The beauty of the Word.

 He asked me how to spell substantial. I spelled it underneath my breath. s-u-b-s-t-a-n-t-i-a-l.

Words are flexible, stretchy: exposed.

Words are not expensive. They do not require crafters clay, a needle and thread; they do not require heavy machinery. There is no cookbook for words.

Words create, simply by existing.

They are only as expensive as your nicest pen.

Words are what you want them to be.

They are the dirt beneath your fingernails, scattered stars across the morning sky. They are the smell of sunday roast, that moment in your head of  helplessness, right before the tears begin to fall.

Words are old. Dimmed memories, jotted down. Time eating awayat the taste, the color, the element.

Words are fresh. They hold the moment when yor lips meet his for the first time, the weight of a newborn in your arms, a leather journal at the bedside table awaiting an awakening dream.
Some words are spread like a disease, published by the thousands, stamped out in black ink to be distributed to the world, into the hands of the hungry.

Others, quietly forgotten in yellowing pages, their secrets kept..

Sometimes words are better that way.

Words Reveal, Testify. They testify of something, somebody felt, somewhere.

These words, are yours.

All I want for Christmas is a nice pair of socks.

It was never my intention. --R. Cherish

1dream noun, often attributive \ˈdrēm\

a : a visionary creation of the imagination: daydream

b : a state of mind marked by abstraction or release from reality : reverie

: something notable for its beauty, excellence, or enjoyable quality

Thursday night I went with my D.L. friends (" The nerd herd", "the loud ones in the library", "the uvu kids") to go see Pirates of the Caribbean four at midnight. Do not go see it. Waste of money.
The following day I raced home after school to catch up on some sleep before I proceeded to my night shift at Orange Leaf. Orange Leaf, on the other hand, I would highly recommend.


While sleeping on my bed in the late afternoon, I had a dream.
I rarely dream, and if I do, it is some sort of hazy, slipping, dim, and confusing memory that dances in front of my eyelids for only a few seconds before I wake up.

This dream was different.

I can close my eyes and remember every raw detail. The vivid green of the grass, the black of the trampoline beneath us, the patterns in his eyes, the blue of the sky, and the laziness of the clouds drifting overhead.
It was all so real.
We laid there on my tramp and listened to the beautiful silence that had never once caused me discomfort, but pure peace. We quietly talked and felt the sunshine warm our faces, he told me of what had been going on in his life, I told him of mine. 
He leaned over and he kissed me. I was only dreaming, but I felt it. You know? It was him. He was right there.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and began whimpering into his ear begging him to never leave again, begging him to stay, to be my friend, to listen to the rest of my day, to tell me more about how his family is doing. 
He laughed his laugh, pried me off of him and set me into his lap.
He told me I was being silly, that it was all a bad dream, that he promised he would always be my best friend, that he wasn't going anywhere at all, that he loved me.
I buried my head into his chest, wonderfully relieved, and let all my fears drift away with the white clouds above us.

And then I woke up.

You know, after a dream like that, it would have been perfectly normal for me to wake up with tears streaming down my cheeks.

I didn't wake up with tears in my eyes though, in fact I didn't cry at all.

I smiled the rest of the night.

It didn't make me love him again, or want him back.

I feel as though it was my subconscious brain's way of allowing me to be with him one last time.

It was a goodbye, a happy goodbye we never got.

b : something that fully satisfies a wish : ideal.

c : an object seen in a dreamlike state

At our student council party this weekend Mister Gregory Rellaford passed on the spirit horn to me.

The spirit horn has been around since the golden days, the days when my older brother was an SBO. I am honored. 

Summer is around the corner, I can almost taste it. 

There is so much to look forward to, and so many memories to smile back on.

I can't believe my junior year is coming to an end, it has truly been an unforgettable year.

I wouldn't go back and change one thing.

Good luck to the seniors. Change the world. Be yourself. Represent well. ;)

oh,

Read Hannah's blog post. I look up to her very much, and this post is absolutely beautiful. It was just what I needed to hear. Thank you.

Only two more weeks of school left. Make them good.

Don't be afraid.

Don't stress.

Stress is fear.

Just believe, have faith.

It will all work out in the end.

It's getting better.

I am beginning to feel again.

What perfect timing, for I feel as though I am changing right along with the weather. The ice has melted away, leaving behind the sunshine, and the the occasional blanket of dark clouds and rainy days. Spring rain is perfect, is it not? I didn't mind the cold and the rain so much today, for I knew in a matter of hours, or a few short days, that the sun would come out again to open my mom's tulips in the front yard, to warm my sunburnt cheeks another day as I pedal my way to school in the mornings.

I had decided I would feel absolutely nothing.

And it worked, for about a month. I was not happy, nor sad, or angry, hurt, or excited, I was just ...  existing. My days emptily slipped by, smiling because I had to, finishing my homework because it was due, studying for my finals because it was scheduled into my planner, waking up because my alarm clock filtered into my ears.

I filled my life with distractions, carefully picking through my thoughts, avoiding any song, any place, any memory that might bring me back to the shadowed place I would never allow my mind to wander to. Every little thing I did was a distraction from one thing. It was truly a genius and to be quite honest, relieving plan.

Only one problem.

Somewhere along the way, my so called "distractions" began to hold weight in my heart. 

I laid on the tramp as the sun was setting one particular warm friday night, and watched the two boys mess around with the basketball, occasionally throwing it my way. And my heart suddenley ached as the realization hit me and fear washed over me. I love those boys.  I love the way that they play chess in the library for hours,  the way they kick the doors of the school open, the way that they do not consider the scored of minituare golf to be a joke: for it is a very serious matter. I love how I am treated the same whether I am wearing a pair of ratty sweats and a t-shirt, or a classy black dress and heels: it doesn't matter to them, I am Rachael.

 I had begun to feel again.  I cried last night. It's been a while. Happy tears though, knowing tears, growing up tears,  wise tears, the "I know change has come and it is time to accept it" kind of cry. 

I find myself smiling, not because I have to, but because I want to; laughing even. I can feel the pressure of somebody's backpack sliding across my arm in the hall, the cold wind whipping my hair across my cheeks, a still small voice somewhere inside me as Brother Casper teaches the gospel telling me "it is true rachael, I am here.", I can feel the rhythmic impact through my tennis shoes as I run on the pavement, the weight of my Aunt's seven month old baby in my arms as I held him and watched his contagious smile light up the room. 

I don't know. I don't know anymore. I don't know what I want, what is going to happen, where I am going. I don't have any plans at the moment.

But that is okay.

Someday, the walls will come down. I know they will. I refuse to rush anything, it may take me days, months, years, seconds, whatever. to heal, but that's fine, I have all the time in the world.

Afterall, I am only seventeen and a half years old. (I missed my half birthday again, can you believe it!?) That is a requirement for my man someday, he must remember my half birthday, because I never do...

I will fall in love someday. The real kind. The run and jump into your welcoming arms, kiss right in the middle of a crowd, through thick and thin, forever kind.   
And this time, it's gonna last.

For heaven's sakes, If I have learned anything, allow yourself to feel. Life hurts. It really does. We were never promised everything would be perfect, only that it would all be worth it in the end. Go somewhere very quiet and very abandoned, or heck, somewhere very public and very crowded and scream. yell. sing. something. Get it out. You will feel better, I promise.

Live your life. There is only one. And it is all yours.