It’s another day with the fog coloring my window
I can’t spend another day with my back against my pillow
hoping for the best but never really knowing
when I’ll find my prince and perfect ending
This crown I’ve placed upon my head
has long past turned into rust, black like lead
I can’t say that I’ve lost my midas touch
when gold in my hand has never been very much
My words border between what I want to say
and what I’ve been forced to say
how could i ever hope to get the last word
when we’ve never really started to talk?
I need the proof that this clock is true
that I’ve got time and even more to do
putting pen to paper has never been so hard
when every move I’ve made has been the right card
My heart wavers between what I want to feel
and what I’ve been forced to feel
how could i ever hope to get the last word
when we’ve never really started to talk?
They say this world is made of atoms
from the smallest town to the grandest kingdom
but how is it that I’m standing on solid ground
when I feel as if I’m thrown around
the first thing i do is apparently watch ocean’s 11 (hey, 11, how fitting!)
wake up at 1pm
eat some pita bread
drink some cold milk
start annotating act one of king lear
yearn to see ocean’s 13 and 12
MOST OF ALL, HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Can I pretend this is all just some huge inception?
Can I pretend that this is the life that someone else is telling me to live? I can’t understand my own reasons and I can’t wrap my thoughts around anything coherent anymore – my imagination has grown so wild and so vivid that I can’t tame it. I don’t know how to explain all my complexity and imperfections and perfections onto a couple sheets of paper, a couple of no more than 800 word essays. I’m not a projection I’m not I’m not.
Can I pretend that I’m not in control of my imagination anymore? I just want pure thought pure creation pure magic. I don’t know what I want because I don’t want to make sense but I know I want this.
(Lately I’ve been a big sucker for any story. I don’t know why. Is it because I don’t feel emotion in real life anymore? Is this because I’m just not interested in real life anymore? Because this worries me.)
It’s like this.
I’m Roger Federer and you’re Rafael Nadal.
I’m Gianluigi Buffon and you’re Iker Casillas.
And, sadly, that is the extent of my sports analogies, but you understand me. You’re rising, I’m falling – but we’ve both climbed so far and perched so high above that we’re both afraid of falling.
Truth is, I’m the only one that’s falling – I don’t want to; no champion wants to, but it’s the inevitable law of gravity that binds us all together, grounds us to this Earth.
I’ll step down, but not willingly. I can’t fall without experiencing that first moment of vertigo, without feeling the adrenaline rush and the fear racing through every inch of me. I’m just afraid of a little risk, that’s all.
You’ll rise, but you won’t even know it. All you’ll be focused on is me and how you can perch so high, and you’re so obsessed with this fact that you don’t even see yourself passing me.
I’m Roger Federer, and you’re Rafael Nadal. I’m Gianluigi Buffon and you’re Iker Casillas.
(p.s. Roger Federer looks really good in a suit. Also I hope Gianluigi Buffon is not an accurate example here.)
(I just wanted to write. And not about myself or anything in particular. I just wanted to put words in string and wish that they will someday turn into prose.)
It comes like every kid’s favorite afternoon daydream and leaves with the inconspicuousness of a trained assasin.
I love this summer.
A lot.
But it has to come and go as college applications will come. But it’s okay with me, actually. It’s just a process. Another step. And I’m willing to face it with the same determination – albeit I can’t deny that I’ll also face it with the same fear – that I’ve had all along.
Like every kid’s favorite afternoon daydream, the future will come and go before I ever see it coming.
After trying to log on for about 15 minutes, I felt obliged to make a post. English AP tomorrow. Will not do well. But it is a fact of life; I should accept it?
Honestly, have you ever just listened to a song, and even though you’ve listened to it probably a million times over, you still get struck by it every time?
Because this is how I feel every time I listen to A Song For You, the Donny Hathaway version. I mean, oh my freakin gosh, his voice is amazing and just so , well for lack of better words, tenderly beautiful. It’s amazing! I think oh my god, I don’t even have any words for this song. It’s like it speaks volumes and volumes to me without even using that many words.
So. I’m embedding it, because if you don’t know this song, you’re really missing out. Really really really. It’s so beautiful.
That’s all for today.
;; Roro.
Because I’m rather bad (actually, that would be a gross understatement) at writing about my life, I think I’ll just tell tales. Like Chaucer.
ACTUALLY. I have song lyrics, or that’s what I’ll call them to flatter myself. I also left my guitar in the debate room. Hopefully some Asian boy has not yet stolen it in an attempt to be cool to his other Asian boy buddies or in an attempt to woo girls with a guitar.
And yes, I know I have an obsession with bright lights. Maybe that will be a recurring theme. : )
