darihoe asked: Thanks for the follow! Really neat blog, babe. Can't wait to read through it :D

Aww thanks! :D Sorry for the late reply, my tumblr did not alert me for any new messages. 

The goal is by the start of next year :D 

 A tattered journal lay gently in her lap as she placed the tip of the pencil to the paper, scrawling the letters and words of her latest entry. A relaxed sensation took over her, despite her hurried scribbling, as it had some many times before and she embraced the finality of her words into the leather bound book. As though a piece of her was transferred to the page, to live forever.

“November 10th, 2009
Supposedly it’s one of those stories. ‘As old as time’ they might say, written down long before two lover’s shared their first kiss. Boy meets girl, girl loves boy. One leaves the other to pick up their heart. So the story of love goes, enduring hearts destined for heartbreak and tears. However there does exist those tales of a love so strong, so alive that they escape this loop of despair. In these modern times it’s something that many people do not get to see, so busy and distracted with life that they look beyond what’s in front of them. Pushing the instincts and emotions they feel to the side to do what’s important. What mus be done. So surprised are they when those emotions slap them across the face. Why do you think we do stupid and careless acts when we realize we love someone? Not because we see the benefits of love, because there is no easy bonus for loving someone. Thinking constantly of them, pushing all other thoughts to the side, effectively limiting out ability to function without them. It’s because when you love someone, truly love someone, all those things mean nothing compared to a life without that person.
A lesson some of us learn too little, too late.”

She finished writing on the last page of her journal. Even if she had anything else to write she couldn’t, her hands shaking so badly from the sickness that had long ago ravaged her body. Cancer they had called it, lung cancer to be exact. Surprising in the fact that she did not smoke, or live near anyone who had. In fact she despised the act of destroying your body with and act of life such as breathing.

The journal rested in her hands, her fingers caressing the surface as she took in every weathered detail. Cracked from years of use and being toted around with her everywhere it was of no surprise that it would be here with her when she left this world for the next. Her hand reached out and placed it on the table to her right, sliding over the hospital food to make room. Her lungs took in a breath as deep as they could and she sighed. Looking out the bright window to the gardens of her home. Green and beautiful as always; the cool breeze of a perfect sunny day filling her room with the smell of her flowers, red and white roses. One could not ask for more in their final days.

The door to her bedroom creaked open, followed closely by two knocks.“Mom?” He daughter’s voice rang through the crack in the door, followed by her beautiful blue eyes. Even in her finals days, the look of her daughter’s eyes brought a smile to her face that had been missing for so long. “Mom, are you awake?” She asked as she pushed the door open further. Revealing her pale face, red from crying in the waiting room she supposed. Her brunette hair was tousled and rolling down to her shoulders. Her slender, pale face reaching through the door now.

“Yes dear, I am.” She said as cheerfully as she could manage. Gesturing her hands in a way that told her to come in. She did. Her body moving through the door and closing it with the grace her youth provided her. Standing there in her red university tee-shirt and blue jeans. She looked down upon her mother with a face full of fear, the kind that made you wonder if you would ever see the person again. Her daughter’s face betrayed her and showed the subtle inclinations that said all the things she never would.

“Mother” She said as the tears welled back in her eyes. “You look so tired, have you not been resting again?” She wiped the tears away with her fingers and held back her sobs.

She smiled as she spoke in a crackled voice. “Gracie, always with the accusations. Come.” She gestured again from grace to come closer. “Come give your mother a hug. I’ve missed you and the food here is terrible.” Grace quickly sat onto the bed, embracing her mother tightly as she again tried to hold back the tears. Taking a deep breath she let go and looked into her mother’s eyes. “I love you mom”

“I know Gracie, I love you too” The mother let her hands drop as Gracie reached into her back pocket and pulled out an old envelope, unopened. “Someone dropped this off at the door, I picked it up with your other mail, but it looked so old and-” She stopped speaking as she took in another deep breath of summer air. Pulling her wits together to speak the words.

“What is it?” She said as she held out her hand and took the letter from he daughter. Reading the name in the return address. She read the name and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“And I think it’s from Dad.” Seeing the tears gather in her eyes. Her mother’s hands shook as they tore at the letter. Pulling the paper from the old letter and opening it. Tattered and dirty, parts of it torn from being in his pocket. She could smell him as she opened the paper. Yellowed with time, the dark ink stood out easily, even after all these years. She read the letter and dropped it into her lap. Body shaking with emotions, tears streaming from here eyes that she no longer tried to hide. Grace picked up the letter, and read.

“Evelyn,
I could not imagine an existence, a time, without your love. Where without you, I am able to survive. For I refuse to believe there is such a time or place.
Yours Always,
Jack.”
She read the letter again and looked at it, not reading it but staring through it. Unable to move, to breath. A million thoughts racing through her head. She had not known her father, she knew he was killed in the service. He was twenty-four when he died, killed while trying to pull a Private First Class to safety. She only knew that he had left her mother, left her to take care of a daughter by herself. She never remarried, claimed that it was not possible to be with anyone else. Grace had never understood it, she would work in her office with her decorative rose in a vase while raising her, and making sure she had everything she would ever need. Grace grew up hating her father, not for pure simple rage that he left her mother alone but because did not understand why the war was more important than the woman he loved.

She shook her head as she came back to reality, children should not have such feelings, she thought. “It’s from him, isn’t it?” She asked as she looked over to her mother, who had been speechless since she had read it.

Eveyln nodded her head, pulling herself back together after sobbing for several minutes. Grace knew that look, the look of pain as heartbreak seared fresh through one’s soul again. “I wrote him while he was away. Angry with him that he was gone again, I asked him if he felt it would be better we never met. I never got a response, until the Marines showed up with his personal items. I never found a letter, or any mention of one.” She said softly as she stared into the garden, looking at her roses. “I was selfish in thinking that he didn’t love me as he had always said, the last letter I ever wrote him, was out of anger. Words of hatred for leaving the month before.” She said in an accepting tone, she had come to terms with this long ago, that Jack may never have forgiven her for doubting his love. She would never know the truth now. She looked over at Grace, who stared back and didn’t speak a word. She took in a deep breath as she spoke again. “It was at his funeral that I came to accept death, whenever it would show.” She continued speaking as the images of the funeral flooded her mind.

It was raining, a fitting day as it would hide the tears of the few whom he had let know him well enough to be at his funeral. Drops pouring down onto her head, soaking her hair and rolling over her brow mixing with the tears as they streaked down her cheeks. Someone had offered her an umbrella, but she couldn’t take it, she needed the rain now as she had needed him. The rain protected her from those who would look and see her falling apart. Droplets drenched her clothes; she folded her arms over across her stomach as she felt the cool metal and diamond brush against her skin. The memories of him on his knees burning her skin with guilt. The sergeant calling the Marines to order as they ceremoniously fired their rifles in a salute to their fallen brother. Each shot sending shivers of guilt through her body, causing more and more of her to fall away. Her knees buckled as the pain in her body overwhelmed her, part of her soul had just been torn from her. Three feet in front of her it was being buried forever.
“It was later that week I found out I was pregnant with you” She smiled as she raised one hand to her daughter’s face, brushing the hair from her face and over her ear. “It was in you I found a reason to keep going on, and every time I look at you I see his face looking back at me. A gift to me, you gave me purpose.” Looking into Grace’s eyes she could see the confusion in her eyes.
“Why did he leave you?” She said after a few moments, her hands shaking slightly as she turned to look her mother in the face again. “If he had loved you as much as he had said, why leave?” Grace rested her hand on her mother’s lap, grasping her hand as she waited for her mother’s response.

He mother looked her back in the eyes, understanding Grace’s confusion and hesitance to accept someone whom she had hated for so long. “It’s what those whom love you do, they leave you for a time to do what they must. We who love them, have to understand that. Some go to war, or travel for a time, others spend countless hours at the office. They work to make our lives better, as we do for them. Your father left us to help make this world safer for us, to bring home paychecks to one day give us a future.” She said as he pulled her hand away from her daughter’s, reaching again for the old journal on the table. Every muscle in her body aching, breathing became difficult. She began coughing uncontrollably as the sickness made its way through her body, claiming her as it went.
Grace walked quickly to the table across the room and poured her mother a glass of water. Bringing it to her she waited for the coughing to end and gave the cup to her mother. Whom stubbornly refused it until she realized Grace would not stop until she had drank every drop. She took the cool water from her and finished it quickly. Opening the journal to a specific, earmarked page. An old newspaper clipping taped to the page, she handed the page to Grace and pointed out the house. Once again she saw her father’s handwriting in black ink.
“One day” It read, the old yellow paper showing a weathered photo of a house. It was blue, two stories with white trim, and big white door. Grace looked up at her mom, and cracking a small smile as she laughed slightly. “No Fence?” This was the first time anything about her father had ever made her smile, she continued to stare at the photo. Her smile widening as her eyes scanned the page vigorously, taking in every detail.

Eveyln looked up at her daughter’s face while she scanned the page. Speaking again in the cracked voice her illness had bestowed upon her. “Your father never wanted the fence, he always said he wanted something that was ours, not something everyone else had.” She smiled and laughed slightly “He always was very funny, and romantic as well. He left this for me the first time he left for his training. On the table with a eleven roses, and-”

“Eleven?” Grace looked up at her mother confused, “He really didn’t like to be the same as everyone else did he?” She said as she turned the page in the book, to another not scrawled in her father’s handwriting. She read it over and covered her mouth as she read the note.

“Love you, ‘Till the last one dies” Everything came into focus now. She suddenly had an understanding of the man she had once hated her whole life, the Marines, the decorative rose. Everything. “No” Her mother said smiling as she pulled the journal from her daughter’s lap. “He really didn’t and sometimes he was very cheesy.” She laughed slightly as she saw the realizations going through her daughter’s head.

It was hard to keep her eyes open, she laid her head back onto her pillow as she began coughing again. “Gracie” She said “Your father would have been so proud of you, much like myself” her words soft as she felt her body drifting into sleep. Grace looked down onto her mother, tears forcing their way through her eyelids, rolling over her cheeks. Sobbing lightly, she leaned over and kissed her mother’s forehead. “Love you Mom.” She said as she pulled away.

Grace stood up and closed the window of her mother’s room. Even though it was summer, it would still get very cold at night. She gathered up her things and saw her phone’s message indicator was blinking. She flipped it open to see the battery life was severely drained. “I just charged it” she said with frustration as she skipped passed the warning and read the message from Johnathan. “I just wanted to say that love you babe” she closed the phone shut and pressed her hands to her chest. Breathing slowly, as she pulled herself together. It was getting dark out and she would need to leave soon, she sat next to her mother again for a short time. Feeling the cold take over the room, abnormal cold. Grace made a mental note to tell the staff that the room needed sufficient heating, as she kissed her mother again and left the room. Quietly closing the door as she did.
Eveyln awoke that night, noticing the cold in the room as she had the last few nights. She could feel the presence of someone looking at her. Scanning the room at first revealed nothing. It was soon after she saw him, standing in the corner of the room. “Jack?” She gasped as she tried to sit up. The young man in the walked towards her, tall in his dress uniform. He was pale, and if you looked too hard you would see right through him. He walked towards her and sat in the chair next to his wife.

“Oh Jack” She said, unable to hold back the tears, sobbing uncontrollably. “Did you see her Jack? Did you see Gracie?” She said anxiously. He nodded in acknowledgment and smiled as he spoke “Yeah baby, I saw her.” he reached for her hand, grasping it in his own. “Jack you’re so cold.” She said sleepily. He pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry baby,” he said as tears filled his eyes, emotion coating his voice. “I miss you so much” He said. He waited for a response from her, feeling her body grow colder. He began to fade as he heard her speak again. “I’m sorry Jack”

He looked at her horrified. She was sorry? She couldn’t blame herself still, after all these years. He mustered up all of his energy. Filling the room with a deep bright light, and took her hand. To his surprise she grasped his back, knowing what she had become. Her body laid lifeless on the bed, he was too late to saver her, but she was just in time to save him. She touched his face with her hand, as he grabbed it and looked her in the eyes. “Remember?” He said as he looked to the bed, and back to her. She looked down to the bed her eyes wide. He pushed his lips to hers, embracing her while they both faded away.

The next day Grace returned to find her mother, lifeless upon the bed. A single decorative rose wrapped in a single piece of paper. She picked up the rose and pulled the paper off. Her hands shaking with uncontrolled emotions.

“’Till the last one dies”

To those of you who like to read, and want an easy, fun series. Dresden Files has all my recommendations. Please pick up a copy.

Starry, Starry Night, 

Keep calm in the candle light. 

Dream of another life, 

Wouldn’t it be nice? 

Some of you will sing until you can’t, 

Some of you will dance, 

Some of you will write, 

Dream, 

Paint, 

Climb, 

Run, 

Jump, 

Some of you will reach inside and find someone new.  

Some of you will smile, 

Some of you will cry, 

Some of you will touch they sky, 

Some of you will do it because it’s breathing. 

Excuse me while I stand back, 

Watch you act. 

To dad: To the man who punished me with hard labor,

To the man who raised me to do what was needed,

To question what I thought was incorrect.

For sticking up for me in school, when nobody else would. I drink for you. To the man who still makes any movie with Russel Crowe in it a bit odd to watch.

I drink to you.

To the man who inadvertently taught me that the best way to cook a steak, is to leave the grill on.

I drink to you.

For making me write ‘I will not steal” over 300 times because I tried to steal m&ms. I drink to you. For understanding when I wanted to do something, even though you doubted me.

I drink to you.

To the man who man me who I am today,

I drink to you.

I make no friends because I feel like I have too,I put nothing inf front of what needs be done. I love my family, my friends and the girl who chooses to be by my side because they’re always there for me.

I value what’s built by hand, I understand the man or woman who would rather learn on their own, I judge no one, I will work until I can’t, I will celebrate my victories, I will acknowledge my losses, I will learn for my mistakes, I will not harm those who mean me no harm, I will love everyone.

Because of the man you are, I became the man I am.

I look forward to every drink,

every cigar, every fish I reel in,

Thank you dad, Happy father’s day.

Prost!!! (German for cheers whilst drinking a beer)

One morning I woke up and I felt different, I’m not entirely sure how to describe it to you in a way that would properly unfold the train of thoughts that lead me to this new found state of mind. As if I suddenly had the need to find something in the world that was worth the effort, the pain and the eventual numbing of the body, mind and spirit. The tides of emotional highs and lows that came with being who, and what I am.  

Imagine that you live in a world, where anything you can dream, or create comes true. This is the mind of a writer, a painter, a poet, a musician, a storyteller, and actors. Oddly enough, these are the attributes that we had all possessed when we were children. The endless bouts against clouds, trees and pets that changed so eloquently into the does of our dreams and imaginations. The landscapes could change in a sudden rush of adventure, one minute we were walking home from school, and the next we were on high seas or the awe inspiring fields of another world. These were the things that made us tick, the moved us from childhood, to our eventual reckoning with reality. It takes but only a few years, a few snide comments about the use of our most precious gifts to become so guarded amongst each other. Those few years can make or break the weak willed imagination of those who seem to have no desire to keep up with it.

Those of us who have strived, and pushed on with our dreams and ideas are the ones who sit against the current of a society that does not understand what has become of them. Inside their child screams to be let loose, to enjoy the world as they had once before. These are the reasons we still read books, watch movies, play video games and it’s the reason we can find music to just listen to. We want to exercise our abilities to say ‘What if?”, it’s the single greatest tool we have for advancing ourselves and our species as a whole. Without imagination, would we have landed on the moon? Without one man to look to the sea and ask himself “What is beyond this?” Where would we be?

The simple truth, it’s our nature to explore. We live to explore the world around us and the many that hide inside of us. Each emotion lingering inside, each tear, each smile has a story to tell, a world of it’s own to know.
The next time a child looks to you and asks you to play with them, do not humour them. Humour yourself, sit down and open your heart and mind to a world you left behind a long time ago. Remember what it was like so that you may come back to it, remember that feeling so that the child will never have to forget.
These emotional waves come and go; the tides of my mind and the lack of control I seem to exhibit over them. I want them to come and enrich my life. I want to explore the dark sides and see what strings need to be pulled to draw a tear, or make my heart skip. I want to let the emotions wash over me and let my fingers weave a story that I can’t stop smiling about. The essential part of a good imagination, is allow yourself to let go and experience the these hidden within you.