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There is a dream that people share. But it hasn't be found yet, so for now we must be content to s c a t t e r on the wind. We are torn apart by trivial things, barriers that are too many feet thick. But maybe when we look at the world in water color everything will be remedied.

It'd be so much easier if feelings could be spoken.

If the words didn't float off of the page every time I put them there

If they didn't hide in my throat, refusing to come out
whenever I tried to speak to you.
(Or anyone else)

It'd be easier if everyone could think all at once and
let their feelings be what they are,
free and lovely to roam the world.

It'd be easier if I—if anyone—could just talk.

But then it'd be too easy


All the people clash and fight and clamber over each other without stopping to see who they step on. So maybe everyone else does the same (so what?) that doesn't mean you should. Stop being what you aren't and start breathing and dreaming before you forget how.

When you think too hard and can't you talk or write or type or whatever and you just want to jam your head into the wall and scream because no will do anything about anything that's wrong and terrible and awful and they just won't listen: That's when you care.

This is one of the only things I'll ever write that's true. That's really really true. To me, anyway. I'll write fiction in my life and some of that will be true for me and true for other people and other universe but this document right is something that will be true to me. It's something that I've put my actual thoughts in without censoring them or organizing them. It takes much more effort than you would think, as a writer because you can always alter things even as they come out of your mouth or pen or keyboard. So I'm fifteen and I'm in my room and I'm listening to Tori Amos as I'm writing this paragraph but other parts of this will be written at different times probably. I don't know who I'm writing to or who this will actually reach or who I'll actually show so this might just be for me. Or maybe I'll release it when I'm older and famous. Whatever.

I'm such a finicky little girl it kills me not write properly and with all of the nice grammar and punctuation and I can't stand it. People are so stupid sometimes I want to hit them but I don't really want to hit them so much as help them. Really mostly I want everyone to be happy and get along, but now that I think of it, that's not true. I'm not going to ask everyone to get along, because some people just can't. And I get that. I want to understand you, though. I want to know why you do what you do and how you decided to it. And by you I mean everyone. I'd like to be able to understand you. I don't want to be speaking my own secret language that no one else knows! Please. Let me in your mind? Just for a bit? I'll let you into mine if want—by reading this, I am letting you into my mind. My friends. Are any of you going to read this? I get most of you. Or at least part of most of you. I get some part of almost all of you.