I wrote this Wednesday. But I'm like, so happy still.

On days like this I think I could make it alone.

Like, forever. I think I could be pleased with only one-class friends or Hallway-friends or texting friends.
On days like this I convince myself I could be perfectly happy spending my alone time alone, like it's meant to be.

Then maybe everything could be in order. I could spend my sleeping time asleep and my daytime awake and I could spend my class time listening and my church time praying.

But, no, I waste my sleep time for painting and my class time for sleeping and my day time dreaming and I use my bedside for praying..

No, I use school-time for praying and social time for praying and my home time for praying, yeah mostly family time for praying and I spend my night-times lying awake...  but mostly lying...


On days like this I think it could make sense to live and have order. But tomorrow, it won't. Tomorrow I'll have the same decisions to worry about that I'll push aside today. and I'll take my own freakin time, although I know I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't be saving decision times for night-times but I've been sleeping as I walk through the halls, so what the heck is the difference anyways? Everything changes in seconds. Just in one look or one class or one sleepless dream. I know, I used to joke I'm bipolar but my friend always said nope, he didn't think so. But now he's got it a little bit and I feel bad that I've rubbed it on to people. Sad, but not surprised. but that's the saddest part of it all. Happy, sad, happy, sad. He said people can notice. I feel bad but I know I shouldn't cuz it's really not my fault, right? But I knew, in time, I'd make his life harder than it needs to be. You shouldn't feel bad..... I don't. Liar... That's why I tried to stop it in the first place. But I won't.    But I know I probably should...

I know I should be doing a lot of things that I'm not, but today I feel like I could do that forever. I don't want to think about the next day or the day after that. Today I'll just forget there's even problems. I don't need to worry.. until I have to. But I know I should worry now.
But I've got to forget everything for now, before happy wears off me.
Because, Tomorrow, I'll feel different.

blue bones

I don't listen to music, but it's nice to know there still is some.

"lousy heart"

you offend me so

"lousy heart"

there was nothing I loved more than listening to it

wondering if you're scared

or if you're just breathing

or if you're only cold from this winter's hard beating

"lousy heart"

I loved feeling it's beat

on my cold tipped ears

because it was proof that you were actually real

that you were human

that you are human

cry, you're still human

oh.. how i hope youll trust me someday

US

"They'll make a statue of us, and put it on a mountain top. And the tourists will come and stare at us."

They'll name an airport after us. And we'll give every lover a discounted ticket to fly.
Because I won't have forgotten every plane ride where I wished you were in the seat beside me. 

The world will have pictures of us. They'll put pictures of us on young girl's fashion blogs. and Tumbler and we heart it and visualize us.

And they'll write songs about us, because we're merely but a myth to the kids with their ukuleles and guitars.

They'll make calendars themed with Us. You and me. But with a picture-a-day, because 12 pictures of me and you just wasn't enough for society, babe.

And the year we get married, our names will become the most popular boy and girl baby names of the year.

And the years we sail the seas, the oceanic creatures will all go wild and each have creature babies. No one will know why, science will never explain it, just "Love".

And, darling, each time we have a baby, the amount of Yellowstone Parks passes sold is tripled. Yes, every time.

And that day we die together, each 15 year old girl and every 16 year old boy in the world will receive a daisy from nobody in particular. But they'll wonder if it was because of Us.

a predicted 1 to 3" of winter

I love that monumental moment when we're walking home from school and we're screaming and squealing, cheering and all tearing up,  because the sun is so hot, we can't feel our legs we squeezed into the tubes of our jeans that morning. They're all tingly and sleepy. We all run home, shave our legs with a purpose this time and we change into our shortest shorts. We walk around the neighborhood with nothing to do, but just to show the world that, yeah, we can walk around the neighborhood in our exercise shorts. And, yeah, in our bare feet.

Now I'm wearing my swim suit under my Sunday dresses.   I haven't taken it off in weeks.

Swimming replaces showers, chlorine and lake water replace my shampoo.

I haven't seen jeans in months, heck, I haven't seen a bra in weeks.    Swim suits act as everything now.

I'm not picky about the music I listen to during the summer, as long as there's lots of music to listen to.

                        I miss the crickets. I even miss the mosquitos. I miss having something to resist. Something not to itch. Something to avoid and something that gave me a challenge. 

I miss cars with roof windows. I miss when only the best friends got their own cup in our family's kitchen. I miss house guests. I miss our Arizona house guests the best. I miss taking them up the canyon to show off our trees.

But, most of all, I miss the sun. How it would warm my hair.  I spend all spring with my hand on my head, feeling for summer. You can go around all April, touching everybody's hair, waiting for summer to happen.

But this summer's gonna be different. Exciting, and so different. We're already buying maps of the South of France and I'm making a numbered list of who's farewells to hit first if they're all on the same Sunday.     Because, just as it happens to be, just about every one of my friends all have 9 o'clock church.  I don't know, God planned it all so we could all text at convenient times and our mom's won't even get too mad.

And, if everyone who even loves me leaves in this mass substance of teenage righteousness and adrenaline, then who will be left to love me?

You can't fuel freaking love purely on over priced postage stamps and electronic mail, trust me. Especially if it feels like they're not reaching anyone.  Like everything you've ever said has been last with the mexicans who search through your letters for anything at all that is valuable..   or they're lost out in space somewhere.. between a prayer to God and the internet. But, really, we're just trying to be positive here. When you know you're not the only one left in this world, but it still feels like you're talking to no one. 

Maybe, if there's no one left to love me, I'll have to learn how to like myself.

how

Sunlit Eyes

If you would've just gotten to know me, you could've known that I love yellow peppers.

You could've known that I only think there's 2 kinds of people in this world. Those who like Tim Burton, and those who don't.

If you ever would have asked me what age I stopped wetting the bed, I would've honestly told you it was ten.

But you never really asked...

You told me my eyes were sunlit, but you never asked me how I saw you through them.. What I saw, when I'd see "us" through them. I would've told you that, through my sunlit eyes, I did see us. I saw swangirls, with clean white hats and fish-print dresses. I saw dark trees with painted, tree houses and I saw floating islands and free sweaters.. I might have told you I saw us skinny dipping in lakes and I saw our barefeet walking on pavement that burnt us.. but you never really asked. I always wanted you to ask.

And, if you ever had bothered to ask me if I'd rather have kaleidoscope eyes or kaleidoscope ears, I could have honestly told you that I'd take the kaleidoscope ears anyday. Cuz as I lay in my field like I do every summertime, I can already see the stars collide with the leaves on the trees. And, these sunlit eyes can already see the color that lives on those planets beyond..

And, if you ever cared to wonder what goes on in my sunfilled mind you probably would have known that I don't see shooting stars. I see the Gods fighting, and having wars. And I see those burning handfulls of gas as hate-mail... and ransom notes.. and "get-well-cards" and wedding invitations and junkmail... and Love Letters.

But the Love Notes are those stars you seldom see. The ones that are so burning with the sun, the ones that are kind of blueish at the end of their flight... The ones that fade the fastest, those ones you almost always miss.

I always imagined us lying in that field watching the Gods and Goddesses licking their envelopes and pressing on their postage stamps.. and I hoped a letter would fall a mile from where we lay. and that we'd walk the whole way together, and that we'd never run out of things to say. But you never even heard me, because while your ears were plugged with the worlds headphones, me and the sun were screaming at you. to look up... To look at me.

(Brynn Hallsted)

Paris Holds the Key to Her Heart

Paris:

The bitter swell of my metaphorical coffee burning slowly down my throat. Warm yellow lights hit me in all the right places, and the flakes of snow bow down to kiss my hair. The lower lamp lights my skin and it smoothly whispers 'perfection'.

The neighbor's music's swimming up through our apartment floor like kisses to my eardrums. Planting seeds of love in our fraying carpet. The musician never sleeps.

Because we can always hear the music. We rock and sway together on our balcony. Cold metal railing. Icy, like the tips of my fingers, you tell me.



We will sleep till the sun hits my easel and my oils and my brushes. Then will the angels drag me from the blankets and from the comforter of my own bed.

And the gods and the muses and the demigods and the spirits of my children will work through me. Starting at my roots and creating sparks at each curve of my ringlets. But the fire splits at each of my ends, and that's the greatest part of it all. We'll create things heavier than the sun that filters through the cracks of our lace curtains.

And we'll write down everything, so our children can know what it's really like in Paris. So when they have to grow like an adult and they by their tickets out, they can know why I married you in Paris. Know why I loved in Paris and know why the best baguette's are in Paris. And know why they make 'paris' out of 'paradise'.

We'll be watching Hepburn in old black and white films and checking out Walt Disney biographies in the old man's makeshift library on the third floor.
We'll hold hands 7 blocks down. Then we stop there and get some lunch.

There's no time in Paris. No tea time or d.e.a.r. time or me time or you time.

Paris is wherever I'm with you.

Look at us Go

Look at us go. I am laughing and spinning and my classes are great. And I wanna hug everyone. Ev-er-y-one. And I have never wanted to hug anyone before.

Things are going good and I don't have a bit of regret and, ohhhhhhh. It feels so good to feel so new.
It's like gold glitter and silver hair.
And vanilla bean ice cream.
It's refreshing... like running down the summertime streets wearing Lone Peak choir robes, running at night, because we love to feel like Harry Potter, but we don't have to be Harry Potter.

Back when night was warm.
And running wasn't just for athletes.

This feels like banana cream pie. Or doing the dishes early on a Saturday morning. Kitchen windows facing east.

It's feels like when we would climb the boxelder tree at our old house and play time-machine. And Rachel was always "Sarah, the tri-sarah-top".
And remember when we sat in my brother's car and talked about Tyler's boxers? Cuz he had some with sailboats on them and some with green stripes? Yeah, that's how I feel. We were both proud that we knew that. I'm practically as happy as I was that day.

I'm feeling like wearing pink, and I never really feel like wearing pink.
I'm feeling nothing like this weather outside.
Brilliance and light, like white feathers.
                              Radiance.
                                           Sunbeams and Old Dust.
                                                                             Glitter and Gold.

I'm feeling like blue 1950's dresses.
I'm feeling like watching the beginning of 500 Days of Summer.
I'm feeling like staying in my church clothes, pretending to dance with someone when really, I am alone.

                                         I'm feeling like Taylor Swift's 'You Belong With Me'.

And you're all surprised because I'm feeling at all.
But only because things are working out.

let's see how long that lasts.