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I was born to entertain. I was born to exploit all those moments that were meant to be only my own. Meant to tell you about
them. Meant to give you a new glimpse of life, usher you backstage. I was meant to let you know that you're not alone. But
maybe it’s all worth something after all…? What do you call those people? Those truth-mongers? I am she. I am
that truth-monger. Or I’d like to think that’s me… Tell me it’s so. And I’ll cry for joy that
I’ve finally found my own true love, the purpose in my life.
She was there. She wasn't, but then there she was. She smiled at me. My egg heart cracked, broke into tiny pieces, its soggy
innards dripping everywhere. And her eyes were glinting, telling me all of the things she would do to hurt me. She used to
speak to me when I was a child. She would tell me things in that shady voice of hers, senseless things. Things so jumbled
I can't remember. I think she made some part of me. The part I so disdain. The part that makes me want to hurt people. And
makes me want to be hurt by them. The part of me that's indifferent. And the part that cares so much, without a reason. But
care doesn't need a reason. Care is involuntarily. It's not something you can work at. It's not something you can decide.
It is only present or it is not. Just like any other emotion. Just like love. Funny, I can't tell whether or not she is my
light of hope or my endless darkness. I do not know this deity. She is my intentions, my potential, the possibility that founds
both of these. Is faith such a fine line between good and evil? Is the Father two steps away from hell and Satan two steps
from Ascension?
11.13.04
I've just recently compiled a very extensive list of "mellow" songs to listen to when I'm in a melancholy mood. Which is like
all the time. They're like the best songs. The songs aren't all necessarily depressing. On the surface. Some songs are slow
and happy, like molasses, and remind me of happy times in my life. Happy times in my past. I was lying there, listening to
the mix on my iPod, in bed, staring at the ceiling. And I thought of the day I got my headphones. It was the day of my graduation.
It was just past midnight. My brother couldn't wait for me to open his and Debbie's present. He held that it was perfectly
acceptable to open their present now, because it was technically my graduation day. He was more excited than I was, I think.
Like a little kid. It makes me smile when I think about it. I also thought about the time I got back the scores from my first
AP tests. Finding out I had done really well. The first time in my life I ever laughed so loud and cried out with just overwhelming
joy. Isn't that so sad? Because of AP scores. I used to wonder about tears of joy. Crying when you are happy? But now I understand.
I cry because I am so happy, but I also cry because I am so infinitely sad. I know that this moment will pass and will soon
become a memory, among many memories. When I think back on all of these happy times, I feel happy. So happy, I smile. But
there's an aching feeling in my core, aching to relive those moments. Nostalgia. I hate nostalgia. And I love it. It's a rose
drying up, losing its life with every passing moment. When I look back, it's still beautiful, but now it's dry, brittle. I
can never return to those moments. As I thought about all the happy times, I just wanted to cry. I wanted to pile everything
on until I was overwhelmed with happiness and sadness. The most beautiful thing--as I thought it, it played out in song...
"Do you realize that happiness makes you cry?"
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