Come Home

I knew that I could reach the end of the path. I knew it, because I had been there before. To the End. No, not in my memory.. Yet somewhere, I knew that where I was going.. was home.

I had a bag wrapped around my shoulder, as I was walking down the path. I knew not what it was for. I only knew that I was walking home, somewhere in my heart, I knew I was walking home.

But as I walked, I noticed that in the area surrounding the path, were very attractive, colorful stones. I began to grow curious of them, and what they were. I strayed off the path, only for a moment, to go pick one up and see what it was. When I got close to one that looked particularly lovely, I picked it up.

But in the blink of an eye, the color and the glimmer that had made the rock so enticing were gone. As soon as my hand touched it, all that was once mystery drifted away. In my hand I held a very ordinary, very black, stone. I tried to drop it, hurl it back, but I could not. It stuck to my hand. The only thing I could do was put it in the sack around my shoulder. It dropped very easily into it.

I returned to the path, with the horrid rock in my sack, and continued walking home. I knew now not to leave the path, I knew. I told myself again and again, I knew now. Walk home.

But still the rocks around the path were inescapable. They were everywhere as I walked, always colorful, always enticing. My thoughts started to drift, and I began to think that the one rock was the one rock only. The others will not do what that one did, they will stay colorful, they will stay enticing. One more will not hurt.

I found another rock that again looked the loveliest, and I drifted off the path to collect it. To grasp that which has enticed me for so long. I hurried to it, to pick it up and look at it.

A tear rolled down my cheek, as I picked it up. The very black, very ordinary, very worthless stone. With all my might I tried to throw it away, rid me of the wretched thing. But it would not go, only would drop into the bag. As I returned to the path, two stones now hit each other in the bag as I walked.

No more, I told myself. I knew now, Walk Home. You know where your going is more beautiful than any of the colors these stones appear to be. Walk Home. I said these things again and again. But the enticement came again, the stones looked even more colorful, and they surrounded everywhere but the path.

One more time, I said. Once more will not hurt, these two stones barely weigh me down at all. Even if this one does not keep it's luster, It will not hurt me. It will not hurt anyone else. Once more.

I strayed off the path one more time, to hold that enticing stone. I hurried off the path to grab one, oh the enticement of them. My hand eagerly touched down on one, and picked it up.

I held in my hand, in the very palm, a very ugly, very sinister, very black stone. This one was, just as the others, more heavy then it appeared. Oh how I tried to throw it, to rid me of it, to go home weightless... But I could not. I knew I could not. It would only drop into my bag, which so menacingly sat on my shoulder.

I tried to walk again on the path, but my feet could barely lift. The bag was heavy, so heavy now. I tried to lift the bag off my shoulder, but it stuck to it. Tears flowed down my eyes, how could I have left the path again? I wanted to go home. I needed to go home. I walked forward with as much as there was in me..

But, as I walked a few more steps, I found I could not move. The bag had grown so heavy now, I fell to the ground. I fell flat onto the path. I could not get up, there was no force left within me.

The blackness of the stones around the path started to surround me. Tears were all that could come. How could I have left the path? How could I have picked up those terrible stones? The weight, even on the ground, of the bag was intolerable. I knew now I would never see home. Blackness was all that surrounded me. I closed my eyes.

But as soon as I closed them, I felt a hand touch mine. It was one of the softest hands I had ever felt. The hand lifted me to the ground and stood me back on the path. I looked at the man, who had helped me from the ground. He had a sad, yet loving smile on his face.

I felt the weight of the bag on my shoulder be lifted, I looked around. The man who had helped me, put the bag around his own shoulder. He put the weight of the stones on himself. He then put his arms around me and hugged me.

I looked up into his eyes, and thanked him with a tear of joy from my eye. He smiled at me, and began to walk down the path in front of me. I stood there for a moment, and began to cry. Cry at this man's infinite kindness, how I had gave him such a burden to carry. I did not feel I deserved his love.

I called out to him, crying "'why are you carrying the burden which I so selfishly caused.... I.. " I could not finish the sentence. The tears choked back the words.

He turned around to me and said

"Because I love you, and you are my brother. It would not be home without you. Come Home."

He smiled, and began walking again, with my sack around his shoulder, and his hand beckoning to me, to come home.

For a Minute There

It's been a while.

I felt that feeling, though, you know.

Happiness :)

I'm a kid. I'm fond of being a kid. I don't ever want to grow up. I think the smartest adults are the ones who never have. :)

I love finding pictures in the clouds, I love singing as loud as I can. I love reading by a fire, I love stargazing.

You know what?

I think it's warm enough now.

I think I am going to stargaze.

Because the stars are beautiful :)

Because the cold grass feels so wonderful :)

Because I love to :)

For a minute, there, I think I lost Kason.

But I think I've found him again. :)

Through Pages

I Love Old Books. Books that are worn, or look like they've been read thousands of times before you've held them.

I know that the story would be the same in a copy of the same book published one year ago.. or published one thousand years ago. The story inside the book would be the same.. but the book's story would not.

I almost feel like the book's own memory could teach you just as much as the story inside the book itself. If it could share with you all the people who've read it.. All the people who's life it has touched, and all the people who's life it didn't touch at all.

Because all those people have stories.. they're just not told through pages. They're only told through people who remember them or... Through the angels in heaven. I think angels tell stories.

Sometimes I wish an old book could tell me about all the people who've read it. Because I think all their stories could teach us all something. Because everyone has a story.. And they all matter.

Maybe I'm only kidding myself.. But I think angels tell stories. I think they tell them to each other, and it's like reading an old book. The story of someone's heart, though.

"To Believe Your Own Thought, to believe what is true for you, in your private heart, is true for all men - That is genius." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Because I Loved

He sat on his bed thinking. Looking out the window. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular. The thoughts were racing and that was all.

He was looking out the window at the sky, trying to capture some gleaming thought to keep his mind from racing. He noticed one of the most beautiful birds he had ever seen in the sky, not to far away. He looked away and down for a moment, and put his hands together. Maybe to pray for a thought. When, like an answer, maybe, a loud piercing noise struck his window.

He was startled, jumped up, and looked quickly out the window. The beautiful bird had struck his window, and was now laying just outside it, it's feet barely twitching. No No.. He thought. It cannot be dead.

His mind was racing, but it was not dead. The bird, though injured by the window, was just alive. He took it in to his house, kept it warm, wrapped it in a blanket and held it. It's so beautiful He thought again. It truly was the most magnificent bird the man had ever seen.

He left to buy a cage for the bird. He knew it could not fly for at least a night, and it needed somewhere to sleep. He returned home with the cage, and put the bird in it. Laying down on it's side, it was still very hurt. He gave it water, and food, and he retired to bed.

He woke in the morning to one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. The bird was singing. He rose and looked at the bird, and it was standing up again. And it was singing a song like nothing he had ever heard before. He smiled immediately, started humming along. He thought perhaps if it is standing, it can fly again. He took the bird in his arms and tried to get it to fly. But, to the man's dismay, the bird fluttered down to the ground and looked up at him. He sighed and put the bird back in it's cage. Looks like your going to be around for a while longer huh?

The bird was soon there for a week. And the more the bird was there, the more the man loved it. He loved waking up to it's wonderful song, he loved holding it. He loved simply standing on his bed and watching it, as beautiful as it was. Soon the man was forgetting the day when he had to let the bird go, and never checked to see if it could fly. He kept telling himself that it still needed to be there, it still needed his care, but he knew he was only kidding himself. The bird was fully healed in a week's time, but the man loved the bird and would not let it go.

Weeks went by, and the man noticed the bird seemed to be staring out the window and flapping it's wings. The bird looked so miserable in the cage, she wanted so badly to fly. But again and again the man told himself The bird cannot fly yet. Besides, is it not safer here? Do I not deserve the birds company, after all I've done for it? But the bird only looked sad. When the man tried to hold it, like he used to, even then the bird was sad. She wanted to fly, she wanted to see the sky, and he knew that. But he insisted on locking the bird away, because he could not be without it.

But one day, as the man tried to watch the bird as he used to, he only saw how sad she was. How much she wanted to fly. The man took the bird out of it's cage, held her, and opened the window. He hesitated Do I not deserve the bird's company? He said again. But he stopped himself. He knew he had to let the bird go. So he opened his arms and the bird flew away, and the man knew he would never see it again. He turned back and cried, and put his pillow to his head. When all of the sudden, he heard one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. He looked to his window, and the bird had returned, and was singing to him. He immediately got up from his bed and went to the window. He watched the bird sing the song, and smiled the whole time. And then the bird flew away again, after giving the man one last song, and that was all there was.

His neighbor came to the door as the bird was flying away, and when the man opened the door, the neighbor asked him "Why are you letting the bird go?" And the man, behind his tears, gave a little smile. He looked out the window at the most beautiful bird he'd ever seen, and said
"Because I love her."

Sometimes

Thank Heavens. Thank Heavens Music Stays the Same.
When I Want to hear a song, it plays. And it's the song I want to hear. It's always there, always the same.
Music never tells me "Oh, I don't want to play a song right now."
It never says "Why would I play a song for you?"
It never says "No, I'll go play a song for someone else instead"
It never says "I don't care about you, why would I play a song for someone that means nothing to me?"
It never says "I don't like you anymore, screw you, I'm gone."
It never says "You're not worth playing a song for"


I just press play and it goes.
Always the same.

Sorry, I'm probably saying something so obvious. But.. How much I love music. I can't fully express it. It's something a little bit bright when the world seems dark. And... Maybe not everything changes.

And maybe change.. is a choice. Sometimes I think we just look at change like it's this inevitable thing that will always happen. And yes, it will always happen, but don't forget that we have to choose something.

Life is full of choices, everyday you make thousands of them. Some are big, some are small. But all of them affect your life in a small or big way, and every one changes something.

"It is not our abilities that make us who we truly are. It is our choices." You could be capable of being the most wonderful person in the entire world, but you can always choose not to. You could be capable of causing torment, misery, and sadness in someone. But you don't have to, you choose to. Everything you do, you chose to do.

And I don't think everything changes. The power of light to always overcome darkness doesn't change. You shine a light, the darkness goes away. Every time.

I'm sorry, I'm probably just stating the obvious. That's probably all I'm ever doing. Sometimes I"m not quite sure why I write. Is it for someone to read, or just for me? Either way, do I do anything that even matters?

Sometimes I feel pretty worthless.

I miss you. You know.

I always miss you.

But you don't miss me.

Because i'm nothing to miss.

Nothing to miss.

Sometimes.. I feel overwhelmed

Sometimes I think I make the right choice, and nothing good ever comes out of it.

Sometimes I want someone to do something romantic for me. Something nice for me. I want to know someone cares about me. That maybe, they're thinking about me.

But maybe I don't deserve it.

Maybe good choices don't always have good consequences.

But shouldn't I choose good anyway? Shouldn't I love anyway?

Shouldn't I be myself.. because that's all I can be?

Seem to Go

He was trapped in the house for a year. A whole year of seeing nothing of the outside world but this tree that blocked his window.

He had servants, servants who brought him food, brought him everything he could ever need. Being under house arrest was not so bad, he thought, as everything was brought to him anyway. Just that hateful tree that was in front of his window and blocked his view. It lit his whole room up with this disgusting green every morning, and at sunset, splotched colors across the wall.

He hated it, and ordered his servants to cut it down. Over and over he would commmand 'cut it down!' but to no avail. His servants would only reply "the tree is beautiful."

But he never listened to them. He knew what was beyond the tree, he remembers from before his imprisonment. It was a lovely field of flowers that seemed to go on for miles. He didn't understand why the servants would not just cut the tree down and let him see the world.

After weeks and weeks of prying at the servants, he finally cracked and said 'if you don't cut down that tree, i'm firing all of you'. And that was it. The servants cut down the tree in the middle of the night, while the man was sleeping. He dreamt of seeing the field of flowers in the morning, of seeing people outside other than his servants.

And when he woke up, the green was not there. His room was the color of the walls, and he knew the tree was gone. He was so excited to see outside the window, he looked out with his face smilng. But, to his dismay, all he could see was a solid wall of concrete. A concrete wall was all he could see beyond his window. He called to his servants

'What is this?' he asked. The servant replied 'While you were imprisoned, the city built over the field. The concrete wall you are seeing is the side of a building. The tree you ordered us to cut down, was the last thing remaining from the country and the field.'

And that was all there was. A concrete wall. The man missed the tree so much, but it was his own orders that caused it to be cut down. He missed waking up to the beautiful forest color, he missed the colors cascading around his wall. He now realized how pretty they were. He now realized that he couldn't hear birds singing anymore, as they have nowhere to nest. He had cut down the most beautiful thing in his life, only in exchange for a wall of nothing.

He cried. He knew that he had done the wrong thing. He knew now that you should hold onto what you have, because you never know what it's like without them. He should've listened.

The man's imprisonment was over in another year, and the first thing he did, was go right in between his house and the large building next to it, and he planted a tree.