The one who likes to write.

My first camping trip since it happened went exactly how I had imagined it. Since I had completely given up on the idea that it could have gone as it was meant to.

We had planned to hike up those long steep trails encouraging one another, tripping, falling and laughing at every little miscalculated leap. We had planned on arriving to the top and grinning with proud faces at our previous 2 hours of pleasant suffering in each others company. We had discussed planting a tent outside of the refuge near the fire where we could be alone, and having our friends huddle warmly inside on the top floor inside letting their sleeping bags take up all the space the small room could offer. We had planned on finding the right moment to step away from the smores and the endless passing joints to leave with our own doobie. We had planned on smoking it inside our tent planted down the path where the ancient patches of burnt down trees provided us with an incredibly lively view of the stars. You had told me that there was a conditions to our anticipated private moment. That, once in the tent, you were not allowed to be untouched. That meant I was to hold you, play fight with you, let you hold me back and kiss you all evening. We had planned to spend the night together, letting our minds wonder with the light wind that echoed on the walls of our tent and letting our two souls reach high for a single dance with the uncountable shooting stars that we felt were at arms reach. We had planned on loving one another, and not letting anything get in the way of this intense reciprocal connection. The one that gave us both hope that one day something would allow us to be this happy together forever.

But the camping trip didn’t involve you. No tent was planted like we had planned. No joints were lit as we had imagined. No conditions were met, as you had evoked.

That night, I laid in the old unkept mountain refuge along with the people who had been there for me. That night, they pointed out how beautiful the night sky was seeming through our little window. Problem was, the stained glass wasn’t doing it for me. I thought to myself, never again will I let expectations ruin what I’ve already got in front of me. I wanted to see past the stains and try to look at the stars despite the imperfect filter the window and my mind had created.

As I lied back down after having seen a blurred corner of the view we had planned on cherishing together, I noticed a small crack in the ceiling, a hole in the roof, that allowed the whole room to sparkle with the moonlight. I moved and positioned myself underneath it.

Just a quick clarification: I use this site to unleash my inner emotional white girl. I write personal things on this site not only because I know no one actually reads it, but also because it makes more sense for me to post them here than to keep them hidden in a file on my computer. The reason being is that I feel brave and confident posting things here, even though I'm pretty much kidding myself. I now know that people have read what I have posted, so here is a message to you:

The person you read about on my page is the same person you talk to when we're together. Everyone hides parts of themselves, I just happen to speak up about these things and post them on this one site. If you don't want to know this part of me then don't ever bring it up and its settled. I rather write my problems clearly here and figure things out on my own than humiliate myself in an attempt to get close to you by presenting these issues. I will always remain the extrovert I am, I only appear timid on this site. 

You might think i'm embarrassing or humiliating myself, but I love doing this. So just don't show your friends if you're self conscious about knowing me now. I never speak aloud about this page, I'm not making publicity or trying to give you tips of any sort.