Her

"I wonder what would happen if I tried to ingest pen ink and white
out at the same time. Wouldn't they, as a technicality, cancel each
other out?"
The conversation ended there. It wasn't supposed to make sense. It
never did. She was the typa girl who kicked midair just to see the dust
move beneath her feet. She laughs at random moments to see others'
reactions, never for release. She's one to takes the letters from words
that correspond with music notes and transfers them to music just to
hear something unheard of before. She throws keys in the air to watch
the glint of the sun as it hits and reflects, and inadvertently gets
hit in the head because she was too enraptured in the other object. She
sprays beads of perfume into an open flame instead of wearing it,
thinking that it would smell better if it evaporated, completely
forgetting that eau de toilet is always flammable. Whoosh.

Friends are a veritable part of her life. Friends and family. Yes,
yes?how cute. But it's true. They have similar habits, her and her
respective dependants. She listens to things like BT and Jimmy Eat
World because of them. They send her random files without explanation.
They're mindless exchange of phrases never amount to anything. You ask
her or her companions what they're talking about and you'll always get,
"I have absolutely no idea." But you ask them what they're listening
to, and you get, "Perfect sense." As you can see, they function on a
different wavelength. Even if they don't function together, they at
least entwine with one another.

You'll constantly find her with her cheek on the tabletop. She isn't
really doing anything. She just lays her face to the cool surface and
blows the mist and carbon dioxide across the top. The effect is really
basically lost if you don't understand the reasoning behind it. You
won't understand it either, unless you step real close to her. Close
enough to actually watch the breath make its path onto the tabletop and
craft little designs. That's all she's doing. Just watching the
patterns. It only works real well on black surfaces though, cause of
the absence of color and all that artsy crap. Most people just stand at
a distance wondering what in the world the girl could possibly be doing
with her face to the tabletop. They never want to actually call out and
disturb her though. So sooner or later they'll step in real close and
whisper the words, as if the choke hold on the moment would break
otherwise. "What are you doing?" "Heh?I've been waiting for you to come
over here." "So?what are you doing?" "Just waiting." "Waiting?? Waiting
for what?" "Just waiting for?"

Dreams are too close to the reality, even though you always think
otherwise. Those distorted images of grandeur or poverty are supposed
to be nothing like the actuality. But they are. She dreams on rare
occasions. Either when she gets too much sleep or too little. She
dreams of being chased, in a blur, due to her near-sightedness. It
carries over to her dreams apparently. Always the hunted, never the
hunter. Prey. Now that's a misleading word if I've ever heard one.
Well, it's only misleading since we always learn the religious
connotation before the tragic one. Hm?maybe we should start teaching
our children about the animal concept of preying on the weaker first
instead. Start a generation of power hungry mongrels. Um?yeah,
nevermind. That would just lead to a rather tragic, if not possibly
welcome, apocalypse. But at least the dreams would end. She steps into
her reverie sometimes, just to relive that feeling of helplessness. Who
knows, it might strengthen her resolve. Only a slight catch to the
whole ordeal. Outside help must be administered for the side effects to
subside. Hehe?sounds like a warning on a bag of chips, or viagra.
"Hello?hello, wake up, stop staring at me!!" She shakes out of the
trance with a start. "What were you seeing?" "Me? Oh nothing, just some
ghosts, that's all."

What is it that people say? Oh, that's it. "You find love not with a
person you could live with, but one you cannot live without."
So?basically, she's in love with everyone. But technically, so is the
entire world. If there were one person left, no matter what they were
like, you'd wanna live with them. Come on now, admit it. You'd MAKE
yourself live with them. Isolation isn't fun. That's why it's a
punishment. You never hear people say they were put in isolation cause
they were being obedient, cause that'd just be absurd. Sensory
deprivation. Ick.

She wishes she could breathe again. Just one full breath. Without
having to choke and gasp and struggle for the air. But it always seems
like her head's so packed in bubble wrap that nothing could break
though. Only thing that happens when you try to break through is that
you're able to make those horrendous cracking and popping noises.
Alright, so it's not a very good analogy, but you get the idea. Oh no,
she's not sick or anything. Just tired, and cold, and plain drained.
Heh, that rhymes. Taking one full breath means you're taking from
someone else, something that she just can't bring herself to do. But if
you take small little inhalations, someone else can greedily suck up
what could've been yours, but now isn't. That's all our world has
become, a series of little breathers and big breathers.

Sometimes, you just can't add to things. Things are the way they are
for a reason and you just can't contest it. You do your best to figure
it out the first time and if you can't?then it's your problem, not
anyone else's. But others always try to help. Always. And then when
they don't understand your way, they get angry. Some help huh. Yes,
let's try and help her, but she's too stubborn and won't change HER
way. Cause you KNOW that that was the original intent. To MAKE her
change her way. You've gotta wonder where our humanity's going when the
original, the basis of anything and everything, just isn't
enough.

She's a writer. Writing's an art, as we all know. How else would
someone make a living off of it? But it's a mood. It's not just an art.
It's something that needs to be felt. It's indescribable. Writing's
like that absolute NEED to burst into song, but you can't cause you're
tone deaf. It's like little droplets of water trying to escape from its
confinement within a water balloon. You can squeeze the little rubbery
substance all you want, but until a hole's found, nothing's gonna drip
out. Wow, I'm just full of analogies today. So what if none of them
make any sort of coherent sense. It's the thought that counts
right?

For now?there's too many things that just can't be answered. The
universal questions of why we're here, what is love, and what to do
about any of these above topics most likely will never be answered, not
that they're really supposed to be. More a call of judgment per say?
Nothing finite. It brings new meaning to the phrase "I've never seen
the end." Normally, it's a bad thing that you've never seen the end of
something. Means you've wasted the effort finding out the beginning and
middle, but couldn't stay through with it to its finale. But think
about it, what's so good about the end? It's a close to a possibly
joyous occasion. Why else would we also use the phrase "I wish this
would never end." She's never seen the end. She doesn't particularly
want to either. So for now, you'll find her with her cheek to the
tabletop, waiting. And in retrospect, what was she waiting for? "Just
waiting for??ever."