomever might be with you, whichever way you turn, I want to be at your side. Would you let me in? Will you let me love you? I long for you. I want you to hold me. I want to hold you. I want you to tell me that you love me. I want you to tell me you'll be with me. Forever and always. I long for you. Before the day is over, I want to be with you, Love.
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