A Vague Idea

These negative feelings are hindering my creativity…

How could such a brilliant weekend, during which I saw every one of my favorite people, make me feel so insecure?

Drinkin’ wine and thinkin’ bliss is on the other side of this. I just need a compass and a willing accomplice. All my doubts, they fill my head, cascading up and down again. Up and down around again. Down and up and down again.

Oh, I’ve had my chances and I’ve taken ‘em all, just to end up right back here on the floor. To end up right back here on the floor.

Pennies in a well, a million dollars in the fountain of a hotel. Fortune teller that says, “Maybe you will go to hell,” but I’m not scared at all. Hmmmmmm… Of the cracks in the crystal, cracks in the crystal ball.

Sometimes you think everything is wrapped inside a diamond ring. Love just needs a witness, and a little forgivness, and a halo of patience, and a less sporadic pace. I’m learning to be brave in my beautiful mistakes.

Oh, I’ve felt that fire and I, I’ve been burned, but I wouldn’t change the pain for what I’ve learned. I wouldn’t trade the pain for what I’ve learned.

Pennies in a well, a million dollars in the fountain of a hotel. Fortune teller that says, “Maybe you will go to hell,” but I’m not scared at all. Hmmmmmm… Of the cracks in the crystal, cracks in the crystal ball.

Irony, irony. Is hate and love. Hate and love. What it does to me. What is done to me. What is done. Done.

Pennies in a well. A million dollars in the fountain of a hotel. Broken mirrors and the black cat’s cold stare. Walk on the ladders on my way to hell, I’ll meet you there. But I’m not scared at all. Hmmmmmm…

No, I’m not scared at all. Of the cracks in the crystal, the cracks in the crystal ball.

You’re saying all these words to me. And I can tell you genuinely mean all of them. I don’t know how…I can just tell. And not instantly…not immediately…not right away…I can tell these words are leading up to something bigger. Eventually something bigger will be a result of these words you’re sending me right now.

And despite all the nasty feelings I was having about senior year earlier in the summer, I’m stupid excited. I’m ready for it.

It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright, passionate mouth - but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour. —The Great Gatsby, Page 13

I wonder who F. Scott Fitzgerald loved enough to have such beautiful, inspiring words. His wife, Zelda, perhaps? She was a beautiful, young thing. She must have flipped him upside down, turned him inside out with love.

I wonder if he saw her face in every woman he ever wrote. I hope he did.

Through the wall, I can hear my little sister talking to her friend on the phone…

This makes me nervous; it means she’s growing up.

And if she’s growing up…

So am I.

slipping them back into the flimsy, paper pouch. Looking up, I scanned the perimeter for her denim dress and paint-stained converse. Directly ahead, half of the back of a startlingly familiar figure drew my attention. My stomach clenched. My brain froze. Without a thought, I tossed the pictures into my bag and sprang out of my chair. As I approached him, he swiveled around and met my eyes, offering me the same heart-melting smile as years ago, though it was marred by metal wires now. He opened his arms to me, and I, him. The hug was different, softer, lighter, a weird sense of detachment connected to it. A strange feeling swept over, one I’ve yet to decipher.

Why does this keep happening?

What is the universe trying to tell me?