to wake the music in our bones,

*I went back to senior year and Nelson's classroom and Paris.  Here's what happened:

What does it mean, to wake the music in our bones?  Is it a realization or epiphany?  The realization that you could be doing so much more than this.  Than the quiet nights and empty words.  Than the way you see yourself or others or the way you tell them what you don't think or don't tell them what you do.
Is it some epiphany that makes you spin your mind 180 degrees?  Because, let's be honest here, you can't physically spin 180 degrees in your small dorm room.
Is it a change in emotion or action or the way you look or dance with others?  What does it mean, to wake the music in our bones?  Because I've talked to my bones and they seem to be singing already.  They sing about mistakes and heartaches and maybe even desire.  They serenade me with the words my heart said and my brain said it didn't say.  (Except, my brain's a liar.)
What does it mean to wake the music in our bones?  Should I make incisions?  Remove them from my body and use them as drumsticks?  But I don't think I'd survive without my bones, even if they were still making music.  See, I need my bones inside me, where they belong.  Because sometimes I cant hear the music and I need them to remind me that it's there.  I need them to serenade me when I lie awake at night, staring at the stars, deciding if I really exist or not.  I need them to ground me or else I'll fly to space to touch those stars and land on the moon and then I'd die from the lack of oxygen.

I feel heavy.

It must be the weight of my heart.

Letters to My Former Best Friends

T - 1999 - 2010
Our whimsical childhood filled with creatures of incredible imagination ended with you.  I could go on forever in that world with adjacent minds and singed hearts, but it ended with you.  Our fantasy quickly faded and morphed into a harsh reality when you gave a quick hug accompanied by the absence of eye contact.  We were no longer damsels, and suddenly you seemed like the indifferent, much too cool, step-sister.  Even though you are 1 year and 7 months younger than me.  Even though you used to be on my side.
We were destined to be hand in hand for a long while, but you cut off all contact when you moved away.  Except, you still see C and I'm just sitting here holding on to nostalgia. And I will never forgive you for that. I'm starting to think you were on her side all along. (Was it because you were both in AM and I was in PM?)

C - 1995 - 2010
I think you're just too cool for me now.  Or it could be that I horribly and tremendously broke your heart.

J - 2001 - 2005
And you're too good for me.  But, this whole best friend thing was never mutual anyway.  We may have bonded extremely well over fowl and stallions, but not over what truly mattered.  Because I could never be there for you like she could.  You know, your (to this very day) best friend.  And I think she knows a lot more about you than I do because you didn't teach me, but I didn't teach you either.

S - 2009 - 2010
We were such a good pair.  You always endeavored to make me happy and I wasn't such bad company, right?  Although, I don't know if you were really utilizing your entire potential when following through with your so called plan.  I'm starting to wonder if you got close to me with a strategy alternate to your plan. Because I did terrible things under your reign and some people still have not found it in their hearts to forgive me.

J - ? - ?
I hardly remember my time with you except the time you spent kissing my cousin.

H - Summer 2010
You were never my best friend.

A Thousand Faces and One

I'm a good guesser.

I guess what people are feeling and what they mean and I'm always right.

Except, I don't ever say anything.

You wouldn't know it, but I'm a good guesser.

I knew that when you were angry and wouldn't let people do what they wanted, it wasn't just because you'd had a bad day.  You'd had a bad several years.

I knew that when you left for the not last time, you weren't weak.  You were craving and you still are.

I knew that when he asked you a normal question and you said you wouldn't answer, you were remembering every feeling you'd ever had at one moment and the force was enough to take you out of this world.

I knew that when you got upset, it wasn't a random heart string because you knew exactly which one was pulled.

Just as I know that the strings being tugged in my own heart have stretched and collapsed so many times, I stopped keeping count.

My heart is tired and I am tired and I am a good guesser, but you wouldn't know it.

Because I see the way you hide your face, thinking that no one actually knows.  

I see the way you cry, not for forgiveness, but for your own stupidity.  

I see the way you look at him and feel disgusted and not just by the scars he holds.

I see the way you roll your eyes, like, superficial, but it's actually seven fathoms deep.

Because I have known these things and maybe not at your longevity, but enough to taste the bitter that comes with it and enough to know that I'm a good guesser.