freedom land

Kitty on the other hand is slightly evil. She's sneaky and a trickster. When she uses the litter box, she'll look you dead in the eyes. Sometimes she pukes up hairballs (always in inconvenient places), and then she sticks around to watch you clean it up. It's like she thinks it's funny. She sleeps in my drawers just to make me mad, I think. She likes to annoy Lucy as well. She attacks her (in a playful way) and then sits on the table because she knows Lucy can't get her back that way. But she's not always like that. Occasionally she'll come to me, and curl up on my lap and cry until I scratch her and she falls asleep. She loves me too. 

At first glimpse, all that you see is the roots of a dead tree and nothing more. But upon further exploration, you find that even though the tree itself is dead, it is still full of life. It is home to so many creatures. Woven between the many sticks and twigs are webs with wolf spiders waiting for the next unlucky fly. Beneath the brush are snakes taking a break from the hot sun. In the bark are termites eating their way through the wood, creating somewhat of a maze as they go. Swarming around the damp plants are mosquitoes, waiting for me to get closer. Vines crawl through the branches with no other purpose in life than to grow. We walk past these creatures all the time, rarely ever noticing them. I think it is sad that people look at this and see nothing more than the roots of a dead tree. 

Whenever I go to a thrift store and buy something unique like this, I always spend a lot of time thinking about its previous owners. I wonder if this bag was as special to them as it is to me. I wonder if they saved up all their money to pay for this, or if it was a gift, or even if it was made especially for them. This bag doesn’t even have a label, so I have no way of knowing when it was made and what that time era was like. I don’t know if I am disappointed or not by that fact. On one hand, if I knew when it was made or where it came from, I could maybe learn more about what the owner was like. But on the other hand, since I don’t know, I can spend more time making them up in my head. It’s fun to make up people and think about their imaginary lives. It takes the boredom out of mine. Most people look and see just a bag. But I see the people who owned it, the stuff they put in it, and the places they took it. Maybe one day someone else will have this bag and think about me, or what I was like. 

I remember a long time ago walking through the park and seeing these all over the place. “VOTE FOR A CLEAN PARK” it says. It makes me sad that someone put so much “effort” into getting people to keep the park clean, yet these cans were just thrown into the woods. It’s as if as long as something is unseen, it does not matter. It’s irrelevant. But I see it, and it matters to me.

I took a walk in the woods and stumbled upon this yellow ladder with seemingly no purpose. I don’t know why it caught my eye the way it did, because while this forest was littered with plenty of forgotten items, I think that this one was the most beautiful. I explored further, and found myself climbing up the steps. At the top, I turned around and sat for forever. You could see the trees a little better and it was easier to admire the flowers, the sun warmed my skin and made all the plants shine. It was a very euphoric feeling, and I’m sure that if there was a heaven, that’s what it would feel like.

This is the view from my bedroom window. The mind numbing dullness of my backyard eats away at my brain; it makes me feel dead. You’d think that something as simple as a backyard wouldn’t bother someone so much, but looking at it every day really gets to you. I sit and stare, and long for something beautiful to catch my eyes. I imagine a weeping willow with a tire swing, or a pond with Koi Fish and frogs, or maybe a garden with fresh fruit and flowers. But no matter what I picture in my head, my backyard always stays the same. And it won’t ever change unless I, myself, change it. I guess that’s why my backyard is essentially a reflection of myself: dull and unmotivated.  

The rose you gave me died. But darling, it lived longer than your love did. I guess it was my fault for making you my everything, but you shouldn’t have told me that I was yours. Teenage heartbreak is inevitable, and surely I will move on, and I will feel love much greater than I feel for you. But right now I am hurting, and it’s because of you. I don’t know how you are feeling or what you’re thinking because you stopped replying, but I don’t have to pick these petals to know that you love me not. 

Nights like this, when the moon illuminates the sky and you can see every detail of the clouds, it’s hard not to sit and stare. It’s hypnotizing the way that that the moon looks so lonely. It’s strange the way that you can feel so sorry for it, as if it were alive. It must be a surreal feeling being the source of light in the night sky. I wish I could speak to the man in the moon about it. 

The color "Cosmic Latte" is the color assigned to the universe. Coincidentally, I have nail polish of approximately the same color labeled "Over-Achiever".