Times.

There are times when I want my life to be more exciting, I want to take more risks, I want to do something wild. Do something I never thought I'd do. Then I think I need people to do it with. Some of these need company, but most don't. I can do the most bit until I meet somebody.

Birthday.

December 6th.

What a fantastic birthday I had. It was pretty much a three-day birthday. 5th, 6th and 7th. I bought new clothes, my friends surprised me by being where I didn't expect them to be, I met all those I wanted to meet, the weather was perfect and the coffee was even better.

The best birthday I've ever had.

That feeling again.

Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it is the extended stay at home. Maybe it was that moment when I reached the top of the hill and saw everything. And when I say something as specific as that, you know that is the reason. Sometimes its good and sometimes its bad because it gets me down. This time it was good because I hadn't felt like this in a long time.

Yeah, it Was good.

Are you there?

There are times when I don't want to talk to anyone, don't want to see anyone. Times when I don't like people. I have things to say though.

I wonder if anyone's listening here.

When the dreams stop, I can sleep.

This time.

This time I will fix myself.

You make a good picture.

In the rain, under the parapet of the abandoned house, ruffling your hair with your fingers to wring the water out. You make a good picture.

Sitting behind me on my bike, the left half of your face on my mirror. You make a good picture.

Bent down in a bookstore, hunting for that particular book and no other. You make a good picture.

Lying on your bed, with me beside you. We make a good picture.

Radiohead.

Radiohead saves me.

That there
That's not me
I go
Where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

- You look and there's nothing.

You made my day.

I met you as my day ended. What a rotten day it was. I wanted to break something, I wanted to hurt someone. And then you. You said hello and gave that smile of yours and suddenly, I was okay. Isn't that dangerous? Maybe. As long as I'm happy, right?

Sure.

In your arms.

In the rain,
under the dark sky,
water flowing through our toes,
I wish you could have me in your arms.

I think it's me.

I have days where I want to be around people, I love listening to them talk about everything. Even little things like having a chocolate after breakfast. But most days, I can't be around people. Little things annoy me, I want things to go my way. Either you're too quiet or you're too loud. You're too needy or you're too attached. You talk too much on the phone, you waste a lot of time. You complain about lots of things.

And yet, all of these things can be me at different times. I sometimes feel I will never be satisfied with someone/something. I feel I will always want something more, I will look for something that is not there and declare that what I have is imperfect and I can no longer be with it. I want to be alone, I want to have something to point at and complain.

Then there are those days where I love someone so much that the imperfections cease to exist.

It is so hard to adjust, to control myself, to not say things in order to stay in the circle of friends. I am not a bad person, I just don't like anyone.

Come, let's see how much I dislike you.

The things I saw.

Layers in my head. Yellow, tattered paper scribbled with a dull pencil. Scattered over, torn at the edges. Words begin to lift up from the paper and appears in my consciousness. Some click. Some don't. Words. The spindly letters entangled with other letters. Some words I decipher. Some I don't. Many I ignore. A used, gray, dirty eraser floats nearby, scratches the surface. Only the surface. The words remain. The ones I ignore stay. The music in the background begins and I drown it out. The pieces of paper begin to slip away like a dead, brown leaf being rushed by the harsh wind. I sound of the wind gets interrupted by another song. Oh these damned songs. Go away.

I cringe, but see a door. I push open the door, my legs planted firm, my arms pushing with all their might. Planted firm. I enter the room to find creepers running across the walls opposite me. Do I see a window there? A window covered with the dirty green and brown creeper. But I see it. The tiny purple flower growing on the outer edge. I feel the wind gushing in again and notice the tiny flicker of the colour purple.

My way out.

I feel something by my feet. I look down and see the little pieces of paper flowing in from under the door. The wind is pulling them closer. NO! I'm angry. I shut my eyes and yell, No!

I open to see the creeper gone, the window gone, the little speck of the colour purple gone. I look down to see my feet on the soft, wet, green grass. A breath in reveals it has rained. The smell of the fresh Earth after a short spell of rain. How can I forget this feeling?

Oh memories. The music begins again.

I take a few steps ahead and hear the rustling of dry leaves. I turn to look behind me and see the little pieces of paper fluttering like the dried leaves on a dying tree that are ready to fall down to the Earth and grow anew. I begin to run

I run and run and run and feel the soles of my shoes wearing out. Oh, the pain. So intense, I don't realise the music has stopped. My legs are tired, I want to sit down, the soft grass... I look down to see there is no grass anymore.

The floor. I see gray blocks of stone.

Aaaaagh. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. It's in your head. It's not real. What you saw was not real. What have you heard wasn't played.

No. I saw them. I heard them.

No, you didn't. You remembered them.

It plays in the background.

Past midnight, you can hear the wind.
Earphones plugged in, you venture out,
how appropriate, 'Darkfall'.

At a distance,
someone.

A leg propped up against the tree,
the silhouette, a thin frame.
His head looks down,
something lights up.

Beep.

Your phone.

You read,
you look up,
you turn back,
you walk far away.

New music.

Discovering a new band, God is an Astronaut. Give it a listen.

http://superadmusic.com/god/

Posts about other bands soon.

- It's so hard to do the right thing. What if I'm wrong?

The night sky.

The room is filled with smoke. The glass in your hand is empty. Your eyes are watery. You decide to take a walk out. You tell a friend you're going out for a bit, you smile as she doesn't accompany you. You walk out the door, down the stairs. You don't need to hold on to the railings for support, good. You reach the garden. Ah, fresh air. You find the swing next to the bench empty. You go sit on it and start swinging. You look up at the sky and you get a head rush. You stop, get the music player out of your pocket and plug in the earphones.

Music.

You start swinging again. You look up and see the black sky between the leaves. Sparkling stars, a far away planet.

First Memory.

He loved you, but you loved him more. Someone always loves more. He meant more to you than you did to him. You didn't think of it that way when you were with him. And when you're not together anymore, it all comes back. You lie to yourself, you try to forget some things, you pretend like it never happened.

One night you're walking back home, you go past the coffee shop where you shared coffees with him. You walk past the bookstore where he knocked off a pillar of books when he tried to sneak up to hug you. You find that the bakery shut it doors five months ago, but you didn't notice. Because you stopped going. And then you reach the house where he no longer lives.

You know someone else lives there now. You know him. You look up the window to find his back towards it. His silhouette.

As you look, the silhouette appears to change, becomes shorter, darker. You think you see smoke where his right hand ends. You blink and the flashes of the house's previous owner ends.

You knock on the door and go right ahead without waiting for a reply. With every step up the stairs, you feel something slipping away. You walk slowly but surely. He calls out to you, tells you that you're still important to him. You don't say anything. He says he still needs you. You have few steps left and you can hear his voice fading away. You reach the last step and through the door you see the figure next to the window. The voice stops and the memories are shut.

You look at the room and see the walls no longer have paint peeling off of it. The fan works, there's a television set in the room. The curtains are a brighter shade and the corner of the room isn't stacked with empty beer bottles.

As the person next to the window walks towards you, you realise, today will be your first memory of the house.