When I woke up already I could tell it would be a cold day.
The sun shone forth as we opened the unhinged door, alighting a world that had otherwise been asleep. A dog, noticing us, barked and scurried off, while a group of birds sang in the sunlight. They couldn't resist; the sunlight is an alluding thing. All winter long the skies are covered in a thick layer of clouds, a grey-blue tint shrouding the world. Hearts fall during these times, spirits get doused, and everyone begins wishing for the sun.
"Shit," Tamiko cursed, a cloud escaping from her lips. "It's damn cold."
A sky without clouds loses insulation. For every wish that the sun would shine, a being would die to the frost.

What to do...?

Fear holds me back; the fear of making a decision. -__- What do I want to "be" when I grow up? Of course I want to write books, but breaking into that sort of job can be difficult. Especially for me...who has been writing CB for years now. Keane was saying to me he knows lots of people who only write, but that's after gaining some ground isn't it? I feel like if I'm going to be a "writer" I need some form of income until I can publish my first book.

And then now I'm discovering that teaching is actually pretty difficult to get into. There's a lot of processes that seem totally confusing to me when I tried doing research online. And now I have the opportunity to volunteer in a classroom to gain some experience, but I don't know if I should...

Maybe I should be writing instead?

"Experience is always good."

Yeah, it is...isn't it? But what should I do...maybe just worry about finishing CB. Maybe then, everything should just fall into place for me. Aim to being a teacher, and then if I finish CB and I end up having to focus on that, then I will...?

Time. Things take time. I think I constantly fail to realize this. Confidence, motivation, knowledge, constitution. Can I really take a step up?

New name

Going to sleep so late....again ahhhh...

Karas' new name is Mathis. I think it suits him perfectly.

It's brilliant.

Karas was too weird to say...Mathis seems more human, and less like I'm trying to copy the anime...hahaha

p.s It means gift of god.

The Steward

Still intend to fix up some things here and there (arms too long). Anyway this is Johayn! I've become very attatched to her <3. Why do I like cross-dressing girls...don't ask me!!! Blame the manga I read T____T

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“Johayn, when you are done dressing Finely be sure to stop by Myrtle’s room; she is being difficult,” Steward Musec spoke slowly in his timeless way, as if he were spilling dry leaves from his lips. His words were dead, the emotion in his dark eyes bleak. Everything about him was serious, even the way he kept his wine-colour vest, finely pressed shirt, dark brown trousers, and polished shoes perfectly orderly. The way he held himself, one arm holding the door slightly ajar, the other stiff at his side, spoke of perfect service. Despite that he was not aged, it was as if through such rigorous control he had managed to at least conserve his beauty. Those black-pooled eyes matched his slicked back black hair, short and simple for someone who worked all day long. It did not take anyone long to notice how interestingly well he contrasted with the King; one white, the other black, as different as night and day.
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, tying the two year old’s shoelaces without much thought. The boy was averting his gaze, watching Johayn’s actions intently with dark blue eyes. His scrappy black hair was covering his face, hiding the frown that Musec would most likely disapprove of.
The Steward didn’t need to see the child’s face to know his displeasure, but there was not much to be done for it. He left without a word, leaving the two in a vast room with two attendants, both waiting patiently as usual in case they were needed. Johayn may be the future Steward, but a five and two year old could never be left unattended.
At such a young age she already understood Musec, and why he was so stiff. Naturally she took after him, dressed in a green vest and nice white shirt, with grey pants. Queen Cameron had seen to her dressing, being sure to fiddle with her gold ribbon about her neck, making sure it looked ‘gentlemanly’ but still ‘adding a feminine touch’, as she put it. It suited Johayn well, matching her soft brown hair and wide, brown eyes. Queen Cameron had also cheated there, making sure that her hair was just above the shoulder. A popular male style but still feminine enough to make any who pass by wonder. Not that anyone really wondered; everyone knew (but didn’t really care) that Johayn was a girl.
She straightened herself, watching as Finely looked up with his dark blue eyes, a pleading within them. Tussling his short black hair, she held his hand gently with reassurance.
"It's okay," she whispered, leading him to the adjoining room. It was not enough, she knew, but was helpless to remove the terrible memories this child held in his heart.
"Miss Myrtle?" Johayn mumbled, tapping the door lightly. "May I enter?"
There was shuffling, and then an attendant was opening the door, allowing the two into a room fit for a princess. As she was one, Princess Myrtle sat defiantly on her grand bed, arms crossed and eyes blazing. She was surrounded by a room decorated with all types of lace and flowers, puppets and comfortable furnishings; her own fine outfit, long dark hair and light blue eyes matched the setting well. For a four year old, Myrtle was already fitting into her role well.
"Don't call me miss, Johayn," she whined, watching as the two made their way over.
Johayn smiled, holding out her hand slowly to the little girl. "I didn't, I called you Miss Myrtle."
The princess' lip quivered, frustration sparking tears to well up in her eyes. Reluctantly she took Johayn's hand, always staring into those wide brown eyes. "I hate him," she whispered, so low only Johayn could hear.
The only thing she could do was squeeze the Princess' hand in recognition; Johayn's own feelings didn't matter. All she had to do was make sure they were there on time, and that by the time they got there the two children at her sides would not be fearful, but smiling as if they'd missed their brother intensely.

emptiness

Right now I am trying to cry. I know it's weird, why would I want to cry? But I should because...of this and that...and yet I can't bring myself to. At 4am last night, I felt so passionate about a lot of things that my heart swelled with happiness. Now I feel like a log, a tired log, and I don't want to sleep with my heart feeling this empty.

Goodnight
Goodnight

Two matching, boring phrases accompanied by sad faces.

Argh, there is just this, now, and the future is a hazy grey of uncertainty. To say stupid things like, "I want to spend every day with you" seems so impossibly hard. Where are we going? What kind of path will this put us on? I have so many regrets...I don't know where to begin.

And mainly I wonder, what happened to that girl who used to feel so passionate about so many things? Is this what being old is like? Suddenly you're too tired to feel a blazing heart, and everything becomes monotonous.

Between work and those empty spaces that define us, even now I find myself wishing you would place your hand on my cheek for just a little longer. A long time ago, when you used to walk away I would cry after you left, but now I merely move on. I think this feeling came over you long ago, or maybe you were always like this, because it's so rare I see you overly sad from missing me.

There are so many simple things that send tears down my cheeks while writing. Especially thinking about the fact that you will not even read this.

Here...in this purple abyss, I'm thinking about your eyes, your smile, your bushy chin. I'm trying to remember what it felt like to hold your hand only hours ago. I'm wishing I could make you laugh just one more time today...

But there is just here, now, and the hardships will only increase. Saying these desperate things are pointless...crying and writing to a wall of purple while you sleep empty of dreams.

Sometimes I think without meaning to, that it'd be nice to see how much you miss me...instead of just hearing those words I've heard a million times for 5 yrs now...

"i miss you"

maybe instead i'd like it to be "i miss you so much i could cry"

some random wish i just had...was to go ice skating with you. just the two of us...wouldn't that be nice...

goodnight, and don't worry, whoever does read this, because I wanted to feel this sad, this passionate about something. and i succeeded, and in some odd way, i'm happy.

I forget to put titles

Here it is - the seeping silence. I woke up this morning to my mom leaving, I assume, and so far no one has come home. I'm wondering where they are (dad and mum) but I know it's no big issue. Pretty much I'm left here to my own thoughts, and that's not so bad.

On one side I feel relieved - to capture these moments and use them to my advantage is very tempting. On the other, I feel restless. I know I should write, but my mind keeps distracting itself for the seemingly impossible task at hand.

I know the things I must do. I must complete this story, I have to. It doesn't matter if I fail now, because I will keep trying until it's complete. I want to keep working on it till I can safely say I've written all I have to write; but I don't think that'll ever happen.

Who are all those people I keep stored in my mind and heart? I think of them, now and again, their voices at the edge of my mind. They are a part of me, extensions of myself crafted by invisible words that are magical threads. Patterns weave where we can't see, but imagine. A whole universe of infinite possibilities and scenarios, all subject to our hearts' whims and minds' follies.

And even if I already grasp so many threads in my mind, I know with surety that more will come. I'll catch these words like butterflies caught in nets. And when I set them free they will paint a picture of colour across the sky, one everyone can enjoy.

Hahah...anyway. It's one thing to talk here about it and another to actually do it. I'm off; till another time.

I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of peoples' inability to understand me. It's so rare that I hear from someone words like, "I'm sorry" "I'm sorry for making you feel this way." I get this strong impression from everyone i meet that I am merely someone they can talk to but never really strongly appreciate. Every time I'm mad I find myself apologizing and trying to make amends, because I'm being "cranky" and "unreasonable". I don't understand why I can't be given the opportunity for people to understand me. I don't see why it's so hard for someone to apologize to me for hurting my feelings and so on. Why do I constantly feel used by people who are supposed to be my friends? Even my own mother always seems uninterested in what I say, and would never even begin to understand what I felt about certain things.

Why does everything feel like its draining away? My story, cold-blue, I feel everything about it is unraveling, falling apart. These words I sought so hard to construct now feel flimsy and easily broken.

Perhaps it's because I'm lazy, I want a short-cut to success. I don't know why I'm like this. I just want to be somewhere else, I just want to exist at a whole different level. Why are things so hard? Why am I so stagnant?

What is there to appreciate about myself? Once someone told me the most attractive thing about me was my personality. Why does that feel like such bs to me? What personality do I have to keep up in order for you to like me? And the moment I'm not what you expect me to be, suddenly I've gone astray. Why can't I find room for selfishness? Why can't I find room to cry in a world that doesn't seem to care what happens to me either way? Am I really so capable...am I really so independent?

Loneliness, bitter and strong. My whole life I feared being alone, I would even make up imaginary friends. I always felt so distant from everyone, as if the only things that would listen and bare my presence were the trees. But even they can be cruelly silent.

And then these strong feelings come rushing into me, things that could have never been. I sometimes wonder to myself that if Fotula were alive, maybe I could have had someone to confide in. Someone to show me what it meant to be a girl, to hold that certain grace and confidence I see so many females have that I don't. But then in my heart I feel like she would have probably been just like them...just like everyone else in my family. They would chatter and chatter, unaware of the little voices around them, only caring about what they have to say to the world. Even now, they seem to have taken her away from me, not even allowing me to say, "she was my sister, these are my memories of her." Because they hold all those strong memories, all those feelings of missing her and knowing her, and wanting all those things she used to give them. I don't have any of those things. All I have is what that tell me...and again, she is just a person, someone I will never know. Just this ghost whose pictures hang on the wall. None of her was for me. I merely live in her shadow.

In the end I feel empty. Unsure of what to do. In the past I was always so confident with the things I say, always so sure. Now I find myself unable to make decisions; unable to see clearly.

Phone call.