Driving.

I do really weird things when I'm alone in my car. I think I forget that people can see me.

Impossible.

Here’s what I know about the realm of possibility...
it is always expanding, it is never what you think 
Everything around us was once deemed impossible.
From the airplanes overhead to the phones in our pockets. 
As hard as it is for us to see sometimes,
we all exist within the realm of possibility. 
Most of the limits are of our own world’s devising. 
And yet, every day we each do so many things that were once impossible to us. 

Dislikes.

1. Annoying, bitchy, English teachers who have the intelligence and personality of a hot water bottle.
2. Calendars. When I look at them... I get stressed out.
3. Depression, stress, anxiety, and all that jazz.
4. When my hand writing is anything less than perfect.
5. Boys... men? Guys. Whatever you want to call them. All they do is cause trouble.

Nourishment.

Dance is nourishment for the body, mind, and soul. Without movement my energy stagnates and I stop observing my surroundings. Dancing reminds me that we are surrounded by beauty. We just have to remember to notice. It's such a stress reliever. If I could dance all of my problems away, I would, instantly, but I just don't have that much time. When I hear music and rhythms and beats... it's like magic. The emotions it triggers are different from anything else I've experienced. When I dance, I don't have to worry. It's expression, not impression. 

My Patronus.

I've decided recently that my patronus is a Saw-Whet Owl. We both enjoy the silence in the night and are content with solitude. Some people may consider it dorky (much like myself) but it's okay. Because of their unique look, they remind me that it's okay to be be different and not like everybody else. Not to mention, they're kinda cute. 

         

Words.

Words demand explanation. They require analysis. They are the construction and expression of my thoughts. Of my heart. But they can't describe it. They can't describe any of it. They can't tell you how deep the memories are, or how often I think of them. They can't scream what I really want to say. They are the mask of how I really feel and they try to disguise the pain, but someone will strip it away. And someone will make those words worthless.


So what is a word worth? Nothing. What are three words worth? Nothing. But we say them anyway, because you know. You know, more than anyone what they mean. When I say you're amazing, I know the word is just a cover; a quick way for me to remember all the things that amaze me about you, a mask for the memories. It means so much. It means an alphabet of sounds and letters and words, but none of them really mean anything, because words are based on trust; they rely on how truly and deeply we feel. Remember, always, that they don't mean anything, they are letters and they are constructions, but we deconstruct them every day and we twist them; we manipulate them so that they say what we want them to. But no word, no shape, no photograph could ever twist so far that it could begin to explain even a little bit of how I feel.