120411 -- Lights Will Guide You Home
Dec. 4th, 2011 01:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
memorialrainbowI haven't written in here in a month or so.
I mean, that's understandable, considering that because of it I have a HUGE novel on my hands. Like, the biggest thing I've ever written. Like, a hundred and ten thousand words of novel are now on my hard drive waiting to be cleaned up and turned into something even more beautiful than they are right now. So it's totally acceptable that everything else has been blown off. I didn't mean for it to go that way, but it did.
Today is one of those days that I just wanted to take off. I want to focus on myself, on my room, on my laundry (which has gone basically unwashed -- I've had clean clothes, thank you very much) and on putting myself back together again.
Why is it so hard to stand up for myself, and so easy to let others take control? I even gladly put it on others to help me. I ask others to save me when it should be me saving myself. And I know I've made it far -- I've made it so far. But it's still hard to keep going the way I am. I can't always remember the words to say, the habits to make, the habits to break, and it's so easy to slip behind.
I opened up my windows this morning to let the light in. I want to live my life in a way that is bright and shining. I still want to protect what is important to me, though. I think I want to do that because, for me, that's part of love. That's part of life, part of living. I'm sorry if I just seem like a doll who does things because she has to.
What do I do? Where do I go from here? And how do I handle my life? Those are all things I want to decide for myself, and not have someone else decide for me. But then again, I've never been good at trusting myself. That reminds me of a story.
There is a story of a girl who only rode the local train to and from work every day. It took her longer, but she was more familiar with it, and that's why she took that train. It was comfortable. One day a boy told her to get off the train, to find a different train to ride. She loved the boy, and so, she did as he said. She did not do it because she wanted to, but because she was told to, as always. She continued to live off the train, taking a different route to work every day, living with peace every day because the boy was happy. If the boy was happy, she was happy. That was how she was used to living her life.
She slowly began to heal, but it was a process that would take time. She hung out with her friends. But one day, the boy wasn't there to tell her what to do. He told her to find her own way. Ashamed and confused, she went on a journey to find herself, accompanied by her best friends, to the end of the world. When she arrived there, she found something very important to her and swore she would keep it close. When she got back home after the journey's end, however, she lost the precious thing. So she went back to the end of the world and stayed there, moving into an apartment so high up that she could see hope outside her window. The glass chandelier was shattered; the last page was turned.
And she started taking the local train at the end of the world. The days got cloudy and she got busy and the real world was not kind.
One day, the express train was running with delays, so the local train was packed. While sitting in the front of the train, she met a familiar face, someone who reminded her of a better time. Charge the rod, wear the yellow ribbon in your hair, become an infinite silhouette. And she was reminded that the nights weren't as lonely as she thought. He asked her while she was still taking the local train; she said it was familiar. She could see into his eyes and see the other side of the end of the world.
She continued to take the six, but instead of forcing her off, the boy rode with her, and they spent the time dreaming and coloring. And every day, she would get off the six with a smile. One day the local train broke down between two stations; he kept her wishes inside a glass bottle, and she let him keep them safe. When she returned home, she saw all of the pictures they had colored together, and the truth was revealed.
The next morning, she forgot all about the local train and ran the ten blocks to the express train, just to catch him, to say, "Stay. Completely still." And the story continues.
Don't think, just feel. Believe. It makes me want to cry.
The six train is too late.
The six train is too late.
I'll say it seventy seven times over if I have to. The six train is too late. I'll run to the express every time if it means that I can survive, if another sunrise on Sand and Sky is possible, if the sun can shine no matter which end of the world I'm on.
The other end of the world.
That is where I want to go.
I mean, that's understandable, considering that because of it I have a HUGE novel on my hands. Like, the biggest thing I've ever written. Like, a hundred and ten thousand words of novel are now on my hard drive waiting to be cleaned up and turned into something even more beautiful than they are right now. So it's totally acceptable that everything else has been blown off. I didn't mean for it to go that way, but it did.
Today is one of those days that I just wanted to take off. I want to focus on myself, on my room, on my laundry (which has gone basically unwashed -- I've had clean clothes, thank you very much) and on putting myself back together again.
Why is it so hard to stand up for myself, and so easy to let others take control? I even gladly put it on others to help me. I ask others to save me when it should be me saving myself. And I know I've made it far -- I've made it so far. But it's still hard to keep going the way I am. I can't always remember the words to say, the habits to make, the habits to break, and it's so easy to slip behind.
I opened up my windows this morning to let the light in. I want to live my life in a way that is bright and shining. I still want to protect what is important to me, though. I think I want to do that because, for me, that's part of love. That's part of life, part of living. I'm sorry if I just seem like a doll who does things because she has to.
What do I do? Where do I go from here? And how do I handle my life? Those are all things I want to decide for myself, and not have someone else decide for me. But then again, I've never been good at trusting myself. That reminds me of a story.
There is a story of a girl who only rode the local train to and from work every day. It took her longer, but she was more familiar with it, and that's why she took that train. It was comfortable. One day a boy told her to get off the train, to find a different train to ride. She loved the boy, and so, she did as he said. She did not do it because she wanted to, but because she was told to, as always. She continued to live off the train, taking a different route to work every day, living with peace every day because the boy was happy. If the boy was happy, she was happy. That was how she was used to living her life.
She slowly began to heal, but it was a process that would take time. She hung out with her friends. But one day, the boy wasn't there to tell her what to do. He told her to find her own way. Ashamed and confused, she went on a journey to find herself, accompanied by her best friends, to the end of the world. When she arrived there, she found something very important to her and swore she would keep it close. When she got back home after the journey's end, however, she lost the precious thing. So she went back to the end of the world and stayed there, moving into an apartment so high up that she could see hope outside her window. The glass chandelier was shattered; the last page was turned.
And she started taking the local train at the end of the world. The days got cloudy and she got busy and the real world was not kind.
One day, the express train was running with delays, so the local train was packed. While sitting in the front of the train, she met a familiar face, someone who reminded her of a better time. Charge the rod, wear the yellow ribbon in your hair, become an infinite silhouette. And she was reminded that the nights weren't as lonely as she thought. He asked her while she was still taking the local train; she said it was familiar. She could see into his eyes and see the other side of the end of the world.
She continued to take the six, but instead of forcing her off, the boy rode with her, and they spent the time dreaming and coloring. And every day, she would get off the six with a smile. One day the local train broke down between two stations; he kept her wishes inside a glass bottle, and she let him keep them safe. When she returned home, she saw all of the pictures they had colored together, and the truth was revealed.
The next morning, she forgot all about the local train and ran the ten blocks to the express train, just to catch him, to say, "Stay. Completely still." And the story continues.
Don't think, just feel. Believe. It makes me want to cry.
The six train is too late.
The six train is too late.
I'll say it seventy seven times over if I have to. The six train is too late. I'll run to the express every time if it means that I can survive, if another sunrise on Sand and Sky is possible, if the sun can shine no matter which end of the world I'm on.
The other end of the world.
That is where I want to go.
