Dear Elder Adams

Dear Elder Adams,
I wish I could send you this email to tell you how I really feel. I won't send it though. You don't deserve this torture distraction.
I listened to John Mayer the whole day today. I only listened to Neon once, but it reminded me of the time we went up AF Canyon and you brought your guitar. You kept saying how bad you suck at singing, but now you're in the choir in the MTC which made me laugh. You're right. You can't sing. But I still love your voice.
There's one song in particular that I want to share with you, and I'm mad that I didn't ask you if you knew it. I can picture you playing it though. It's called "Stop This Train". It describes exactly how I feel right now in my life, and how I felt the month before you left.
I'm really inside my head. I can't think about anything else but what I should have said and done and how things could have been and how they were. Was I right?
Was I right in how I responded and acted and treated you? And did you interpret it the way that I thought you did or that I wanted you to understand it? I wish you had kissed me, but I'm glad you didn't force me to subject myself to that psychological rewind and replay and rewind and replay replay every second of every minute. And the questions
the question should I have let him do that? Will he be able to focus for the next two years? Does he know I'm not waiting for him? Does he understand the volume of my secrets?
Did you ever want to talk about it more than I told you? Because I did.  I wanted you to reassure me that I was worth something to you. But not just something. More than I suspected. You never did tell me outright that you liked me. Was that because you were too afraid? You don't need to be frightened of me. Maybe you should have been. But I digress.
Put straight forward, I miss you. But more than I thought I would. I miss that I felt more comfortable around your family than I have around anyone else's, and how you treated your little brother and sister and your weird sense of honesty and how you were the first person to not once make me feel bad about myself and

that I'm changing my name and I never told you. I guess you never needed to know, but maybe I should have said something about it.
I started looking up wedding traditions for some reason and I thought about you
that was weird but it wasn't too.
I was texting Hunter and I almost told him that I wish he were gone in your place and that you didn't leave till October.
I also never texted hunter back about hanging out on the weekend and I dont regret it. I think its because I would have felt like infidelity

I can still feel the difference of your heart beat from my head leaning on your chest to pushing you away 
I cant stop listening to john mayer. maybe because it feels like youre not so far away when i do

Sickness of the Lugubrious System

I came home from the doc today and he told me I was sick. I already knew I was sick, but he identified my illness as a chronic problem with my Lugubrious System. See, the Lugubrious System usually stays undetectable, dormant, excepting once or twice a month; that is, with normal patients. He told me my system has an unusually overactive past, flaring up with patchy exuberance when I was in 9th and 10th grade, then declining in 11th grade, and even more rapidly returning to normal levels senior year, but consistently acting up in the summer time. He told me this summer was oddly different. June and July passed with only one instance of spiked levels in my Lugubrious System. Otherwise my levels had been, well, normal for a change. But, he said to me, this week my system's activity unexpectedly flatlined and then rose with rapidity to high levels. It's a condition only seen by patients suffering from Liebeitis; a common but seldom talked about illness. I knew I might succumb, and tried with zeal to deter what I unconsciously knew I would be infected with. I was obviously unsuccessful, and I know it isn't going to be remedied for a long while. After my diagnosis, the doctor encouraged me with the research that 96% of cases like mine partially recover and can still lead normal lives as citizens, and 73% of cases like mine recover fully. It might take me a while, but I know I can recover 100%. At least, I'll know in two years. 

and

15 days left someone told me this morning. They said 15 days and I swear yesterday was still 8 Mondays until then. And the waiting is murder. Because I so bad want to be free 

But I never wanna leave these people that I've always told myself I hate but I just figured out I love them. And I didn't realize it until yesterday

that I'm never coming back

and I'm never going to see the people I love again until the awkward encounters at the grocery store in 20 years

and the worst is that I'm afraid they won't matter to me anymore and those encounters will be awkward and an unsettling reminder of what I once had but lost 

And I want to keep up with the people that I just hear things about and I talk to and say hi to in the halls and don't even talk to in my classes and who likes who and what happened last weekend and I wish I was a sophomore again because I could start all over and never leave and complete the cyclic circle over and over again until I hated it so much that it wouldn't hurt so bad to leave

but I heard change is good

But high school is stagnant and static and unchanging and I want to stay where I'm comfortable and know where I stand and stay and not have to move on to dynamic different new living place and school and roommates and people and return missionaries who just want to get married and real life is just around the corner and I don't want to face it.  

Juxtaposition

Every time I read you I fall deeper in love. 

Every time I see you I cringe back into myself. 

I can see eloquence and intelligence behind your once hidden eyes. 

I cannot look into your face anymore without feeling angry and manipulated. 

I saw you the first day of class and knew I liked you then. 

Although I do admit the first time I saw you I knew something was going to happen between us. 

You didn't seem like the rest of the people sitting on that side of the classroom. 

You told me later you knew too. 

I could swear you were not a tourist on the blogs, but you put up an exceptional front. 

I liked you off and on for so long. 

And then you read your poem in the journal jam one day, and I had to know who you were. 

And I remember the day you told me you loved every single aspect of me.

I had called to talk about another boy. 

I searched for days looking for that post, trying to remember who wrote it. 

I hated that you made me fall for you by making me feel special. 

And finally, after looking for so long, I found you. I was shoved off the cliff by your blog and didn't resent falling for you. 

I remember that time we were in your truck in the canyon. You wouldn't even touch me. 

You never did talk to me in that class. 

And then you told me you loved me. 

But you wouldn't do more than debate making a move. 

But I didn't mind appreciating you from a distance. 

And you moved away for the longest month of my life. But I had a lot of time to think. 

Every time I read your blog I think about how who I thought you were and how you write yourself to be are opposites. 

And now I avoid your eyes. 

And it restores my faith in humanity. 

You both have the same name, but you are the opposite of each other. And as hard as I try, I cannot keep away from one as much as I can look at the other. 

Lol

#realtalk I dyed my hair purple on Friday. I think the real reason I did it is because it bugs my mom. 

#realtalk At the begining of this class I thought my writing was gonna be the shiz but it turned out my writing was shiz. 

#realtalk I only own one tight shirt and when I wore it to school my friend told me she didn't know I was so skinny. 

#realtalk I cuddle more with my sister than I do with boys, but I don't mind. 

#realtalk Whenever it's summer I wish it were fall and whenever it's winter I wish it were spring. 

#realtalk One time I called Megan "Emily" on accident. 

#realtalk When I was in 5th grade I had one of those stupid littlest pet shop digital pets. I think it's still around somewhere. 

#realtalk I've kept a daily journal for 6 years. 

#realtalk I love drying flowers in the books I own. It's like a little piece of summer. 

#realtalk I don't ever wear leggings. 

#realtalk Hannah Montana was my favorite show in middle school, even though I was supposed to be too old for Disney channel by then. 

#realtalk I don't feel bad that this isn't an earth shattering  post because I'm in creative writing 2 next semester, and hey, it was nice getting to know you all. 

I'm trying to remember

I remember the day I turned 8. I remember the day my older brother came home from his mission. I cried, even though nobody else did. I remember the first day of 10th grade, second period American Studies, because I thought the classroom looked like a prison. I remember when my whole family was convinced I looked exactly like Hermione Granger. I remember when I cared that my sister had a tattoo. I remember wanting to grow up exactly like my sister. I'm glad I didn't. I remember when my mom didn't let me paint my fingernails because it was too "grown up" and I was only 7. I remember not being able to comprehend that there were words worse than "I hate you", and that people actually said them to each other. I remember the day I learned one of my best friends had anorexia. I should have figured it out sooner. I remember feeling sick in Washington D.C. because I missed home so much. I remember my old house, even though I moved away when I was four. I remember the first Christmas we weren't a whole family. I remember when I straightened my hair every day. I remember feeling too young to go to sophomore prom. I remember regretting a lot of things from middle school. I remember feeling jealous of my sister for getting out of the house ten years before I could. I remember the year I stopped playing in the snow. I remember eating dirt when my backyard wasn't finished yet. I remember chopping off all my hair the summer before 7th grade and pretending to like it for my mother's sake. I had side bangs I had no idea how to style. I remember the birthday I told my parent's to stop buying me books. I'm glad they didn't listen to me. I remember only wearing a skirt to elementary school twice. I remember the first date I went on. I was just barely 16. I remember the days all my close friends moved away. I missed almost all of them.

Mockingbirds and Slam Nerves (AKA Atticus Monet)

Well, I had Atticus Monet for my white elephant, and I chose her poem At Least I am Trying. I think it's beautiful and I hope I do it justice.

at least I am trying

I am never full
I am a human garbage disposal

and I absorb everything in my path 

So please excuse me for being busy all the time, I'd rather soak in things for myself then gulf down empty hello's and distant meetings that I wasn't invited to because sorry I am busy all the time.

I walk down tile floors under florescent lights and dreaded parking lots constantly thinking

    this isn't going to last forever

            this isn't going to last forever

                   this isn't going to last forever

then snap I am daydreaming

in the meantime, people try to throw their fists down my throat and scream into my absent eyes

but please save your breathe because my soul matured way faster than my body and 

I am just growing still

but not really growing still, I don't want to live like that
                  staying still I decided isn't an option for me 
and raising your voice isn't going to make things more clear


we have been moving since the day we were born

so please quit telling me to sit down 
there are things I have not disposed of yet
if you would just let me find them or allow me to let them go
please let me try 
 then if I fail, I promise I'll keep my head up right so that I won't grow into the ground


but bound here, so far, I have dug tunnels to avoid the way some things make me feel, and secret walls to avoid the empty stares that make me feel less,
bound by time I would regret wasting
I am not a time traveler
 my tunnels just lead to better places, better times, better me's 

I am a human disposal but I do not intend on wasting 
only sprouting 
always growing

I didn't realize this post was 3/4 death.

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood

I have a confession to make. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.
But before I tell you who I am I feel like I should say some stuff about myself. Like the stuff 99% of people reading this won't know about me. 

I listen to dubstep more than you think I might. 

I love my sister more than I love anyone else on the Earth. 

As hard as I try to convince myself I'm not, I'm still a hopeless romantic.

I've read Harry Potter upwards of 14 times. 

I made both my Prom and Preference dresses. 

I've always wanted to get a pixie cut but my dad tells me I'd look too butch.

I haven't been kissed yet. (VL game still going strong)

I want to live in New England or on the East Coast when I move out. 

My favorite store is Barnes and Noble. 

I get really bad road rage. 

I've been told I have a killer glare. 

I found Paris on page 27/42 of my journal. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.

My name is Emily Running.

(That's me there on the right standing next to my best friend, Megan)

1. 

P.S. I actually do like running. Sometimes.

Things you are and things you are not

You are the first ray of sun as it comes up over the mountain. You are the bright yellow of a school bus and the satin gold of my skin in the summer. You are deeper than the black dots in my left Iris. Somehow, you are every leaf that has fallen off every tree. But you are not the branches. I am the trunk. You are the rough rock of prayer on my kitchen windowsill. You are not the stop sign, but you are red. You are not the dull color of my eyes. You are the soft smell of my perfume. You are the green egg in my basket. Although you are not the spiderweb in the corner of the attic, you are the darkness that resides there. However, you are also the window light shines through. You are the friction that allows me to skate on ice. You are the constant readjustment of my hair, and the smell of warm things. You are the last sip of hot chocolate, when it's only lukewarm and your stomach is full. You are the state of mind I get into when I am about to fall asleep. You are the ricocheting echoes when I yell in a tunnel. You are the unbound dreams of little children, and the discarded advice of teenagers, and the heavy feeling in adults. You are the soft lead of my pencil. You are the pain felt when cold fingers warm up. You are the scent and touch of brown leather. You are the sounds heard when it snows. You are the in and out breathing of the earth, so faint, only I can hear it. You are not the lamp post in front of my house. You are not the starched collars of my dad's shirts. You are not my doll eyes. You are the water inside a cactus. And you are the sky during rainy days, and the sea on stormy ones. Supposedly, you are a mallard but I know you're more like a penguin. I am the ripples in the water and you are the rock that makes them. You are the coarse wool yarn of my favorite scarf, and I am the knitting needles that made it. You are the lack of anything in space, and I am the red eye on Jupiter. You are bent pages in the books I own, and the mistakes I find when I read them, but you are also the letter "i". You are not me but I am you,

 and together, we are the number zero.