Waiting.

There are days when I miss you; I haven't even found you. You have been there all along, but at the same time you've been gone. You're right here with me- until I wake up and realize I've been sleeping alone. The warm breeze caresses my face and I am soon reminded of those nights you stood gazing into my eyes, while your hand touched the surface of my cheek.

I could never hide from you because you always saw right through my frightened eyes. You would hold my hand so perfectly that within that moment I was protected from the world. Long hugs shielded me from my suffering and pain. Your kisses assured and promised me your love. Like sand, you slipped and faded through the cracks of my imperfections. I could never hide from you, though there were many times I tried. With the words that spoke from the tongue and lips of your mouth, I melted and everything I thought I ever knew disappeared. You are never close, but always near; far but never gone. I have stood in between my past and my future, but you have been my present.

Sometimes I think I made you up in my own mind. Other times, I know you've been out there waiting for me to come back to you. If only we could live in this dream forever and never wake up. That will be the day you find me and I find you. I miss you, but I haven't even met you.

The One God Forgot.

Mom, as a 19 year old mother, still found herself searching for love while my father stood locked away in prison for selling drugs two years after I was born. You would assume after one bad-drug-selling boyfriend gets put away, she'd be done with drug-dealers altogether; it never quite ended so fast. I understand now, my mom never purposely set out to get involved with bad men, violent, drug-dealing men. As the oldest of two siblings, I couldn't help but wonder though, "Why Mom? Why do you love these men?" 

By the age of 5 she trained me to dial 9-1-1, and made sure that I knew my address and what to say had she ever needed me to call the police. My aunt always explained to me the situations in which it might be right to call on my own, even without her permission. I didn't understand much then why I would have to make such a call, or why I would ever be put in such a situation where the only thing that could save me or my mom was by dialing 3-digits.

When mom met my Renee's father, he appeared charming, caring, and romantic. He appeared to have good intentions towards her and he willingly accepted the fact that she had a lot of baggage-- me, plus all the rest of her drama and history. A few months into their relationship and he was already living with us, so our small, one-bedroom apartment in the ghetto of Fordham Road, went from holding just two people to squeezing three. Little time went by before his temper tantrums unleashed like hot lava out of an active volcano. There was no satisfying his needs, requests, and demands. He wanted to track her every move, and demanded her every bit of attention at all times, all places. Even attending work became limited because God-forbid there wasn't a hot, freshly cooked meal waiting for him at the table when he got home. Eventually, all this verbal aggression became more physical. He set rules for her to follow, including no going out without his permission, no calling her family, no calling her friends, no talking to anyone about anything, and always telling him where she was at, at all times. Even when she followed the rules, he would still find a reason to beat her, coming up with any excuse for why she deserved it. I never seen anyone get beaten so bad- I was scared I couldn't save her.

By the time I was six, his routine beatings had become a norm in my house, and she eventually had no contact with the outside world, even when she was outside. I was told not to talk about any of it at school, or to anyone else, and I never did. Mom became pregnant with Renee, and the summer right before she was born, he dragged us on a trip to Colombia with him. The trip was nothing but business for him. He was a drug dealer and he needed to cover up some tracks he had over there or work-out some more deals, I suppose. Going into the airport, security wouldn't ever thoroughly check a child, so he found it very useful if I had accompanied them to Colombia, that's how I ended up going. In the bathroom at the airport, my mother stuffed stacks and rolls of bills into my pants. I knew I couldn't ask what it was for, so I kept my mouth shut and didn't complain. I got through security just fine, and for the rest of the plane ride, I had to sit uncomfortably with money shoved down my pants.

We stayed at his family’s home in Colombia and it appeared to be one huge party when we first arrived there. All the men had loaded guns and were shooting at a brick wall located in the back of the house. There wasn't really a bathroom, or comfortable beds, and somehow everyone had to squeeze themselves into rooms since there wasn’t much space. The roof didn’t actually appear to be a roof at all, and most of the rooms had no doors for privacy. It was overcrowded and uncomfortable. My duration there is now very blurry due to the fact that I've been trying to repress such memories ever since I was there. I recall being there for a few weeks, and after a few days I warmed up to the little kids there and made friends. Many mornings I remember waking up to him beating my mother mercilessly, even though she was 8 months pregnant with his child. Many mornings I would be in hysterics and scream for help and his entire family would just look at me like I was delusional or possessed. Many mornings I sat there completely hopeless and frightened that my only sibling would probably die right there and then. There was nothing I could do; we were in another country and on his territory. My mother finally realized that his aggression and violence would soon be detrimental to the survival of my sister, her, and I. Somehow, she got in contact with my godmother- who was her best friend since high school- and asked her to come to Colombia to help us escape. Being the kind, warm-hearted, caring friend that my godmother is, she came with the quickness.

My mother arranged an appointment to get her hair done at a salon not too far away from where we had been staying. The plan was for him to drop us off, and pick us up after 2 or 3 hours, and then continue on with the day's plans. Luckily, he didn't realize my mom had another agenda, secretly. My godmother met us at the salon an hour after he had left us there. They spoke to the owner of the salon who was working that day, and explained to her our situation and the owner agreed to keep her mouth shut about our whereabouts. We got in a cab and headed far out into another town. We stood the night in a small cheap hotel, until they could figure out how they’d get me back into the United States without a passport. We left all our clothes, luggage, and belongings back at where were originally staying; it'd be too obvious to try and pack those things and bring to a "hair appointment." Shortly after our disappearance, he noticed we were gone when he returned to the salon to check up on us, and saw we weren't there. He questioned the owner about our whereabouts, but she gave out no information. She then paid the price for her silence at a high cost. He shot and killed her eldest son, who had come out from the back of the salon to defend her and ask him to leave... I didn’t find this out until years later.

Though we arrived back to New York City safely, it would only be a matter of time before he came back to the city and found us again. School started in early September, and my sister was born a healthy child, thankfully. Things only seemed to get worse because he never forgave her for escaping the way she did. He started following my mom everywhere she went in order to assure himself that she would not try to escape again. Every morning, she would drive me to my Catholic elementary school and he’d be just a few feet behind us in his car, watching her walk me into the school. One day in particular, that I know I’ll never forget was when she dropped me off at school late. My school, being a religious and private school, was very strict on attendance and every time a child was late, the parent had to sign a sheet and document the reason for the child’s lateness. My mother was in the middle of signing me in late at the security desk, and suddenly he came rushing in the building, screaming and accusing her of something that wasn’t true. Somehow, in the midst of all his yelling, he found a metal fold-up chair and threw it at us and threatened to kill us and pulled out his fully loaded gun that he always had with him, right there in the school. The security guard quickly rushed us to the principal’s office for safety and my mother was in hysterics. The principal called the police for us and he was arrested only for a few days. When he came back out, the beatings got even worse. My mother couldn’t go out at all, and it even resorted to me getting hit and slammed around several times by him. I called 9-1-1 numerous times and he still found a way to come back. After all those times, I remember locking myself in the bathroom with the phone in my hands, wondering, "What am I calling 9-1-1 for, if no one is going to save me?"

After that incident at school, I was required to go to counseling twice a week at school. They’d sit me down and ask me questions about what was going on at home and how I was feeling. I didn’t want to think about how I was feeling and I didn’t want to think about what was going on at home. I just wanted to be a normal kid, who colored and played and made friends. Much of that year, I was a quiet student who didn’t speak or participate in class. My teachers thought I needed “special attention” because I wasn’t keeping up with the work, and I couldn’t concentrate in school; I was depressed and the only solution I found was to keep quiet and repress my feelings- it was what I was told to do after all. After school, I would go home to watch Disney movies all day and all night, just wrapping my mind in something other than what was going on in my life and in my house. I later on found out that I was removed from the school and not allowed to return for the third grade because my family situation was threatening the lives of other students, which became a safety issue; so much for God and those who worshipped him wanting to protect me and help me.

I stopped going to counseling and I never mentioned anything to anyone at my new school of such experiences. I went on as if nothing had ever happened and tried to start anew. Finally, after several more arrests, he was caught and incarcerated for a duration of 7 years. They sentenced him to a correctional facility far out in Texas somewhere, which to me, was the best thing that could have ever happened. My mother had no more boyfriends for a long time, and though life felt much lonelier that way, it was what she needed in order to recover from such a violent relationship. During elementary and junior high school, I chose not to express the affect of what I had gone through. It always seemed much easier to pretend to be happy than to actually be happy. When I got to high school, I fell into a deep depression and suddenly all those old memories revived themselves in my mind, which led me further down in a spiral like worm-hole overwhelmed with my emotions. I grew angry at my mother, and began to idolize my father, who had finally gotten out of prison sometime while I was in junior high school.

Not knowing my father very well, I thought he was a great man, even though he went to jail for reasons I didn’t understand. Right after getting out of jail, he got a good job, a nice girlfriend, a house and a car. He taught me to play softball and basketball and took me out occasionally. Everything seemed to be perfect. Soon after moving into this huge house with my stepmother, her and I both saw the real him. Every weekend he’d pick me up from my mother’s house, take me over to his house, and then he'd hurry out to meet up with his friends for a night of drinking and partying. My stepmother made sure to keep me and her son entertained by playing board games with us, or renting movies for us to watch. Some weekends, my father would be gone the entire time, and I wouldn’t even see him except in the afternoon when he was asleep and too hung-over to do anything. I started to slowly see that he too was not perfect. Finally after one of his infamous drunken night's out, he came home around 2 or 3 in the morning with my stepmom. I heard them when they came in because he was shouting and screaming at her about something. I peaked out my room door to see what was going on, and I see my stepmom in tears, and in a flash, he punched her in the face. She fall to the floor was so loud, I was certain our neighbors heard it. I cried as I watched her cry, and my heart hurt as hers broke. It brought back flashbacks of all the times I had to sit helplessly and watch my mother get beaten down by a man. I thought he would be a different kind of man, but I guess I was wrong. It was even more heart-breaking when my stepmother and I found out he had gotten into a serious car accident that nearly killed him, his brother, and a woman who was with them. We found out the woman involved in the car accident with him was his mistress for four of the five years that he was engaged to my stepmother. Everything I thought I knew about him, everything I thought he was, began to shatter right in front of me. It was bad enough to have a mother that put me through hell with her boyfriends, and now to have two parents, who were just so broken and damaged, made me feel hopeless about my own self and future.

By the time I was 14, my father once again got locked-up and sentenced to 6 years in prison for punching a cop. There was no way I could explain the pain of my disappointment in him. He let me down for a second time, he let my stepmother down, and he let his other two children down. They too, would be fatherless just as I was, resorting only to monthly or bi-monthly prison visits.

Many nights, as a child when going through those hard times with my mother, I prayed to God with all my might to send me back my father, in hopes of him saving me. God did send me back my father, but not at all the father I imagined him to be. Not at all the man I thought he was. Many nights, as an adolescent going through more hard times on my own, I prayed to God to just save me from myself. I prayed and I prayed, I cried and I cried, I begged as if my life depended on it. I see now, that the affects of such traumatizing events and disappointment, damaged me in ways that are far too complicated to explain. Where was God all those nights I prayed and cried for his help? Why was he not there to help me? I know people say that “everything happens for a reason,” but I have come to believe that, that is not true. Things happen only according to the will of yourself and of those around you. Things happen only when choices are made, regardless if they are good or bad, and ultimately even the smallest choice, can affect the lives of others.

For those who believe in God, I am sure you have your reasons that may be so embedded in your roots that you don’t dare to question the existence of Him. I am sure at one time or another, some people may have lost faith but then miraculously regained it. Such doubts should raise questions, and questions should not go unanswered; believing that something bad and unexplainable has happened to someone or some people is because God made it so, is not an answer.

There have been several arguments for the existence of God: ontological, cosmological, teleological, and mystical experiences. I have studied and read about all of these arguments and realized that none are consistent, and all are contradictory. In terms of logic, believers refer to God with these attributes: 1) God is all-powerful; 2) God is all-knowing; 3) God is perfectly good; 4) God exists. Religious believers then forget the problem of evil: 5) Evil exists. If God is omnipotent then he is limitless in his power, wholly good, and all-knowing, then he can and would be willing to eliminate all evil with his limitless power- but yet we find that evil still exists. If evil still exists, then God must not exist. Take away one of God’s attributes, and then the problem of evil is solved. When I refer to evil, I am speaking of the unjust, unexplainable wrongs of the world- i.e. a baby being kidnapped and killed. If everything happens for a reason, and if God exists, why should a baby be killed and pay an unnecessary price? Why do innocent children get victimized or killed? Why do innocent bystanders get killed during war? These evils are not explainable and cannot be justified by saying that “God has a plan and everything happens for a reason.” Evil is a constant in this world and has existed since the beginning of time, it is a fact that it exists since we can witness it on a day-to-day basis, experience it, and even be victims of it. Some religious believers have provided adequate solutions such as: 1) Those we call evil aren’t really evil; 2) Evil is merely the privation of good, that evil in a positive sense, evil that would really be opposed to good, does not exist; 3) Disorder is harmony not understood and that partial evil is universal good (according to the Pope). According to John L. Mackie, in his argument from the Problem of Evil, he states:

“The thinkers who restrict God’s power, but keep the term ‘omnipotence,’ may reasonably be suspected of thinking, in other contexts, that his power is really unlimited. Those who say that evil is an illusion may also be thinking, inconsistently, that the illusion is itself an evil. Those who say ‘evil’ is merely privation of good may also be thinking, inconsistently, that privation of good is an evil… If the Pope meant what he said in the first line of his couplet, that ‘disorder’ is only harmony not understood, the ‘partial evil’ of the second line must, for consistency, mean ‘that which, taken in isolation, falsely appears to be evil.’”

Then there are the fallacious solutions, which include: 1) Good cannot exist without evil; 2) Evil is necessary as a means to good; 3) The universe is better with some evil in it than it could be if there were no evil; 4) Evil is due to human free will. In overall, there are inconsistencies in all of these solutions. The issue at hand is that unjustified, unexplainable evil exists and has always existed- do the victims of such evil deserve to suffer, to be traumatized, or lose their lives because “God has made it that way”, because God has a “plan”? If God knows-all and is so powerful, why create people who would commit such evil crimes in the first place? This world could have been made just fine without evil in it, but it wasn’t and so people will suffer, die, and go through unnecessary and unjustifiable experiences of evil. There is no plan, there is no reason, and no one deserves to play the victim of someone else’s unexplainable evil doings and actions. Therefore, there is no God- at least, not to me.

Along with the loss of my faith in God, I have lost faith in myself. It is now that I am 21 years old and I am just realizing that I spent my whole life feeling depressed over the trauma and disappointment that I endured as a child. I spent my whole life trying to pretend I was normal and I was fine, and that I am happier than ever. I spent my whole life lying to myself and lying to others-= putting up this image that I was so strong and can deal with anything. The truth is, I am still depressed, and I am more damaged than ever. I am broken into a million little pieces.

I have spent several years searching for that one person that I could open up my heart to and just pour out all these repressed feelings and memories. I thought I found him. He appeared caring, warm-hearted, concerned, and willing to help me fix me. He didn’t judge me and he accepted me with all my baggage, dysfunctions, and low self-esteem. It took me some time to finally crack open and pour my heart out, but the moment I handed to him all that was left of me, he went and broke it even further. My depression has extended out longer than I can handle, and I have been having the hardest time finding a way to express myself. My writing is my only constant, the only thing that won’t judge me, criticize me, feel pity for me, or take advantage of me.

When all faith is gone and all outlets have vanished, there is no one left- but me. I have come to rely on myself more than ever. These days have felt longer and colder, and all that crosses my mind hour-to-hour is, “How could I be so broken? How did I end up so alone? Why doesn’t anyone understand me?” Secretly, I have been yearning and crying out for help from my friends, but even my most straight-forwarded requests for help haven’t done much. Sometimes skulls are thick, sometimes hearts are vacant, sometimes... words don't work.

Deep down in my soul, I know my loss in faith isn’t completely shattered, but I then begin to think, “Maybe God has forgotten me.” Like others in the world who are going through their own hard times and traumatic experiences, I know they too, wonder, “Maybe God has forgotten us.”

“The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel. 
I broke something, Old Man. 
How badly is it broken? 
It's in a million little pieces. 
I'm afraid I can't help you. 
Why? 
There's nothing you can do. 
Why? 
It can't be fixed. 
Why? 
It's broken beyond repair. It's in a million little pieces.”

Move Along.

Written: Sunday, January 11, 2009 at 5:31am

It's just been one of those days where nothing but staying home seems right. I spent most of this day dancing around, feeling good- feeling myself again. Just as I'm attempting to go to sleep, some thoughts slowly crept up. He comes to mind during the most random moments of my day, only reminding me of how broken my heart still is.

Just seven months ago, I was certain that him and I would make it through whatever issues we were dealing with. Realistically, it takes two in order to make a relationship work. I may have been certain that things could have worked out, but in his perspective the relationship was already over- too bad I got the memo too late. Right before my 20th birthday, it was official that there was no going back to "us." There was just him, and then there was just me. Alone; and back to square one. During that moment in time, I was positive that things could only continue to get worse for me. I spent many days crying, grieving, feeling ashamed to speak about it with my family, but like a deep cut, I was just gushing out my feelings to my friends. I'm sure there were days that they got tired of hearing about my heart-ache, my heart-break, and how I swore that life would never be the same. I was right about life never being the same, because it wasn't. School started in the Fall, as it was expected to and I was not mentally prepared to handle on the work load because emotionally I was dragging myself in a spiral down hoping to hit rock bottom. I began working again part-time and started Air Force ROTC. Work on top of work, plus more work- and I thought I would fail. All semester long I forced myself to keep it together, keep on moving, but I still felt it wasn't enough. To my friends I appeared to be the person I normally am- happy and positive- but deep down my feelings were eating me up... By the end of the semester, my struggle to maintain my grades and positive attitude overcame the issue of moving on. Victory once again, but under a different kind of light.

My grandmother (from my mother's side) reminded me of something important to keep in mind when going through times like that: "The days are long, but the years go by fast." At first, it made absolutely no sense to me, but nonetheless, I kept her words in mind. She was right, the days felt so long, but they went by fast. I reflect now on times when I felt as low as I did just a month ago, and I wonder how did I get over it? There's no exact equation, or cure, or solution. It just takes time. And "when you think you have it bad, someone else has it worse." My mother has had it worse. Both of my grandmothers and my aunt have had it worse. I have heard their stories of getting their hearts broken and I only feel selfish when I think of how dramatic I've been. Imagine: loving a man, but later learning to find out that the feeling is not mutual, even though you had been led on to believe it was; coming to terms with reality while battling the spirit of hope- hoping he would one day have a change of heart, and realize you are a great woman even with all your flaws. After reality sets in, hope is just another word in the dictionary. Hearts have been broken many times before mine. Sadly, I have seen the result of it; selfish, cold-hearted, self-sabotoging, low self-esteem, vulnerable, overly-protective women. It's a mess. I can only remind myself of all the other women who found ways to move on, be strong, and forget all the sorrows and regrets. Just this alone, allows me to feel grateful for this heart-breaking experience, and allows me to feel proud to know I have not let it affect me so greatly as if it were to change me negatively.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago where I found the strength to let go of my fears and finally agree to some changes I need to make with myself. This is part of moving on. I have a plan that I need to follow through with- getting my heart broken wasn't part of the plan- but I can always incorporate the lessons that came along with it. I am finally learning to move on.


For my female friends who have dealt with this before, I have hope- not that the "right" man is going to find us, but that we will learn to choose the right man. We have such a long way to go. I suggest we take this time out to reconstruct our souls, hearts, minds and bodies before we put ourselves back on the map. It's a better idea to spend some time on yourself, before you give your time to someone else. Don't classify this advice as a way of being alone- just a way of finding solitude. For my male friends who read this, I know some of you have dealt with this as well and the advice applies to you too... For once, let's find a way to make love wiser.

-A.S.H.- <3

When We Played As Kids.

Written: Monday, May 4, 2009 at 12:00am


If I could go back in time to when we played as kids, I would.

I've been reminiscing a lot lately on old memories; looking through old journals and old photos- there were only the best of times, even when I thought it was bad.

Going way back to when things were so elementary, there was always me, Jerlina, Jessica, and Debbie. I called us, "DaJj." During the school year we'd patiently wait for the latest albums from N'SYNC and the Backstreet Boys to come out. Running home from school to watch TRL at 3:30PM and find out which boy band group would be number one. We'd learn lyrics, watch the videos repeatedly, and try to mimic the choreography. (Ha! Those were the days!) We were convinced that us as a group, we'd be the next best thing in the music industry- or at least, that was my dream. Summer time brought us to selling lemonade and candy in front of our building on 176th street. Spring time turned into days of rollerblading, basketball, baseball, volleyball, or just hanging out at the park or in front of the building; thinking of new adventures to embark on. We had big dreams then. We have bigger dreams now.

Junior high school wasn't always the best of times for me. I struggled to fit in and socialize. You can just say, I was an odd-ball. By the 7th grade Jerlina and Jessica had moved away to Florida, and then there was Alex, Anthony, Kelvin, and Robert (Steven). We'd all walk home from school together, and when the weather got warm, they'd all come over to my house or the pizzeria on 177th street to chill and hang out. The inside jokes we shared, the fights and drama we had. Nonetheless, we were still friends. I'm sure they can tell you this, and may just bring it up in a comment for this note: The day they decided to play hookie for the first time, me and another girl at school found out and snitched on them. I was just jealous that they didn't invite me. :/ Regardless, I still love them. Last day of school, 8th grade, Eddy decided to tag along with us on our walk to my house. He's been apart of our crew ever since. I call them my "90 Crew."

High school came around and I had still been friends with both DaJj and my 90 Crew. It was a weird transition into high school. I remember the first friends I made were Nadine and Naomi. From there, we made friends all over the place. Summer of 2005, I met Stephanie, Lizz, and Alicia. It was funny how we met, and I'd never forget it! We modeled and promoted for Club Exit (when it was still "Exit"), and after each modeling session, we'd hang out and grab food; talk, laugh, and share our life stories about our former crushes, and our future plans and dreams. I called them my "Notorious Angels." That summer brought us parties galore, and so much more. The late night hang-outs after getting out of the club and going home late. There were times I know we stayed out and saw the sun rise. Remember the nights of going to Mc Donald's at 3am to sit and chat about the newest drama in our lives? Riding around in Caba's car for hours blasting our song, "Oh Johnny"? I'd never forget those nights. The weekends of going to New Roc City in Johnny's (Johnathan) red Spyder, with the top lid back, and the music at full-blast. We've had our adventures; but we were young then, we are wise now. Then there was Jason, who had lived across the street from me, all my life- changed my perspective forever. He always says, "If you were to die now, would you say you've done all the things you've wanted to do?... If not, you better start living your life now, because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. That's how I roll." Ha, and he lives by those words, because every minute with him is an adventure all by itself.

I graduated high school in 2006, and most of the time it was only me and Stephanie- my" partner-in-crime," I'd call her. We had our fights, drama, moments, laughs, and share of good and bad memories. I'd go back and forth between my 90 crew and my Notorious Angels. Then, upon graduating, I became extremely close with Tiffany, from which in high school we never hung out much for reasons that were understandable. So then it was me, Tiffany, and Naomi- "The Trio."

Jerlina and I constantly kept in touch throughout the years, since she moved to Florida back when I was 12. It was hard not having her around, and it's still hard now. We speak often and seek advice from one another. We daydream of the days when we're roommates in a nice big house, a pool in the backyard, and all the fancy cars. Our dreams of being wealthy and successful, and traveling all over the world together. My first best friend. What would I have been without her?

The summers of 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, and New Years 2009, were the best I've ever had, and it was all because of each of these individuals. These individuals which became my second family, my support team, my partners, and my best friends. I don't know what had me thinking about all of these memories lately, but these memories, I miss. I miss these people. Of course, we don't hang out every day like the good ol' days, but its with the efforts in keeping in touch with each other that has filled my heart with happiness and hope that we would always remain in each others' lives. Of all the bad times, the drama, the tears, the fights, the jokes, the laughter, the parties, and the good times- I can honestly say, that I would do it all again if I could. Not so many years have gone by, but things have greatly changed. College, work, new families, new friends, life-lessons, more experiences, hearts-broken, hearts-mended, we are changed forever because of our experiences as friends and as individuals. I always think of them, because I know our friendships will live on forever. I just wanted to let them know how much I care.

For my newest friends, we have a journey ahead of us that I'm sure can make us or break us, but I hope no matter what, it'll keep us together. We've got a life to live, let's live it now.


"The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart." - Elizabeth Foley

"Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing." - Elie Wiesel

Just My Imagination.

Written: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 at 10:02pm


No one knew me quite as well as you did.

There was something about you that I saw in no one else during that brief period of time in which we met. You asked me what my name was and I told you so. Our souls intertwined in an instant, and in that very moment, I just knew. Months went by and we shared dirty little secrets of each others past lives; spoke of adventures and dreams we'd some day touch like the sky- if you could only touch the sky. You stole the words and thoughts right out of my mind and read me like a novel. I was always a fiction writer, I tell you- but you knew not all of it was just my imagination. We shared a sacred bond that no one could break; a sacred world where my revolutionary ideas were free. We were free, together. The pages in my journal were soon filled with vivid memories of you. Those memories are nothing now but visions that I can only replay when I sleep at night. I can only see you when I sleep tonight. Seasons came and went, and you were gone with the wind. I could always feel your presence around but never touch you, see you- I can only breathe you.

Maybe it was just my imagination, running away with me.

-A.S.H.- <3

Friends.

Sitting around the table with all of my friends- drinking, laughing, eating and sharing stories of good times prior. I remember thinking to myself, this moment is going to go by so fast, if only I could make it last just a little bit longer. Things never felt more right; as if when we were born, we were destined to be at this very place- at this very time. For once it all made sense. Flashbacks of times spent together crossed my mind. We were young, we were free, we were living life on the fast lane on the road to Anywhere- yet, we ended up here. No longer on the fast lane, we're older now, much wiser now, but still free. Sitting at that table seeing smiles on everyone's faces, the sound of laughter filling the air, we were still us. We've grown up in different places, all doing different things, with different dreams in mind. There's just no other comfort you can receive when you finally realize you found a place where you belong. Even though you've had long lonely rough days, where it seems like everything has been going wrong and things appear to be against you- these are the people I've turned to. These are the people that have helped guide me, mold me, influence me to be better. Better friends they are. People always say that you're family will always be there for you, I have always found this to be true. But you can't choose your family and you can't ever stop loving them because they're engraved in your DNA, they live in your blood. As for friends, there's a challenge in having friends. You can choose them. Some have been good, while others not so well. Some have stayed around, while others stayed around long enough to leave. The real challenge in life is in choosing your second family- your friends. Its not going to be easy but they will be worth it, if you choose wisely.

Unspoken Words.

You told me of all the good things you've been doing with yourself, and I told you of all the good things I've been doing. We spoke of old memories- ones that I've long forgotten. (How could I forget?) Each of us taking two different paths in life, leading us in two different directions. (Where will I be the next time we speak? Where will you have gone the next time we meet?) For so long, I've been angry with you for what you've done to us. For so long I've been hiding away from the world because of what I've done to us. I never did tell you the truth. (I don't know why.) The truth, I almost forgot all about it. (But how can I start brand new when you're still a part of me?) I forgot how happy I was when I found you, I forgot how happy I was when I was with you. I never forgot how destroyed I've been since we stopped speaking. I will never forget how hard it was just now to tell you the truth. You always appeared to be a far better person than I was, and because of that, I knew there was hope that I'd some day be like you. But I'm not you. I'm only me, and I've made many mistakes. I'm sorry.

"Memories, like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories, of the way we were," we used to sing this. Every song we used to sing together. On long road-trips we had our own playlist. Together, just you and I; taking over the world, is what I thought. I remember some of it now. Playing baseball in the park, sitting under the sun, holding my hand down the street. Things I have yet been able to replace. You told me just now, "these things are irreplaceable, but in time I'll find something better." I hope you're right because I've been waiting. I've been searching. I haven't found it.

Talking to you is like scratching off a scab from a wound that hasn't fully healed. It hurts, it stings, and it bleeds a bit. I forgot how nice it was just speaking to you. We used to always have things to talk about. Adventures that we'd like to encounter, places we'd like to see, and the things we'd one day do. (How could I forget?) I almost forgot you, and that is the truth. I've been trying so hard to delete you from my life, but somehow you never go. Even your silence I have missed.

I remember you now. The person you have become is not the person you were. Though your heart has grown cold, I know somewhere, deep down, you haven't forgotten me. (Will you ever?) I hope you don't. Two years of my life, most have told me it was a waste with you. I believed everyone for quite some time. I don't believe that anymore. You're not the same... But neither am I.

All these feelings, I never told you. All these thoughts from this past year, I have not shared with you. I wish you had more to feel, so then you would have more to say. We've run out of words this time.

My last words to you, are really my last words to you. The next time we speak, will be far from now, and I hope to share many new stories with you, as I know you will with me.