but we both know that I’m not that strong.”

For as long as I could remember, I was never able to answer the question, “What’s your favorite song?” I’d answer generically. “I have so many!” “I don’t have one.” “It depends on my mood.” But really. All those are lies. And I didn’t realize I was lying up till now.

My favorite song makes me feel something other songs can’t. It just stirs a part of me that lays dormant until I hear the first utterance of ‘Katie, don’t cry..’ It makes me feel wistful, empty, alone, and exuberant all at the same time.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment in time I heard Miserable at Best by Mayday Parade, but I know when I did, something instantly struck me. I was so inspired and my inspiration flooded paper. Miserable at Best inspired my first completed written work during my freshman year of high school. And that’s something. I have commitment issues when it comes to my projects. I followed through with this one and I’m so attached to it, even now - it’s my baby. I’ve been planning on going back to it and sculpting it to perfection. I will. I want to. Eventually.

I don’t know why I’m rambling about a song. Ok. Bye.

I think it’s an overrated, romanticized, cash cow holiday. Think about it. What are you actually celebrating? The purchase of a new calendar? The change of digits needed to write on documents and schoolwork? Because, in actuality, that’s all it is. A minor switch of numbers and a socially acceptable intake of alcohol.

The general population loves to go on and on about New Year’s resolutions. It’s all over the radio and in mundane conversation. They want to lose ten or twenty pounds or something or another and on January 1st, they’ll start flooding the gyms. But my question is why wait? Why wait until the calendar switches to ignite change? If you want change so bad, why not start now? New Year’s Eve and the like are just excuses and tools for procrastination.

And the infamous clean slate. Once twelve hits, the New Year summons a clean slate, free of the previous year’s blunders. Society has plugged this idealism into our minds. But, here’s the truth. Your late bills are still late and you still cheated on your girlfriend. Just because the year changes, doesn’t mean your problems magically poof. Deal with your problems now. They’ll still be there when you wake up with a hangover the next day. So get a head start, and maybe all you’ll have to worry about is that hangover.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m far too jaded to enjoy the illusions of a holiday not worth celebrating. But think about it. When the clock strikes twelve, has anything really changed?

That opening riff or the first harmony. The dam breaks and there you are just swimming in yesterday. And it never changes it. It never feels any different. The water is still cold, you still feel like drowning. It still rains. It’s unbearably desolate. You want to drown yourself in the familiarity because it would be so easy, but you know that doing so won’t do you any good. And it always takes you an eternity to swim to the life boat that pulls you out of the water. And then you dry off and warm up and go on your merry way until the next song plays.

I can’t wait until the semester’s over and I won’t have to see your face every day. You’re condescending, judgmental, and in all honesty, no one actually likes you. You’re self-centered and all you do is complain. Stop complaining about your job; at least you have one to go home to. Stop complaining that you don’t get to open up your presents on Christmas; some people don’t get presents at all. I’m not sorry that I’ve found other people to hang out with. They’re not pretentious and stuck up like you are. If you really wanted to make friends, you’d take a good look around and realize all the things you do just make people not want to be friends with you even more. It’s not us, it’s you.

we think time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t.

time merely throws a bandage over the wounds while they scab over. time makes you think the wounds are gone with only a faint scar to serve as a memory.

but they aren’t gone.

and then we go back and take the bandage off the wound. we observe and we wonder and curiosity gets the best of us and we pick and pick and pick until the scabs are off and we bleed again.

Relapse. Rough. Unedited. First time I’ve written since… Well. A while. Also the first time posting something that I wrote with the actual intention of writing. Wah.

Inspired by this prompt

I hear carnival sounds. I hear the bells of the antique carousel and the carefree giggle of children fresh and basking in the glory of their youth. The whistle of the mini locomotive circles the park and the scent of popcorn and sugar waft through the summer air.

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This whole daily grind of work-work-work. It’s different. Something I’m not used to. I like having a goal. Something to work for. A set of tasks I need to finish, or else. 

If I did a quick rewind to senior year me and told her that she’d be bustin’ her ass all day, errday in college, she’d laugh in my face. If I told her that she’s been slackin’ with her writing, she’d cry a river.

Yes, I think I’ve changed. I work more. I work harder. I’m more confident, no nonsense. I’m unconcerned with the judgmental opinions of others. I’m more mature. I’ve become more insightful. I have more clarity regarding who I am and who I want to be and who I want to surround myself with.

But I love the moments in which I revert to high school me. Immature and a complete and utter mess. Idle moments of writing in my mind. I’ve been listening to old songs because I don’t want to lose who I am. I never forget how in love I am with words and how I’ll always judge a song based on lyrics rather than musical integrity. My stupid jokes that no one ever listens to. My loudness and my lack of filter. The statements that sound crude to the ears of others, but commonplace to anyone else who knows me well enough. My signature breaking of grammar rules for the sake of style. 

I want to lose the bad. The insecurities and slovenly work ethics. I want to keep the good. The confidence and my sense of humor and my affinity for the English language and and my new habit of being masipag. 

People change. And it’s okay.

Hey, you.

You’re so damn awkward. You’re so naive. You trust so easily. You don’t think twice about it. You have too much faith in people, even if you won’t admit it. You’re so stubborn. But it’s okay. Stand your ground. I like that about you, even if it pisses everyone off. And yes. You’re always right. No, people won’t listen to you. And people just have to find out for themselves when they slip and fall straight on their asses.

Cherish these stupid people who won’t listen to you. Your friends are important - don’t treat them like garbage, even if they do so to you. It’s not being a doormat. Okay. It is, a little. And honestly, I still don’t know what to say to you on this topic of discussion. Work in progress, okay?

Don’t go out with that one guy. Okay. Just kidding. Do it. You won’t listen to me anyway. But it’ll hurt. A lot. But it’ll be worth it. But when you’re me, you’ll still be debating whether it was or wasn’t. And it will change for the better, even if you don’t think so right away. Yeah, your heart’s gonna hurt like hell and you’ll think it’ll be the end of the world and you’ll think back to every time your lips collided and how your worlds came crashing down. But believe me. It’ll probably be one of the greatest things that’ll ever happen to you because, when something great is taken from you, you receive something so much better in return.

And hold on to your ‘much better’ because guys like him don’t come around often. He’ll treat you like a princess and you won’t feel like you deserve it, but let him spoil you. Let him love you the way he wants to. Because he does. Love you, I mean. And you do, too. Don’t ask him to change his character - his kind heart. Sometimes, because you’re so incredibly stubborn, you’ll start a fight. You’ll piss him off, because that’s the kind of person you are. And he’ll take it. He’ll take the cruel words and the cries filled with empty anger and he’ll know you won’t mean it and he’ll still love you.

And don’t change for him. As much as you’ll want to, as much as you’ll want to be better, know that he fell in love with the person he first met; not some new and improved version of yourself. You are enough for him. And when you find someone who thinks you’re enough, if not more than, never let him go.

And who are you going to be? You’ll be me. You still won’t have anything figured out - you seldom will. But now? You have difficulty trusting people. You’re under this notion that everyone - in time - will leave. Which is true, I guess. Whether it be at the end of time or tomorrow. It’ll happen. But don’t anticipate it. Embrace the moment. Embrace the fact that, right here, right now, you have these people who love you - even if it’s not forever. Don’t invest too much emotion in petty problems that probably won’t matter four years from now.

Where were we? Oh, yes. I think you grow up to be a pretty decent person. You’re still a work in progress, but that’s okay. You have an array of random interests and some odd quirks, but embrace them. You’re very strong in your beliefs and you have a fire for arguing. You’re very convincing, really. 

And please, keep writing. Don’t do what I did. Don’t stop. Don’t stop reading, don’t stop writing. Find inspiration in everything you do. Please. For our sake. You won’t be disappointed.

It’s easy to write about past experiences in minute detail. At least, it is for me. I can think back to a time and place, my emotions still potent from the moment I felt them. And I like that. I like that about writing, revealing my innermost thoughts to the piece of paper.

Paper doesn’t judge. Paper doesn’t say, “No, that’s irrational and stupid and you shouldn’t feel like that and you used improper grammar.” But paper doesn’t ask questions. Instead, paper is very honest. Paper won’t try to hide your mistakes. Paper’s straight up. Paper’s like, “Look. You made a mistake there, but it’s okay. Look at all the progress you made.” And paper always listens. Paper doesn’t get tired of rantings and fictional characters who are clearly too good to exist in real life. Paper plays along. You are your harshest critic, but paper is your best friend.

Clearly, I’m crazy.

Haven’t rambled in a while.