The heart afraid of breaking never learns to dance. The dream afraid of waking never takes a chance. The one who will not be taken cannot seem to give. The soul afraid of dying never learns to life.

This is a new day, forget about the old anyway. If the past matters at all it will come to you.

We are all falling apart, pushing apart. I walk down the street alone, individual from the street. There is not a single person who walks with me, who has the same cause. We are so united by epic movies and anthem songs because for that moment a group of people are connected by a idea or feeling. For a few seconds we feel that there is a encompassing emotion or club of people that we are apart of. We can recreate these moments for ourselves if we just find a reason to talk to each other.

It will be years before I find a place that truly feels like home. I won't find it here, and I can't find it in someone else until I find it for myself. It breaks my heart to know that I won't be comfortable again for such a long time. I'm tired of having it broken. I can't handle it anymore.

This body is just a veil. It has nothing to do with the person I am. I deceives me. I wrote my name on it, but it still is not mine. If this body could go where my mind is I could share it with the world.

Sometimes it is tempting to jump. I stand on the roof to image what it would be like to fly for a few moment. To feel the rush of force as I run; to push without dread of distance. Embrace the sunlight and the wind spinning around. To forget meaning and live for bliss.

The silence before a crash is like a false sign of proffered safety. Nothing moves. You fly. When your face hits the ground it doesn't hurt. Your skin scrapping on the cement like a cheese grader. You don't feel it. In the first moment you feel your nose. Your brain has been jammed into your nasal cavities. You open your mouth just to breathe. Then you notice your skin is cold. Not in the physical sense, but in the dead sense. You go to touch your skin, your nose, to see what happened. That is when you notice the blood. It falls on you lip. It is on your finger. The taste is like phosphate. You move your hands to find the ground. You stand up. That is when you feel it. You stand up to ensure you can. Your legs feel wet and your hands are so dry. The wind blows. Your nerve receptors awaken. You think the skin is missing. You feel the muscle exposed. It is not a feeling of absence. You don't yet realize what you have lost. You are still trying to understand the pain.

I am an hour from leaving my home, moving hundreds of miles away to start a new life that I am not fully sure that I want. I know I need it, and I will love it. But that want was given to me. Who is this person who made this choice? It is less than 2 hours away, and I still cannot believe what my life will be. What will life be next? What is my life now?

Do you even know why you are angry? Was your pride damaged, or is your pride preventing you from becoming a benefit towards others? Do we celebrate individuality so much that we will destroy what we know to continually establish ourselves?

The idea that the person in front of me is tangible is so perplexing. The modern convenience of technology makes a person's words one with the mode of communication. Their words will always be there, even when they may not. When your words are glowing on my computer screen, they become synonymous with the machine. They become black pixels that my phone is pushing to my attention. It is as if you are are as permanent as these things. It is as if you are these things.