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A quick update, I suppose, on my life and my absence.

Preparing for college has been overwhelming. It has made me feel, once again, juvenile and helpless and somewhat empty. My writing seems to be reflecting that. I have enrolled in my courses- 19 hours of mostly Gen Ed and a ballroom dance course to entertain myself. I don't ever start class before 10:30. All in all, it's lovely. I leave August 17 with our very own Co.Konspirator as a sidekick. I'll be batman. He can be Robin.

There have been many things occupying my days. Painting, reading, work, and love have kept me very well occupied. There was dancing. There was embrace. And there was music.

Oh, there was music.

There is something so intimate in sharing experiences-- the concrete ones. The way it feels to know that the person standing next to you feels the same throb of bass in their chest, dizzying and disorienting. The way it feels to know that the person with their arms wrapped around you hears the same notes. That they are experiencing the same kiss, the same touch.

The joy is not the touch itself, it is sharing the touch.

I have fallen in love with children that are not my own, and that I will have to leave behind in just over a month. My heart will be broken, this is assured.

The innocence of childhood is so endearing; how can you ever let go of a child who you have fed, bathed, and slept next to?

I am not sure, but I shall have to learn.

I have, for all intensive purposes, graduated from highschool. It is a prison I do not care to look back to.

I have hid from this place of art and beauty, afraid of the words I create. Afraid that they are not good enough. And I have hid longer, out of realization that that is such a silly thing to believe. I have nothing to prove. I am not a genius; no one is counting on my brilliance. I am a seventeen year old girl with red hair and freckles who knows what it is to love with every fiber of my being, and to hurt almost as deeply. That is what I have to offer to lit.org ; truth. That, and only that.

------
She falls softly down from towering pedastools...


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The following comments are for "June 2005"
by shefallssoftly

That is more than most...
"I am a seventeen year old girl with red hair and freckles who knows what it is to love with every fiber of my being, and to hurt almost as deeply. That is what I have to offer to lit.org ; truth. That, and only that."

Few give us that much. None can give more. Anyone who asks for more is asking for a lie.

Your work is better than much of what you'll find in college and beyond. But outside of the quality of your writing, you've got an honesty and openness that will serve you well if you don't get absolutely beaten up by people who will take advantage of those qualities. Try not to let everyone inside your confidence before finding out if they're totally evil or not.

Here's a clue -- as a redhead with freckles, you'll attract evil people. Don't know why, it just seems to be a general rule of thumb. My wife has red hair (no freckles, though). Your best bet is to find a few really good friends who can help you spot trouble. You've probably already figured that part out.

Stay in touch.

( Posted by: andyhavens [Member] On: July 23, 2005 )





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