ee cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


Cool.

Creative Writing, woo hoo!

This is in my xanga, too, but I figured, What the heck? Might as well be cool and put it in here, too.

I wrote this for creative writing. I guess I'll share it. (The assignment was to write about a difficult letter to deliver, basically.)

So much black, my eyes can't handle it. I feel like I'm sinking into my own despair. Sitting in the front row, I get hundreds of glances showing sadness and, even worse, pity. I look back to the front, and my eyes unwillingly stay at his picture. I tear them away as tears begin to swell up in my eyes. Maybe if I can get them away from the picture, I can force him out of my memory, too.
The preacher speaks uncomforting words. His aunt sings a horrible song; it is worsened only by her voice full of tears. His mother falls to the floor with sobs more wretched and hopeless than I have ever heard. His father cries silently on the pew a few people over from me.
I cannot cry. I cannot think. I cannot feel. As I sit here, numb to all emotion, I am screaming in my head. Screaming that I want to hate him for leaving me. I then whisper my apology, saying I could never, ever hate him. I scream that we were supposed to get married. I whisper that I'll never love again, that my heart lies with him in that coffin.
His father lifts my arm. The worst part is coming -- going to that cemetery where he will be forever. Going to that cemetery that will haunt me always. Going to that cemetery where a chunk of my soul will roam till the end.
The silence in the car is deafening. I stare out the window, yet notice nothing. His father touches my hand; I cannot look at him. I walk between him and his desolate wife to the plot. I almost feel bonded to him at this moment: neither of us wanting to cry, wanting to admit this is real; both of us praying to wake up and see his shaggy hair, his hazel eyes, his crooked grin, his childish dimples at least one last time.
I am sitting, watching, waiting. As he -- no, that box, is lowered into the ground, the people sing a song of hope. I want to take away everything that has any importance to them and destroy it, then sing a hopeful song to them, rubbing it in, making them feel pain as I feel now.
Everyone is leaving. His father approaches me, lays his hand on my shoulder, and a tear falls onto my face. "I just want to say goodbye," I rasp out, almost inaudibly. I still could not meet his eyes. I hear gasping, choking breaths behind me as he half carries his wife back to the car. I then force myself to go to his grave.
I collapse to my knees, now unable to stop the constant flow of bitter tears. Screaming, out loud, I lift my eyes to the gray, cloudy heavens, wondering why this happened. I cry until my eyes are dry. I have never before wept tears so acidic.
Pulling a letter from my pocket, I unfold it so I can read it to him.
"This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write. You will never fathom the grief I feel. Grief isn't even a strong enough word, but I'm at a loss for a better one.
"How could you leave me like this, so broken and alone? I love you more deeply than I had ever thought possible. I love you more deeply than any woman has ever loved any man. You are my life; how can I possibly go on living without you?
"So many unfinished plans for our future. Marriage, kids, growing old together -- do you think I'll ever be able to let go enough to share those joys with another man? Another man... the words seem almost to be something I shouldn't say, something I shouldn't have had to say. Ever. If only I had one wish... I would've stopped you from leaving my house that night. Will I ever be able to forgive myself for not preventing you?
"Oh, God, let me forgive, let me heal, and possibly later move on. God, be my strength. Both of you, please, just please be with me always."
I could no longer stay on my knees. Lying on the ground next to his grave, I whispered, "I love you," and cried once more.

A New Year

Well it's finally the big 2006. My joy is inexpressible. In May, I will be graduating, and a short three months later, I will be leaving Topeka. I'm sure I'll be back to visit... I'll only be about four hours away. But now isn't the time for that. I'll repeat that all before I leave.

Now is the time for New Year's Resolutions! Everyone has at least one, whether they will admit to it or not. Maybe they haven't even admitted it to themselves yet. Why do we even make resolutions? Few people actually live up to them, anyway. Aren't they just totally pointless?

Maybe it proves that we really want so much more for ourselves. Do billionaires have resolutions? Wouldn't most people think they wouldn't want anything more than they've already got? I'm sure they do. Even Bill Gates. He's just a normal person who wants everything he can have for himself (even things money can't buy), just with more money than most of us.

So I guess even if no one follows through with their resolutions, they aren't completely pointless. They show our humanness; they show our desire for something deeper, for something to give us true happiness.

I could be totally off, but who knows. Just a thought.