He is Back.

He’s here again.

He follows me now.

I thought I got rid of him, I thought I figured out how to escape his faint but powerful grasp.

I’ve failed myself.

I thought I knew myself better than that.

But now I realize, I fooled myself all along – I am no better than I was before.

I am still sad.

I thought that if I didn’t involve myself in relationships I could figure out why so many of them had gone wrong. I believed it was the false terms under which my previous relationships occurred that made me want to run in the other direction, only a few weeks in. But now I find myself back to where I’ve tried so hard to run from. The sadness that finds it’s way into a perfect situation. The sadness I wish I could control and ward off with a bright smile. But I can’t. I keep trying to blame everyone but myself. “Why are you doing this to me?” But it's no one’s fault. I’d like to blame myself, but I don’t know what is wrong. “What’s the problem?” I’m angry because I really believed I was in control. But then he comes back. The faint shadow, enveloping me in his grief and making me suffer too. He has not sympathy for me! He doesn’t understand how he affects me – how he drives me into the ground.

Well this is what happened…

I was walking home and He came. He just decided that He wanted to make this walk hell for me. He made me let go of his hand. He made me keep silent and yell screams of annoyance in my head. “Can’t you leave? I can walk there on my own.” He wanted me to tell him to go away, to stay away. “It’s been fun. But our time together has run out.” He wanted me to make him feel insignificant. He wanted to blame him for my sadness and loneliness. But it wasn’t his fault. It’s no one’s fault.

So I’m fighting him. I’m digging my bloody nails into the grounds moist dirt. I’m fighting my way back to indifference (it’s the most realistic state I can achieve at the moment).

But my thoughts always betray me. They give into him. My body can do nothing but follow my thoughts back into the ground. I just hope it doesn’t rain tonight.

Walking With Confidence

She said, "Walk with confidence. With your chin up high, but not your nose in the air. Remember you're not better than anyone else, but rather yourself at it's best."

Now I walk just for fun.

Rain, Rain Come Today

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I decided to call him my ‘boyfriend’. I had too many times come across labels and their false attractions to be fooled once again. But this time it happened on my terms. This time, I know that the label helps to identify who he is to others but unimportantly sails the surface of the deep sea I have the pleasure to explore.

I’m still unaware of the future… and I’m pleasantly wrapped in the present. I know that the terms you enter a relationship with aren’t guaranteed the whole way through … they’re not written in stone. And without fail, the circumstances will change and challenge what at first we think is forever – that blind love. The love that sees no wrong, that looks beyond the questionable moments, a love on steroids drugged with unicorns and rainbows.

What happens when we find out unicorns are a fantasy, false? Or that rainbows only show themselves after a storm?

I don’t know…

But just as a fantasy is yours to control…

Just as the rainbow always shows itself after a storm…

The moments of blind love are great. And they are forever.

The feeling I’m feeling… I cannot label but I know a change or a challenge is welcomed with open arms. Because if victory is a reassured love… then I’m addicted.

Working Script: Title?

Looking through my notebook I came across a script I was thinking about. Anyway here are my notes. Let me know what you think... is there potential, even if its just a pinch?

Summary:

the homeless man gores through his pile of junk and chooses one at a time and describes a situation and person who may appeal to the item. What I want to establish is how the things we buy or use greatly define and affect our character and who we are viewed as to others.

in the end, because he has a pile of junk, i want him to consider what is being said of him.

maybe that he is a blank slate deciding who he wants to be... or that he views these items as the only means of surviving... or that he is not reliant on these objects to define who he is or... that it is only through these objects that he can define those around him...

Throughout the act, people walk by him on the stage and he offers them an item (which they decline). Knowing that that was the wrong item to offer, he searches for one while describing the person who it would have appealed to.

Setting:
In an alley surrounded by knick knacks and other random things (auto parts, magazines, boxes). A homeless man has made a home in the alley encircled by garbages dumps at sunset. He makes a living by selling these 'things', seemingly useless to passing people. The scene begins with him trying to fix a couple of pipes together for a roof water drainer.

An older man walks onto the stage and nods as he passes the man hard at work. The man sees this as an opportunity and tries to sell his newest discovery.

Homeless man: do you need a water pressure gun?

Passer-by: No. (responds without stopping and shakes his head. continues on his way)

Man is unaffected by this because it has become routine to be turned away and refused.

He continues to work at his draining pipe and begins to nod his head continuously to himself.

Man: Oh yes, this will defintetly sell , if only for a few bucks. Everything sells... eventually, just need to find the right buyer. Everyone comes across that thing thats's missing... to complete something else... everyone...

He lifts his work into the air, spins it around in a full circle, nods in satisfaction and lays it gently on the pile. He begins to look over his pile and counts inventory.

Man: one water pressure, one water strainer, one rubber tire, one long rubber hose, one window frame, one extension cord (lifts it, extends it and adds...) with minimal extension, one wheel-less skateboard, one headless doll...

(a man appears on stage), one...

(noticing the man) ... you need some rope?

Passer-by: No (shakes his head vigorously , quickens his pace and walks off stage).

Man: (tosses rope aside) Ofcourse he doesn't need rope...

While describing the perosn, he reveals his own strony of how he got to where he is and his feeling of beign there.

Another local homeless man carries a cart onto the stage. He speaks to his fellow mate and asks:
"Wanna take a look (points to his cart)? May find something that'll sell.

Man: No (shakes his head vigorously).

Seller walks away mumbling to himself.

Man continues to work on another piece of junk.

________

That's pretty much what i have so far...

This was written underneath...

People are reflections of ourselves. The situations we choose to base a person's character are relative to ourselves, our own hurts, joys and fears. We judge through relating and thus, define ourselves in the process.

:)

Any titles that you've thought of?
A name for the main character or nameless?
Let me know what works and what should change?

Thanks!

Just A Thought...

For some reason I see sadness in his eyes. Of course this may be the reflection of my own feelings in his eyes. I feel like I must know his past history – I feel like he needs that person to listen. This just sounds like crazy talk. He knows what he needs. A stranger can’t tell you what you need or how you feel – can they? Even if they could, who would? Fear accompanies knowledge, especially knowledge of something each individual tries desperately to hide.

Sweet Home, Alone

There is a fear within me that continues to claim victory over my rising happiness. This feeling can only be described as imprisonment. Applied to all avenues of life, it seems to me that my material self has been taken hostage. Imagine this:

a girl, young and beautiful. She has golden blonde hair that has grown beyond the small of her back. She is porcelain-like – the smooth, pale skin untainted by the demons of puberty. She wears a flowing sun dress, with small delicate flowers embroidered on the fabric. She lives her young life like every other young girl and boy but she lives a less desirable life beyond the ‘things’ that define our world. She is the same young girl, but in her mind she is kept within four invisible walls. She can see kilometers ahead – the fallen birch trees and the hills elevated in the sky – but she doesn’t dare walk past the four walls she has designated for herself. Some may say this is her comfort zone but it is not. To create a comfort zone she must know what makes her uncomfortable but she has never made this contrast. Maybe, she has established these walls to ensure she will never feel anything unknown. She has imagined what love is, what commitment is, what responsibility is – but she would rather keep separate the imagination from reality. For what if she does fall in love or if she commits and invites responsibility? Who then will she become?
These invisible walls have been her knights – standing tall, coated in silver armour, holding with confidence spears that ward off any intangible feelings. She has decided to fight with nothing but her mind.

In my reality, I sit legs crossed on the misty grass and let the sun shine through my invisible home – the safest place I know – a home of nothing.

Holding Hands

She can't help but picture what it would be like to run her smooth, gentle hand along his sculpted arm. As soon as the thought occurred he hastily grab her hand from between her tense thighs. She leans in and rests her head on his strong broad shoulder and hopes that it will allow him to relax and enjoy the moment. She knows that he is shy because he uses it to define the boundaries of his relationships. She also knows that as she was thinking how it would be like to touch him, he was nervously concentrating on the perfect moment to do so. He must have repeated the scenario over and over in his mind - when he should do it, how he should do - carefully imagining the movement his hand is to take, where it is destined to go and what it will do when it arrives at the inviting destination.
She smiles to herself while all the eyes in the theater - few and far between - are intently watching the flickering lights cast on the gigantic screen straight ahead. Her eyes are watching the screen but her mind wanders. She is convinced she has fallen... She has fallen into the welcoming arms of temptation, she is unable to grasp hold of anything stable or sturdy, she is loose, light and likely to break a sweat. He is strong, tall and muscular - the ingredients to the universal representation of a man. She runs her free hand up and down his arm, lightly brushing the soft and vulnerable area on the underside of the elbow. At this place the veins run wild, hidden beneath the pale porous skin. Here she realizes is where the drugs are injected, where people seek refuge through artificial means. The scars left behind serve now merely as scars of addiction but of evidence that self infliction is the only way to heighten all senses - evidence of Temptation's victory.
She runs her rounded nail tips down the front of his arm where the hair is coarse and uneven. She slides her fingers between his knuckles and feels the dryness and roughness of them. She is able to feel each groove of his chapped skin - the hands of a working man. His free arm begins to slowly caress her thigh nearest to him. She looks down and senses the urge of reasoning surrendering itself as temptation and sexual tension make her stomach cringe. He could take her now, she would not fight but the movie isn't over just yet.
As soon as she has become comfortable and settled with his fingers on her thigh she lays back against and enjoys the night for what it is.
A night that allowed for clumsy movements, reassuring looks and comfort. Its was him knocking at her window late in the evening and her replying with a swift welcoming hand signal. It was him asking to be given a chance and her allowing it. It was him and it was her innocently holding hands at the movie theater - but it felt like so much more.