The Massager

Tonight I feel like I have been blessed. And I really don't want to forget this moment.

Her eyes gleamed at me as she was telling me her story. She is a good talker, I thought. I smiled at her as I listened to her tale. She didn't know me and I didn't know her. This is the first time we have met.

I kept listening to her stories, while she worked, her talk about things when she started to say,

"You know, I thought that you would've given me a hard time..." she continued. "But you didn't, unlike all the others."

My smiled widened even some more, "Really?" I asked. I was filled with warmth at that statement, to be glad to be kind to her.

"Yes," she went on, "But you know the beautiful, rich kind..."

I nodded my head in understanding. Of course I knew what she was talking about, from television shows and drama that I have seen. And being also quite knowledgeable in the culture.

But still, I was filled with delight. I did not know her, and here she was telling me of her experiences, giving me advice and lessons that she had learned from her past life. I knew what she was going for, she didn't want me to make the same mistakes that she did, and I was glad to listen to her and accept this knowledge.

Of course, I had known it before, but this is the first time that somebody who had experienced it was talking to me about it. And all the while as she was serving me.

The song on my player shifted into a new tune, a beautiful piano melody that soothed my ears.

I laid back and relaxed on my pillow as she proceeded to massage my legs.

"Don't let just anyone massage you," she said. "Good thing I know from experience. It shouldn't be too hard, this is moderate, since this is your first time and you are young."

I nodded my head in thanks. She smiled at me as her cellphone bleeped.

"It's my friend," she kept on talking. "Oh do you want to see my baby?" she asked.

I nodded my head again as she flipped through her cellphone photos to show me finally a photo of herself sitting beside her husband, and two children. A boy and a girl. They were both very young, 5 and 3 years old.

"Awe, they are cute," I said, lifting my head up.

She spoke calmly and gently to me, talking about everything else. The hardships, the happys, the good news, and the sadder news. I had learned that she likes Bruno Mars songs. I told her that I liked Taylor Swift and can play the piano.

She moved to my forehead, massaging the temples.

I told her about other things that happened to me in the past and she replied with the same tinge of joy in her voice, that was happy, friendly, and something that I haven't recently experienced lately.

"Well, all in all, it's beautiful really," she said complimenting me.

I enjoyed listening to her as she spoke.

In the end, our session was done. I felt a little bit sad that it was, as I liked to hear her talk, not to mention the wonderful massage that I had gotten.

Her eyes lit up again telling me, "Just ask for my name when you need anything."

I nodded, I was definitely going to call her again the next time I get a massage. I thanked her.

I left, carrying my music player with me as it changed to a different tune once again as I walked to the other room.

I know it was just a simple thing. Not much of a big or impacting moment in my life. Just a first massage. Which felt wonderful.

But the thing is, I am remembering her as a person. A person who faced hardship, struggles just like any other person. What made her different was that she chose to share it to me. Yeah, I know, really not a big deal to make conversation with your client, but hey, I'm young, not exactly an adult yet. And well, she cared enough to share, to at least try to shape my life, letting me know the things that happen if I do make these life-changing decisions.

What she has done, well it's kindness. I really do appreciate it. Even in the simplest forms.

I hope to repay her for her kindness.

As I was sitting in the room, I got up and started filling 3 glasses of water. One for my mother, one for her friend, and one for her, the massager.

My father opened the door for me as I went in and handed everyone their glasses of water. She took it gently with a smile on her face, thanking me.

"Mom, I like her," I said, "She's good and she's nice." I glanced over to her beaming face.

I turned to leave the room and said, "Thank you again."

Writing.

State the obvious.

I love writing.

A lot. It's very enjoyable for me. Just the way I can express myself either on paper or by text on blog. You can tell that I do love writing since I do it everyday. On a notebook or by blog, and I do blog a lot. Stories, thoughts, random rants & rages, and just a bunch of nonsense that can only make sense to me. Even lessons I learn or stuff from devos. I just have a lot on my mind. I think a lot too I suppose. But back to writing.

I remember the first time I ever got into writing. I was, hmm, eight years old.

It was in grade 3 and I had just moved to Canada.

It was a very foreign country for me and I was adjusting. Everything looked so large and big to me and the only things I was familiar with was the malls and my great aunt's house since I had visited Canada previously when I was 4 years old (I actually remember my time in Canada previously, but that's another story).

I remember the principal's eyes widening at my shy 8 year old self, hiding behind my mother as she was telling her all of my achievements. We were taking a tour of the school I was to be going to, which was a uniformed private school, catholic if you may. Little did I know that haha, the school I would be 4 years in the future was only 2 blocks away from that school. (Again, another story).

"That's remarkable!" the principal exclaimed. She had very short gray and dark hair meshed together in a pixie cut which worked for her. She reminded me of that actor from the movie Freaky Friday, Jamie Lynn Curtis was it?
She wore small framed glasses, and had crow's feet wrinkles by her eyes, looked around her late forties or early fifties I suppose.

"Your daughter's intelligence is very impressive..." she continued on, beaming at me. "I think she will do quite well at this school."

I was looking up at her with my big and shiny eyes with a shy expression.

Her denim suit and black thin heels intrigued me.

We continued to take a tour of the school. Well, I never really talk or tell anyone about this but, she even suggested I should skip 3 grades.... Yeah, I know, whoa.

So I would've been an small eight year old in a sixth grade classroom, with eleven year old students.... Scary.

And well you probably know what happened, she didn't let me skip grades, because that would've been weird for me. Even though I would've graduated when I was 14.... (Odd enough, if I had stayed in the Phils, that's the same age I would've graduated high school).

ANYWAYS. :) Sorry for the bunny trail.

Back to Writing!

In that third grade classroom, I remember seeing my teacher. She had fluffy blonde hair. But not the poofy, weird disco afro kind. The kind where it's beautiful, lucious and filled with voluminousness. She had blue eyes and looked around her late twenties or early thirties. Probably thirties, I remember she was married.

She smiled down at us and widened her eyes that it was almost scary, but not quite. She told us to have a new notebook open to make it a writing notebook. One that we would write in during our quiet time everyday.

Now this was very foreign for me. Probably for everyone too. But it was new. I had never really been interested in writing. Or reading (how I became interested is another story... lots of stories to tell xD).

Yes, I know, I was only eight, but I've done a lot already. :P (yet again, another story).

So I opened my new blue notebook and stared at the blank page wondering what in the world I was going to write. I had my No. 2 pencil in my hand, who was eagerly waiting to press it's lead head on the lined paper.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

I kept my eyes focus on the page, not minding what other's were doing. This was my moment. Just me and the page.

You're probably wondering how I remember this. Well I just do. One of my moments I like to relive sometime.

It was then and there where I started writing my first story. My very first story which I told, between me, the pencil, and the page. And eventually my third grade teacher who liked to look over all the notebooks.

By the end of the quiet time, I had 4 pages, filled with writing. I was pretty satisfied.

My friend, her name was Annika, had bright red hair and looked over at me with her eyes that grew as big as a bright blue balloon being inflated by helium.

"WOW!!! You write a lot!" she exclaimed at me, looking quite impressed. She showed me her notebook which was almost half a page filled with scribbles and marks of words.

Her exclamation made quite an effect as other kids started to crowd around me, looking at my notebook saying things like, WOW! WHOA! YOU WRITE A LOT! causing me to blush. I nodded at all of them so small it was barely seen.

"Thanks," I said shyly, "You guys write a lot too."

Yes, yes, I was a shy and quiet kid.

Then our teacher collected our books and proceeded to the next lesson in her chirpy and warm voice.

I guess I enjoyed my first time writing. The following days after that during our writing period, I just kept on writing. Random ideas, things that were on my mind. What else was on a little girl's 8 year old mind? Really.... not much :)

I just wrote scenes and stories that would be funny or cool if it happened and of course about tv shows that I watched since I was obsessed with television. Haha, seriously, if you could count how many hours I watched a day ... but.. that's another story :)

Anyways, days passed, months passed, haha, years... just kidding, we'll go as far as months :)

After a lot of writing periods, well guess how many notebooks I managed to fill?

THREE :)

and they were filled with stories and stuffs!

And that's how I started writing.

I kept going on and on and on.

When I was eleven, I found those three notebooks again and started reading things I wrote. And they were funny! On the last page on one of the writing journals I have a snapshot of it in my mind. I was writing about an episode on one of my favourite tv shows back then, of the Winx Club. Note, I was eight or nine, and I was writing about Musa and Riven. Musa was the fairy of music and Riven went to a nearby school for boys who handled weapons and dragons.

And I wrote a closing scene right after they had defeated the Trix witches from their evil plot to take over the fairy realm. I quoted something from the Disney Hercules movie, and it went something like this.

Musa: Riven! You saved my life!

Riven: well it's no problem, it's really fine...

Musa: but you almost got hurt doing it! thank you ..

Riven: well, you know, people do crazy things... when they're in love.

Hahahaha :)

Oh I am funny.

Anyways, yeah. That's what I remember from my childhood days.

This was a very personal blog post, so I hope you enjoy :)

WRITING AND EIDETIC MEMORIES FTW!

start

The rain was pounding. I sat right beside my window, watching the raindrops race each other down the window. It was such a sad day today, I couldn't even think straight.
It was my second last year of high school, and I wanted to fill in my extra curricular slot for next year. I chose cheerleading. Well, the tryouts were today and I didn't make it. It was obvious by the way the head cheerleader looked at me. Her face was scrunched up and seemed distracted or would rather be somewhere else, wanting to have the next girl up. Or maybe even Irvin. The only guy who signed up for cheerleading. His name really says it all.

But he was the only competition there who actually wished me good luck, so I smiled at him making him stumble a bit. He was a nice guy, just a little bit awkward and nerdy. Super smart... even smarter than me probably. I watched his try out and well, miss head cheerleader smiled a little. In discomfort. I think. Not sure.

I came home and found a note on the kitchen table. Mom was out on a date again. She started dating around July of last year, probably after a year after the divorce with my dad. I still visit him sometimes, they both seem to be fine. But I won't go into that too much.

Anyways, mom was out again. This was her fifth one with the same guy, wow she must really like him, because this is a record. The previous ones usually lasted between one to three. Good, I thought. Because those guys were such jerks. Only dating my mom because she was pretty, and of course her legs. It disturbed me. I hope this one was different. I haven't exactly met him yet, because everytime he would be home, I'd be out doing something, or volunteering or what not. It's not as if I was trying to avoid him, but just not making great expectations. They all were losers. Not because my mom had bad taste, she does, but they all just turned out to be meeeh.

I tied my brown hair up into a high pony tail and put on my favourite comfy sweats and turquoise crew neck with white designs. Ahh, it felt good. It had style, but as comfy as a sweater!

I pushed my laptop aside and put it on my white table. Jumping on my bed to a comfortable position, I opened my book to were the bookmark was and started to read.
I love to read. I was on this one adventure book I got from my birthday from my dad. He knew I loved adventures. Even though, I'd still be quite afraid to climb a tree or do anything to risky. At least, when I read, I could experience the adventures without getting hurt or taking too big of a risk. Logan always tells me to lighten up and "do something with my life." But I always roll my eyes at him.

Oh yeah, Logan is my best friend by the way. Ever since 3rd grade when we first met. It's quite funny actually. I was always the goody-two-shoes, and he was the one always getting into trouble. I told the boys not to climb that tree using my persuasive voice, even though it was high pitched. But hey, I was eight.

They listened, which was good. But not Logan. He climbed the tree anyways, and even asked me to climb it!

"I'm wearing a dress!!!" I yelled to him from the ground. He was up really high on the tree, trying to show off I think.
"Yea, I can see that... so? Come on!"
He was so stupid, couldn't he see I was wearing a white dress and my shiny black shoes?
"No! It's dangerous! Plus I'd get all dirty!"He still kept on climbing.
"You're such a girl," he smiled.
"That's cause I am one!!" I yelled back, "And you're such a boy! Now get off there before you get hurt." I said that because that's what my mom would tell me.

The boys were laughing behind me now. Haha, wouldn't blame them, there I was, a little girl, trying be authoritative over a boy from schol.

"That's cuz I am one!!!" Logan jumped off the tree with ease and landed infront of me. He held out his small dirty hands and said, "Hi, I'm Logan."

And well, that's how we met.
Nah, we didn't become instant friends when he introduced himself. I mean, he was such a stupid boy. I scrunched up my nose a bit, and then smiled shyly. "Hi, I'm Emily."

Yep, that's when we became instant friends.

I heard a clank clank sound that seemed to be coming from my window.

"Yo!!! Hastings!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Speaking of him...

I recognized the voice and looked outside my window.

"Is this supposed to be your new and creative way of getting a girl's attention?" I yelled back to the voice.

He looked up from the ground and dropped the small pebbles he was collecting, I assume to throw again to my window.

"Hey, good, you heard me the first time!" he smiled.

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, good thing or you would've broken the window!"

"Thank you for not underestimating my strength." Logan proceeded to show off his biceps.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Why are you here anyway?" I said diverting the subejct.

He stopped flexing and looked up at me again, "Heard you tried out for cheerleading!

"I did." I leaned on my hand, resting my elbow on the window.

"Awesome! How'd it go?"

I raised up my thumb and pointed it down while making a raspberry sound with my tongue.

"Come on, I bet you weren't that bad..."

"Irvin did better than me."

He laughed and gestured for me to come down, "I know what will make you feel better.."

I perked up a little bit. "Milkshake..."

"... and fries," he finished with a grin.

I smiled. Yeah, sure Logan was annoying sometimes. But he always does know what would make me feel better.

"Come on down, takin' you to Papa Joe's Pizza Place."

slower.

This time, it didn't come so fast.
It came quite slow actually, something that would feel like a million rainbows that rush through me. Or maybe it's just the coldness I'm feeling right now because of the air conditioner that is blowing.

But what I've noticed. Is the rush that came by previously. It came, and it went. Just like the wind during a storm. Once it just suddenly comes like that, it'll leave. But after a tempo, or something that builds up in a song, it could actually turn out beautifully. Especially with the maestro orchestrating it. That would definitely turn out amazing.

Who knows really. I don't know that's for sure.
But what I am sure of, is that maybe, just maybe, this will turn out better than it did before.

In a turnaround.

It does indeed so greatly annoy me when something like that occurs. It often produces misdeeds that seem to be unexplainable to those who immediately choose to react whist not fully understanding the situation. Another attempt at regaining what was taken is a difficult happenstance. This action seems to be delayed, but does ever come so slowly that you really do choose to never return.
But alas, another revelation! It is interesting to how things work. Oh, but sadly, in only one place does this happen. It would be satisfactory if another one would pardon me with this ability. Unfortunately, that is not possible as my grant does not coincide with the granter. I have realized this, which my comrade was correct, as the world blindly continues to follow it as if it were it. Then again, I am able to understand in their perspective and should not be so quick to judge.
It is hard to think in such a way when one is surrounded by things full of it occurring!
Looking inside on the outside, I see a flock of birds gathered together. A sparkle in my eye does come by, acknowledging them in kindness. Oh! How I do somehow crave what they do posess!
Now, it has returned, yes. No need to fret. But this has really have me thinking. A smile creeps up to my face as the puzzle pieces seem to fit very very clear! An experience does this life be! Yes, an adventure!
Stepping over rocks to get through the river without getting wet is one way of looking through the speculum.
Shall it be confirmed? Well, almost!
One does have to take time in things and discipline oneself for it. It is all in the mindset, yes.
All in all, ones emotions should not be taken seriously. In some context and outer parts, yes, it should. But in this case, no, it should not.
Another smile crept up! Yes, it might as well be a fat caterpillar eagerly waiting to transform!
I had just read a text to distract me from my previous train of thought. It is very interesting and quite true. It says that we can be sure that in every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.
Now, God knew what he was doing from the beginning, after making the decision of how His children should be like, He named them, set on a solid basis, got them established, and stayed with them till the end, gloriously completing what He had begun!
Another text was about a little boy. He was looking through a fence to watch something of a baseball game but was only able to look straight ahead. The crowd within the fence, is able to see the entire happenings, the game if you may. It is an interesting metaphor of how one would see himself.
So I presume, if we are the boy who is only able to look straight ahead, in one direction, but is still able to see, then God is the crowd, who is able to see the whole entire game!

The game, im assuming is life. Oh how interesting! We are able to only see one view! While He can see it all!
Of course, I have known this, but the information is once again reborn into my mind.
Oh woe, sometimes.
Of course these thoughts are indeed jumbled up, something of letter form. I chortle inside my head. Chortle? Hmm.
This is certainly odd. Something of the sort that I guess would only happen once in a blue moon. It would be very nice to see a blue moon.
I’ll drift into a world of reverie and see how it goes from there. Oh the wonders. The feeling.
Oh, how I do certainly crave it. But the turtle seems to be staying in the shell no matter how much it is kicked and tossed around, gently of course. Move, little turtle. Do move.

In a turnaround.

It does indeed so greatly annoy me when something like that occurs. It often produces misdeeds that seem to be unexplainable to those who immediately choose to react whist not fully understanding the situation. Another attempt at regaining what was taken is a difficult happenstance. This action seems to be delayed, but does ever come so slowly that you really do choose to never return.
But alas, another revelation! It is interesting to how things work. Oh, but sadly, in only one place does this happen. It would be satisfactory if another one would pardon me with this ability. Unfortunately, that is not possible as my grant does not coincide with the granter. I have realized this, which my comrade was correct, as the world blindly continues to follow it as if it were it. Then again, I am able to understand in their perspective and should not be so quick to judge.
It is hard to think in such a way when one is surrounded by things full of it occurring!
Looking inside on the outside, I see a flock of birds gathered together. A sparkle in my eye does come by, acknowledging them in kindness. Oh! How I do somehow crave what they do posess!
Now, it has returned, yes. No need to fret. But this has really have me thinking. A smile creeps up to my face as the puzzle pieces seem to fit very very clear! An experience does this life be! Yes, an adventure!
Stepping over rocks to get through the river without getting wet is one way of looking through the speculum.
Shall it be confirmed? Well, almost!
One does have to take time in things and discipline oneself for it. It is all in the mindset, yes.
All in all, ones emotions should not be taken seriously. In some context and outer parts, yes, it should. But in this case, no, it should not.
Another smile crept up! Yes, it might as well be a fat caterpillar eagerly waiting to transform!
I had just read a text to distract me from my previous train of thought. It is very interesting and quite true. It says that we can be sure that in every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.
Now, God knew what he was doing from the beginning, after making the decision of how His children should be like, He named them, set on a solid basis, got them established, and stayed with them till the end, gloriously completing what He had begun!
Another text was about a little boy. He was looking through a fence to watch something of a baseball game but was only able to look straight ahead. The crowd within the fence, is able to see the entire happenings, the game if you may. It is an interesting metaphor of how one would see himself.
So I presume, if we are the boy who is only able to look straight ahead, in one direction, but is still able to see, then God is the crowd, who is able to see the whole entire game!

The game, im assuming is life. Oh how interesting! We are able to only see one view! While He can see it all!
Of course, I have known this, but the information is once again reborn into my mind.
Oh woe, sometimes.
Of course these thoughts are indeed jumbled up, something of letter form. I chortle inside my head. Chortle? Hmm.
This is certainly odd. Something of the sort that I guess would only happen once in a blue moon. It would be very nice to see a blue moon.
I’ll drift into a world of reverie and see how it goes from there. Oh the wonders. The feeling.
Oh, how I do certainly crave it. But the turtle seems to be staying in the shell no matter how much it is kicked and tossed around, gently of course. Move, little turtle. Do move.

:)

the only safe place

"Do you think she's gone?" whispered Sapphira.

I held her in my arms, holding her small and innocent head to my chest, patting her softly.
We were sheltered by a small dark shack from the heavy rain that was beating down on the shingles of the crooked rooftop. I turned slightly to face the small window on my right side that had drops of rain quickly race each other down. I could only make out a few things outside our cold and damp space that felt dry compared to what was happening outside.

Bare trees were blackened, the grass was scorched. It seems as if the darkness wouldn't ever leave us. There was no colour even to describe the sky, if there was any colour left.

She shivered even more, moving closer to me, trying to trap the heat we lacked without a blanket. I stroked her short damp hair and held the the singed ends of her chestnut brown hair for a moment. I scoffed to myself. When is this war going to end?


Sapphira looked up to me, her shiny green eyes filled with a little bit too much colour, waiting for my response.

I looked out through the small window again.


"Yes," I whispered back softly, "She's gone."

Samson and Delilah - Bible Story Summary

Samson and Delilah - Bible Story Summary
Scripture Reference:
Judges 16
Samson and Delilah - Story Summary: When Samson fell for Delilah, a woman from the Valley of Sorek, it marked the beginning of his downfall and eventual demise. It didn’t take long for the rich and powerful Philistine rulers to learn of the affair and immediately pay a visit to Delilah. You see, Samson was judge over Israel at the time and had been taking out great vengeance on the Philistines—but that’s another story. Hoping to capture him, the Philistine leaders each offered Delilah a sum of money to collaborate with them in a scheme to uncover the secret of Samson’s great strength.
Using her powers of seduction and deception, Delilah persistently wore down Samson with her repeated requests, until he finally divulged the crucial information. Having taken the Nazirite vow at birth, Samson had been set apart to God. As part of that vow, his hair was never to be cut. When Samson told Delilah that his strength would leave him if a razor were to be used on his head, she cunningly crafted her plan with the Philistine rulers.

While Samson slept on her lap, Delilah called in a co-conspirator to shave off the seven braids of his hair. Subdued and weak, Samson was captured.

Rather than killing him, the Philistines preferred to humiliated him by gouging out his eyes and subjecting him to hard labor in a Gaza prison. As he slaved at grinding grain, his hair began to grow, but the careless Philistines paid no attention. And in spite of his horrible failures and sins of great consequence, Samson’s heart now turned to the Lord. He was humbled. He prayed to God—a first—and God answered.

During a pagan sacrificial ritual, the Philistines had gathered in Gaza to celebrate. As was their custom, they paraded their prized enemy prisoner into the temple to entertain the jeering crowds. Samson braced himself between the two central support pillars of the temple and pushed with all his might. Down came the temple, killing Samson and all of the people in it. Through his death, Samson destroyed more of his enemies in this one sacrificial act, than he had previously killed in all the battles of his life.

Points of Interest from the Story:
• Samson’s calling from birth was to begin the deliverance of Israel from Philistine oppression (see Judges 13:5). Reading the account of Samson’s life and then his downfall with Delilah, you might tend to think Samson wasted his life. He was a failure. Yet even still, he accomplished his God assigned mission.

• In fact, the New Testament doesn’t list Samson’s failures, nor his incredible acts of strength. Hebrews chapter 11 names him in the “Hall of Faith” among those who “through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised … whose weakness was turned to strength.” This proves that God can use people of faith, no matter how imperfectly they live their lives.

• We might look at Samson and his infatuation with Delilah, and consider him gullible—stupid even. His lust for Delilah blinded him to her lies and her true nature. He wanted so badly to believe she loved him, that he repeatedly fell for her deceptive ways. After the third attempt at luring out his secret, why didn’t Samson catch on? By the fourth enticement, he crumbled. He gave in. Why didn’t he learn? Why did he give into temptation and give up his treasured gift?

Because Samson is just like you and me when we give ourselves over to sin. In this state, we can easily be deceived because the truth becomes impossible to see.

Question for Reflection:
Spiritually, Samson lost sight of his calling from God and gave up his greatest gift, his amazing physical strength, to please the woman who had captured his affections. In the end it cost him his physical sight, his freedom, his dignity, and eventually his life. No doubt, as he sat in prison, eyeless and zapped of strength, Samson felt like a failure.

Do you feel like a complete failure? Do you think it’s too late to turn to God?

At the end of his life, blind and humbled, Samson finally realized his utter dependence upon God. Amazing grace! He once was blind, but now could see. No matter how far you’ve fallen away from God, no matter how big you’ve failed, it’s never too late to humble yourself and turn over your dependence upon God. Ultimately, through his sacrificial death, Samson turned his miserable mistakes into victory. Let Samson’s example persuade you—it’s never too late.

Prologue.

Her blonde hair covered her sparkling blue eyes. He brushed it off gently away, tucking it behind her ear. Their silhouettes were dimly lit by the flickering lights of the empty school hallway.
"Jeremy, I--" she began to protest quietly, placing her hands on his shoulders.
He leaned in closer to her, his dark brown eyes looking right into hers so deep and lovingly. Small tears formed filling her already shiny eyes. Taking in a breath, Jeremy pressed his soft lips against hers ever so gently.
Her balled fists loosened, having a mind of their own, pulled him into an embrace, with her hands held tightly around his back.
His arms, wrapped around her waist and his hands, lightly touching the small of her back.
The kiss deepened into something that was so passionate and filled with fire.

A force pulled her waist back, but she ignored it, still deepening the kiss. It pulled her even more back, ignoring her resistance. Then it suddenly stopped.
She experienced fireworks,taking it all in, feeling like she could almost hear the sound.
She couldn't help but smile. She fluttered her blue eyes open expecting to see the boy she had shared her first kiss with. But he wasn't there.

Dead trees and scattered soil filled the entire landscape. An eerie greenish glow filled the sky gradient with black and mists of gray. The world was moving before her. Dirt and tinged hands covered with soot swayed back and forth in front of her face. Dark brown hair fell down her back, her knees were jolting up and down, dodging the fallen dead branches in her way.

The sleeve of her olive green shirt was ripped by a sharp claw-like outstretched figure. Grabbing the handle of her knife from the band of her belt, she slashed the figure out of the way and continued to run.

Gone was the safety of the school hallway. Gone was Jeremy. Gone was the fire she felt from their kiss.

She didn't know why, but now was the time to run. To escape from the darkness she once had sought after in another life.

She was confused still, despite the rush of emotions. Who was she? And where was she? She didn't know the answer to those.

But all that she knew, was that it had started. The flame had been ignited.

Insomnia.

Is currently typing with two thumbs on my trusty ancient iPod touch.
I have already done the following.

-Went to bed 5hrs earlier than last night
-woke up..? Or never really slept?
-learned a beautiful piano piece
-composed a beautiful piano piece
-played my out of tune violin
-more piano
-played guitar
-siingg
-wrote music for song I wrote last year
-attempted to sleep
-did 2 devos!
-pray!
-mumble
-wrapped myself in a blanket
-changed positions
-rolled over
-pounded on a pillow
-sat on the couch
-laid on the couch
-sat on a chair
-walked in the hallway
-drank a glass of warm milk
-YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES IF TEN MILLION FIREFLIES!!
-writing a blog post

Ugh.. I have don't everything possible to get me tired and sleep.

It is already past 3am and I am still AWAKE.


far too tired to fall asleep....

Maybe I should write a song. Or tell a story. Or both! Or just fall asleep on this chair. -.-"


What's happening to me? This is such a random wave of insomnia!!!!


I may be worried about things. Plenty of things.


-bang head against wall


Nope that didn't work either.


-impersonate a singer


Hmm, not bad...


I'D LIKE TO MAKE MYSELF BELIEVEEEE THAT PLANET EARRTTTHHH TURNS SLOOWWWWLYYYY!!!!!


Not helping. :/

Hmm, this is unusual.

Maybe my subconcious is trying to tell me something.

Like a secret message or something g I may have forgotten?

Maybe I'm worried. Yes. That's probs it. Or maybe I'm insane.

Or maybe it's my birthday!!!!!!

Nope. Not my birthday.

Go to sleep!

GOODNIGHT WORLD!