Waiting.

And she repeats the words he gave her
And she paces around the room
And she begins to sing it until it is a battle cry
I'll see you soon.

Paragraph.

    I sit here searching for words, and normally I'd be ranting in sentences that don't make sense- but this time it's going to mean something.  Yet the words have all left me in a quest for their own meaning.  Why is it that when my fingers rest on the keyboard they never move?  I want to tell you, no, to show you, why it's new and not something from my childhood.  Because it's for you, and only you.  Maybe you'll see that, the way you always see me.  It's an amazing exchange, really, the writer and the reader.  But instead of something poetic, all my words have flown away like the doves that perch at my window, and I sit here scrambling to be an artist like you, but in reality I can write nothing.  It doesn't even come close, as hard as I try.  And oh, how I wish I could at least write a paragraph for you-

One.

Sometimes the most beautiful thing
Is to forget,
Just for a little while

Pulled.

Tell me there's someone out there
Who can lean in close and whisper,
"I know."

Did you know that my eyes are screaming
For someone to see into them?

But my eyes can see, so I know:
You're always there,
But somehow it still feels like you're gone-

Incomplete.

Nothing so close can be ripped away

Without leaving its share of scars.

Again.

Trust

Is hanging from a rope

And here I am sinking

And here again comes another wave

Sense.

Dear heart,
Come home.

Stranger.

Who are you kidding?
Will you battle yourself forever?
It's the smallest thing
And you're really going to let it
Tear you apart?

Let it sink in
And it'll break your bones.
Let it whisper softly
And you'll lose the horizon.

Already it's begun.
You can't even read your own mind
Anymore.

Surely it doesn't change things?
Or, do you want to risk it?

Fear is risk, and truth is consequence.

My Hero.

Truth or consequence
Say it aloud

-Vander- Missing.

He awakens to see a face from his dreams.

  "Whoa!"  Vander jumps upright in bed, slamming his back against the wall and kicking the rough sheets away.  A girl with long, pale hair stands a matter of feet from him, her eyes scrutinizing him like bright blue flames.  Beside her is a bronze-skinned boy, his excitement at Vander's wakening plain to see.  He immediately swivels and calls into the adjacent room:

  "Hey, he's finally up!  He's up, everyone!"

  The stampede of footsteps is thundering, and before Vander can blink, a dozen people his age have rushed into the room.  He gapes at them, paralyzed with confusion.  The strangers look like they've come from a different country, or planet altogether; tattoos, painted faces, piercings, shaved heads and dreadlocks are combined with animal-skin and rough hemp clothing.  But all of them have the same dark complexion as the boy, save the one blonde girl.  They all stare back, giving him the feeling that he looks equally bizarre to them.  For all they know, he's the stranger.

  Vander is just starting to collect himself when the blonde girl fires a question at him.  "What relationship do you have to Kye Firewheel?"

  He shakes his head.  "What?"

  "Kye Firewheel.  You're supposed to be the one who overthrows Daasen, but he went after her instead.  Why?"

  Vander squeezes his eyes shut, rubs them.  What in the world?  "I have no clue what you're talking about.  I've never heard of her. . . .  Where am I?"

  "Shut up.  I'm not stupid enough to believe that crap, so you can cut it.  Why did he go after her instead of you?"

  The boy standing next to her nudges her with his elbow.  "You know, he might be telling the truth," he says.

  "I'll be the one to decide that," she retorts.

  As they bicker, Vander looks around the wooden room full of people, and begins to sense that something is wrong.  Something besides the fact that he's surrounded by strangers and has no idea where he is.  Something that has him deeply worried.

  "Where's my sister?" he says.

  The arguing stops, and a dozen blank stares fall upon him.  He scrambles to his feet and demands an answer.

  "Where's my sister?  Where is she?"

  The blonde girl cocks her head.  "We don't have your sister. . . .  If you had a sister, we left her alone back on Earth."

  "Alone?" he repeats.  No.  No, no, this is not good.  He starts shoving through the cluster of people.  "Emony?" he calls out.  "Emony!"

  The strangers grab his shoulders, try to force him back, but he resists them.  Panicked, he finds himself struggling against bodies twice his size, desperate to find his sister.  "Emony!  Emony, where are you!"

  Then something whacks him in the head.  Hard.  And suddenly he's looking up at the ceiling, which spins around as he sinks into darkness.

  As the room turns black, he hears the voice of the boy.  Talking to the girl.

  "Again?  Really?"

-Theresa- Already.

And as the dawn filters in,
She wonders if it was real.
Could it possibly have been true
Already?

I don't know.
I have a pretty good imagination.

Forever.

But I truly believe,
With my soul, my heart and everything else,
That some songs can last forever.

Lifeline.

Days grow shorter and
Nights grow longer
The summer weeks drain away
Childhood drains away

I used to have this notion
That I could make time last
As long as I wanted it to
But reality is a sharp sting

Time cannot be ruled
And as we grow older
I swear each day is shorter
Than the last

Trying to hold on
Is like grasping a stream of water
Yet it's your lifeline
And you're screaming don't let me drown

But now and then
Memories float by
And we hold tight,
Please don't fade away

We can dry the flowers
And here they are
But we can never bring them
Back to life.

Relive.

It's like bringing dried flowers
Back to life.

Mondays.

I actually love Mondays sometimes.
Especially summer Mondays.

Waking up late.
Reading all morning.
Making iced coffee.
Painting my nails gray.
Playing my guitar.
Drawing.
Meeting friends at the coffee shop.
Sitting outside.
Listening to film scores.
Reading blogs.
Laughing at old pictures.
Messing around at the store.
Late night ice cream and fries.
Falling asleep to a movie.

But you know the best part about Mondays?
They're so close to Tuesdays.

Aching.

- •••• •   ••-• •- -•-• -   - •••• •- -  

-•-- --- ••-   -•- -• --- •--   •-- •••• •- -   

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••• --- -- • --- -• •   ••   -•-• •- -• -   -•• ---   

- •••• •• •••   •-- •• - •••• --- ••- -.

Confession.

I should admit
I'm addicted to dreams
They're the thrill that always leaves me wanting more

I'm like everyone
Mine don't make sense
But they're my little hole in reality that I like to climb through

There I hide
'Til dawn wakes me
And the memories fade until later when they come bleeding into life

But some nights
My dreams are real.
See, those are nights when I either wish the beauty would never end or wake up screaming

There's my confession
Every night a risk
But I either learn or I love or I escape and there is always a beauty in pain whether or not it is real

Summer.

I can breathe;

You give me air

To fill my lungs with lightning

And taste the bitter sweetness of your brevity.

I'd hold onto you forever if I could.

Infinity drenches our every moment,

But I can't keep this sand

From falling between my fingers.

So don't leave me, summer.

A Plain Morning.

•• - •••   -•-• --- •-•• -•• • •-•  

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•- •-- •- -•--

Halfway there.

Aprils and Octobers.

And sometimes,

Julys are beautiful too. 

Practice.

••• ---   •-- • •••- •   -- •- -•• •   •• -

- •••• •-• --- ••- --• ••••   - •••• •

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Enough.

•••• --- •--   -•• ---   ••   ••• •- -•--   ••   -- •• ••• •••   -•-- --- ••-?

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Rain.

And when it rains,
The very clouds weep
And so they drag
Tears from our eyes.

And when it rains,
Our hopes wash away
It's easy to drown
But hold onto tomorrow.

For when it rains,
The tears of clouds
The tears of hearts
Are making things grow.

Same.

She's a professional

At gathering her storms.

She does it every day.

-Kye- Looking Up. (cont.)

  "Okay, CJ," says Blake, "What's your result?"
  "Nine."
  "Same here.  Warren?"
  "Eight."
  "Heath?"
  "Ten," he replies.
  Kye blinks.  She made it.  And only four points away from the top score possible.
  Blake asks for her number- for professional reasons, of course- and Kye gives it to him in a daze.  He tells her that they'll be contacting her in a few days so she can audition again.  Then she's packing up her guitar, walking out the door, brushing past the crowd of girls with anxious faces.
  She remembers what Haylor used to tell her in the treehouse: You could be famous, Kye.  That's how good you are.
  She never really believed him, though.  Until today.  Oh, how she wishes she could go back and tell him, or find him somehow. . . .  She has to shake the thought from her mind.  Impossible.  She knows that.
  But one thing she can't free from her thoughts: The boy whose eyes were on her, with the thick glasses and shaggy hair.  The one who gave her a ten.
  The only one who gave her a ten.
  Well, she made it, all right.  And that's enough for now.

-Heath- Looking Up.

  Heath stares at her for the longest time.  It's almost like having her back.  Almost.  But it's the wrong Kye.
  She still sings the same, with that incredible, soaring voice.  But she sings a different song.  And gone are the glasses and long, unruly hair; the flawless face without a touch of makeup.  Now dark lines shroud her gray eyes, adding smoke to the rough-cut, blazing hair that hangs just above her shoulders.  A black shirt and bleached, ripped jeans replace her old outfit of a t-shirt and shorts.  He's seen her before in the hallways, but this is his first time to get a good look at her.  The new her.  The wrong one.
  He loved the old Kye, but he loves the new one all the same.  Still, this isn't how things are  supposed to be.  Kye catches him staring at her and he drops his gaze, reminded painfully that this version of her doesn't know him.
  A quick glance at the other guys tells him that they are stunned, taken aback by this girl's performance.  Appropriately so.  No other girl in this school can even compare.
  "Well, um . . ." Warren starts.
  Blake takes over.  "Okay, Kye, here's how this works.  We each rate you on a scale of one to ten points, according to your talent in different areas of performance.  If you score lower than 20 from the four of us combined, you're out, but if you score higher, you'll be in consideration, and we'll likely ask you to audition again."
  Heath smirks.  As if anyone could compete with Kye.  And surely the others know this too.
  But he ducks his head and scratches in his score for her.  Now and then, his eyes flit up at her as he writes, wondering about her thoughts.  If only he could catch them like he catches glimpses of her, like he catches the leaves that float towards him in autumn.

Observer.

Take note:
You think you're the only one taking notes.

-Kye- Looking Up.

  Kye breathes deeply as she walks down the empty school hallway.  Her grip on the guitar case tightens until her knuckles are white.  The halls are eerily silent with so few people around; classes are over for the day.  As she heads toward her destination, she passes a poster stamped on the wall:

PREQUEL

FEMALE VOCALIST WANTED

AUDITIONS APRIL 12-14 5:30-7 PM

ROOM 138

  It's the same poster that's all over the school, and it's been the talk of town for a good two weeks now.  Kye is by no means the only one vying for this spot.  Even as she approaches the room, she can see dozens of girls lined up outside the door, hyperventilating and gossiping nervously.  Two, maybe, carry guitars.  The crowd of girls spots Kye coming, and their chatter subsides to a hushed whisper, one that almost seems pointed at her.  They huddle together and shoot glances at her as they gossip.  Kye ignores them.  They can hardly be blamed; after all, she doesn't fit the mold, with her dark makeup and tattered jeans.  Not to mention the fiery orange hair.  She's gotten used to it, or so she keeps telling herself.

  Kye would bet anything that these girls are all here for the same reason.  But it's a different reason than hers.

  Prequel.  That's what the boy band of this school chose to call themselves, and practically every girl in the school drools over them.  They've gotten pretty popular on YouTube, doing covers and such.  Get any group of girls from here together, and without fail, the talk veers towards the "cute" and "hot" members of the band.  Every girl has her true or made-up story of when Blake winked at her, or CJ held the door for her, or Warren was in her study group.  So of course when open auditions were announced, the entire female population exploded.

  In all honesty, Kye couldn't care less.  The gossip only makes her roll her eyes.  But, though she hates to admit it, these auditions are a unique chance for her.  A chance to save her mother from her own pride.

  She recalls echoes of the many conversations they've had about it.

  "Mom, let me help you.  Let me get a job.  It's hard enough for you to work two at once!"

  "And where are you going to find one?  You're only sixteen."

  "Well, if I can find a place that'll hire me.  Surely you'll let me apply?"

  "Kye, don't you think I can handle this myself?  Sweetheart, I should be the one providing for you, not vice versa."

  Kye shuts her eyes briefly, pained by the fierce servitude of her mom.  When she opens them, she's returned to the present, and the door is opening.  Out comes a blonde girl, tears and mascara streaming down her cheeks.

  "They said I was too pitchy," she sobs.

  Her friends console her, or at least, pretend to.  Of course they're actually thinking, one more contender out of the way.  Kye knows enough about "friends" to know that it's all a farce.

  As she waits in line, she plugs an earbud into her ear and turns up the music.  It's simple, really.  Just tune it all out.  Join in the pretending game- they'll pretend to like you, so just pretend you like them too.  

  One after another, they go into the room and come out brokenhearted, either crying or steaming with anger.  Kye begins to grow uneasy; it's hard not to doubt, after seeing so many rejections, but she has to trust her ability.

  And finally, it's her turn.

  She hikes up her guitar and strides in.  Four guys sit at a long table, facing her; she's seen their faces around and on the Internet.  Big deal.  They're just a few teenagers, and maybe she can be one of them.  That's all this is.

  Take a breath.  She knows, deep down, that it's way more than that.

  "Name?" says the boy with the spiked-up hair.  Blake, she thinks.  Yeah, that one's Blake.  The lead singer.

  "Kye Firewheel," she responds, with more confidence than she feels.

  Blake scribbles something on a clipboard.  "Okay, Kye, go ahead.  You got something prepared?"

  She clears her throat.  "Um, yeah. One second."

  She scans the room, grabs a chair, drags it over.  Sitting, she unpacks her guitar and checks the tuning.  Perfect.  She's ready to go.

  Take a breath.

  Breathe.

  And . . .

Somehow, everything's gonna fall

Right into place

If only we had a way to make it all

Fall faster every day

She shuts her eyes, tuning it all out, pretending it's just her.  Back in the treehouse.  And the only ones listening are the birds.

If only time flew like a dove

Will God make it fly faster than I'm falling in love?

This time we're not giving up

Let's make this last forever

Screaming, hallelujah

We'll make it last forever

Holding onto patience wearing thin
I can't force these eyes to see the end

If only time flew like a dove
Well we can make it fly, we'll just keep looking up. . . .

And Kye looks up.

Possible.

And I do believe you can do it.
You genius, you.

Where?

I thought I posted this already

Oh right, I'm losing my memory

Can you take me somewhere tears don't go

I need these songs to bring me to another world

Because there's something wrong with this one

And I

I just want to be a kid again,

-Haylor- Hope.

  Haylor- "Heath", now- hears the singing from a long way off as he paces the hallways of tonight's gig site.  As he comes closer, he recognizes the voice.  He pauses and sets his equipment down.  It's her.
   Even though he sees her all the time now, his heart still races whenever she is near.  He has to force himself to calm down, to even out his breaths.  Leaving his guitar and pedal behind, he cautiously approaches the beam of light emanating from a doorway down the hall.  The music grows louder, but he stays as quiet as a thief.  Finally he reaches the open door, but stays hidden in the shadows as he listens.

Lord, I don't know which way I am going
Which way the river's gonna flow
It just seems that upstream I keep rowing
Still got such a long way to go

Still got such a long way to go

  That last note holds for a while, then Kye slaps the strings of her guitar into silence.  The sound startles Heath- he stifles a cry.  He hears a crack and then a resounding echo from the instrument, as if Kye dropped it.
  "Oh, what's the point?" she shouts into the air.  Begging anyone to answer, but only when no one is around.

  That's your problem, isn't it, love?  Heath whispers the words to her in his head.  You never let anyone hear you.

  Her broken state is tearing him apart.  He can't stand it any longer.  This isn't how things should be.

  He has to tell her.

  "Kye?"  Heath steps into the light.

  Kye lifts her head out of her hands, sees him, and starts.  "Holy- what the heck, Heath!"  She looks mortified.

  Her reaction has him suddenly speechless.  All the words he's rehearsed have vaporized.  "I . . .  Sorry, I just heard someone in here, and came to check it out.  Sorry."

  No response from Kye. She looks down at her guitar, lying flat on the floor.  Heath doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether to get it for her, or just leave. . . .  Then a thought occurs to him.

  "You're here early," he observes.

  She shoots him a look, then softens just a bit.  "Been here all day," she says.  "You're early too."

  "Not that early.  The others'll be around in half an hour or so.  Why . . .  Why have you been here so long?"

  She shrugs.

  Heath tries again.  "I interrupted you.  What were you playing just now?"

  "Aren't you Mr. Twenty Questions today?"  She kicks at the ground.  "Just some song."

  Heath hesitates, chooses to ignore the comment.  "You write it?"

  At this she laughs, a short, incredulous laugh.  "You kidding?  I can't write music."

  It's a flat-out lie, and Heath knows it.  Kye- the old Kye- is a musical genius.  But she has her wall up, and no one gets to come in.

  "I don't know," he finally says.  "Sometimes the most brilliant melodies come from the darkest places.  But I'll quit bugging you with questions.  See you at sound check."

  As he leaves, and Kye stares after him, Heath can see in her eyes that he's hit home.  It's just a flicker of something that crosses her face- astonishment, bewilderment, pain- but it's definitely there.  And he knows that, deep down in that scarred heart of hers, she knows that there's a point to it all.  She's always been a fighter.  And she's going to hang in there, even if he can't help her.

-Theresa- Dream.

The only thing she could remember was her fear of forgetting everything.

A wide open room.  High ceiling; bluish white walls.  Everything was a foggy glow; a haze drifted through the air.  This was it.  The empty space of her memory.

She sat at a table, staring at the blank wall, her back to the faceless people who began to pervade the room.  As they came in, they mulled around aimlessly, occasionally finding one another through the mist.  It was oppressively silent but for their whispers.

"Look at her.  Such a shame."

"Do you think she'll remember him?"

"She's lost all her memory.  Why would she?"

"How heartbreaking."

A stranger walked over and, to her surprise, sat by her.  She turned.  It was the first person with a face.

Somehow she knew his name without being told.  She'd heard it mentioned, of course, by the passing wanderers, but she had no reason to recognize him.  Yet she did.  Realization hit her like a bitter wind, giving her shivers.

It's him.

She stared at the young man, who looked back and grinned.  Not a hint of doubt was in his expression.  "You really don't remember a thing, do you?" he asked.

She was too tense to answer.  Yes, she knew who he'd been to her, in the life she'd lost.  But she only knew this from the rumors.  She didn't remember.

His deep brown eyes bore into hers, as if searching.  It was startling.  This boy knew her better than she did, quite literally.  And it was as if he could read her thoughts- the way his smile flickered as she tried to sort things out.  All of this was unnerving to her; she didn't trust anyone, not even herself.  Swallowing, she scooted away a couple of inches.  That smile . . .

"I don't remember a thing about you," she said, both to herself and the boy.

The slightest bit of sadness washed over his face, but he brushed it off.  Instead, he stuck out his hand.

"Jonathan Bishop," he said.

The girl paused, didn't offer her own hand.  "What's my name?"  She didn't honestly remember.

"Theresa."  He said it like a melody.  "Theresa Dunham."

And as she sat there, the young man told her all about who that used to be.  He carefully veered away from their history together, but told her about her own past life.  It was evident to the girl that this boy cared only about her, not whatever past they may have shared.  They talked, and slowly she opened up, keeping a wall up all the while.  The boy told her stories that made her laugh, and it was like warmth coursing through her veins.  She felt as if she were becoming herself again.  Whoever that used to be.

Long into the night, they shared their hearts, and the huge space around them grew dark.  Candles were lit.  More and more people began to fill the . . . ballroom.  Slowly, shyly, she grew to trust the boy, and his eyes were on her the whole time, watching it happen with joy.  He slid closer as they talked, then reached out and stroked her hair.  The girl froze.  It was the first time she could remember someone touching her.

"You look stunning in your dress," said the boy.  "Why aren't you dancing?"

She looked down.  She was wearing a gown the color of the sea, which cascaded down to her bare feet.  It seemed familiar to her, but she didn't remember ever being called beautiful.

The boy stood and extended his hand.  "Shall we?"

When the girl gazed out, she saw that the ballroom was now full of people with faces, dancing in pairs to the music of a string quartet.  It was a magnificent sight.  Awed, she stepped out and took the boy's hand, and they began to dance.

And it was the most beautiful thing to watch.  For they had made it.

The rescuer
and
the angel.

Songs.

So I'm joining the trend and doing a song prompt! Inspired by andsoemilybegan.blogspot.com and inspiredbypeter.blogspot.com

A song from my childhood: Love Song for a Savior by Jars of Clay

A song that reminds me of my parents: (Mom) Awake and Alive by Skillet (Dad) Roar by Katy Perry

A song that calms me down: Resilience by Thomas Newman

A song that is often stuck in my head: Ain't it Fun by Paramore

A song that reminds me of my best friend: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song that makes me hopeful: See You Soon by Coldplay

A song by my favorite band: Til Kingdom Come by Coldplay

A song on the soundtrack of my favorite movie: Agent of Chaos by Hans Zimmer

The last song I heard: Guillotine by Wildlife

A song I love singing along to: 23 by Jimmy Eat World

A song that has made me cry: Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park

A song I love but rarely listen to: I Miss You by Blink 182

Favorite song: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song that someone has sung to me: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song I cannot stand to listen to: Sleepyhead by Passion Pit

A song I could listen to all day: Burning Bridges by OneRepublic

The Last Message.

••- -• - •• •-••   - •••• • -•,   -•• • •- •-•   ••-• •-• •• • -• -••.   •• -   •-- --- -• -   -••• •   - --- ---   •-•• --- -• --•
-• --- •--.   •--- ••- ••• -   •-- •- •• -   •- -• ••-   ••• • •.

•• •-•• •-••   ••• • •   -•-- --- ••-   ••• --- --- -•.

Here.

Come here
Won't you give me all your fear?
All your darkness, all your shame
Darling, let me take your blame

How you worry, day and night
So afraid to lose this light
But you can't carry it all
For the weight will make you fall

I'm here
I can help you fight your fear
Yes, it wants to torture you
Together we can make it through

There's no need for you to hide
Behind your cracking shield of pride.
Please don't hold it all inside;
Here, my arms are open wide.

The Mountains.

For years she'd wondered.
What's on the other side of those mountains?
For years she'd hidden,
Watching others venture into the mountains and never return the same.

For years she'd heard
The whispers from the Man of the Mountains,
The Man who'd created every path
And promised to hold her hand if ever she traveled them.

No matter what you decide to do,
I will be with you, he whispered.
Those paths are full of stories
Waiting to be written
But not yet.

Not yet, she reminded herself,
And if she told her heart the truth,
She was glad.
For she wasn't yet ready.

Then.

One day.

It's time, came the whisper.

A shiver ran down her spine
As she gazed upon those mountains,
Wondering what they held;
What it was that would change her forever.

But she listened.
The promised hand held hers
And she gripped it tightly,
Never daring to let go.

Twists
And turns.
 
The path broke off to a different destination
At every corner,
But the Man of the Mountains led her on,
Saving the most beautiful place
For the end of the hardest journey.

Then.

One day.

You're here, came the whisper,
And she found herself standing atop a hill,
Looking down upon the beauty
Of a magnificent Valley.