Pigeons.

There are two pigeons that spend day in and day out seated upon a door. They may not know I exist, but I know they do. They may not read my mind or emotions, but I somehow expect them to. Since August 27th, those pigeons have been around. That's almost 6 months. Those pigeons have witnessed 6 months of my life at a closer view than most others. They don't know what's been going on. I don't really know what's been going on. All I know, is that there's a lot to be said for simply sticking by someone. It's a dedication that not many are willing to offer. But, I appreciate those two pigeons in their simplistic lifestyles. This all sounds lame, I know... But, I wish I had two pigeons to follow me through life for as long as possible. Two pigeons who will perch on my door for no other reason than it's where they belong, and want to be. They always have the option of flying away. They do fly away. But they always return. I don't need to see them to know where they are. They're just two pigeons. But they've given me proof of something I need.

I like those pigeons.

"Hold my head inside your hands. I need someone who understands. I need someone, someone who hears. For you I've waited all these years."

I like song lyrics. India Arie's new CD came out this week and it's quite brilliant [go figure]. I wish I had more time to dedicate to analyzing song lyrics and meaning and motivation. I suppose I could make time. But, school work has been dominating me. No, school has been kicking my ass. I can handle some discipline and academic motivation in my life, but the amount of time and stress I've put into textbooks this week will never bring out the best of me. I need some spunk. I'm missing some spunk. I think I'll blame it on lack of music that's been happening. After all,  "music is what feelings sound like." 

I've restricted passion in my life.

I don't know why I'm doing it.

I don't know when I'll change it.

I'm putting up walls.

Maybe it's good?

Maybe it's needed?

But- it's not me.

But, where to put the passion?

People?

Music?

School?

I choose all.

And I'll always fall short. There's no harmony in passion. I'm full of contradictions. I am starving for passion, but tied to harmony. 

I want to challenge myself. I want someone to challenge me. I want someone to care enough about me that they'd be willing to challenge me. I want to feel cared for. I know I am. But I want to 'feel.' I can't feel when my mind is in a textbook. I can't sing when there's a sheet of music in front of me. But I can't remove the sheet. 

I want to cry when I sing. I like crying when I sing. I want to throw down the wall and let it out again. But I may not be ready. I've never been one to protect myself. Why am I trying to start now? 

All I want is a bon fire.

All I want is stars.

All I want is a best friend to give all to.

All I want is a picture of you to hang on my wall.

All I want is to feel the salt burn them.

All I want is to pray.

All I want is to hear your voice singing a harmony.

All I want is grass on my skin.

All I want is dirt mixed with water from melted snow.

All I want is that feeling of the three of us.

All I want is Lake Koronis.

All I want is to feel you.

All I want is to be uncomfortable.

All I want is the growth.

All I want is armonia.

All I want is a river.

All I want is never ending, breath taking, laughter.

I'm socially aware. 

That may not mean much to you, but it's explaining a lot of things internally for me. That simple statement is answering so many internal conflicts. 

"all at once-rushing from the sub pump-or so the story goes-balance we won't know-we will see when it gets warm" 

I'm ready to play music at a coffee shop.

I'm ready for the adrenaline. I'm ready for the vulnerability. I'm ready to force connection.

I don't have money anymore. I spent it all for great causes... so I'm okay with it.

I never listen to my own songs. So, why record them? 

I've been skipping 'our' songs. 

This is too abstract.

But that's just my social upbringing and culture talking.

Screw that.

I want goosebumps.

Why do they call them goosebumps?

I'm scared to let my full self out to some people. And I no longer think that's a bad thing. Not everyone wants it. And I don't want to give it to the undeserved.

I think that if I went to live music once a week, by myself, in a coffee shop, with nothing but a pen and paper I would be a stronger person. 

I can't multi-task when music is involved. I can only be. I can observe me. But I can't apply me... when there's music. 

"River Rise, carry me back home. I can not remember the way. River Rise, carry me back home. I surrender today... I was always a charmed flower child. I would sit for hours and listen to the sky." 

I think this is plenty for now. This is how my brain works. I'm sorry for the lack of explanation in most of what I said. No, I'm not.