the infection of love.

Hi there, good people of the blogging universe. :) I'm coming to you at 11:37pm on a Wednesday night. A school night. But I'm not rebelling, I promise, and I'm going to hop back on the sleeping-bandwagon tomorrow night, but earlier tonight I had literally a little over a cup of diet coke at a restaurant and now… so much energy. Can't sleep. But it's the story of my life, and I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll simply use this leftover energy to do something productive. Such as explore a poem by Anne Sexton.


Wanting to Die, a poem by Anne Sexton, was written to explain why poets, people, anyone like herself (and her friend Sylvia Plath) would want to kill themselves. Keep in mind, this isn't my opinion, nor is it any general truth, just her opinion, I suppose. You can read it here if you want, I don't wanna poem overload, but I just wanted to kind of… dwell on the last line. "and the love, whatever it was, an infection." Just that idea, of love being an infection, is just so beautiful, in a heartwrenching way. Love, it can spread and it can hurt and it can take you down. It's infectious.


My friend pointed out this line after we saw Inception today and there was the line about an idea being a parasite, the most resilient of them. Because we're, uh, nerdy, I whipped out the poem book we've been looking at lately (it's her's) and read that poem and that line just… I don't know. I had just come out of the movie about an hour ago, but it just struck a nerve. I wasn't emotional or anything, not really at that part of the conversation, but the idea of these things, that seem innocent enough, taking over your mind and your body and everything… it's fascinating.


To lighten the mood a little bit, I'll talk about myself a little bit. I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately, to be honest, I've been reliving the past a lot, and spending every free moment (which, alas, are few) either watching Parenthood (I am newly obsessed with this show. guys, you have to watch it. please) or reading old conversations/poems/journal entries/notes, anything from 8th grade. I feel like I just need to figure out that person I was then. Why I did the things I did and what I thought and when things fell apart and how I put them back together and… it's crazy. The lines between 8th grade and the present are starting to blur when characters from then and now collide. It's super weird.


Wow… that didn't really lighten the mood, did it? Oh well. I hope this entry didn't sound bleak, that wasn't my intention at all. In fact, I've been good lately. A warm, familiar sort of happiness. Not a crap-is-this-gonna-get-yanked-away kind of happiness but one that feels secure. I don't know. I like it. How are YOU guys?

quotations and poems ahoy!

I haven't blogged in ages, and I'm really disappointed about that, but I mean… school started and life got crazy and life got sad and life got sidesplittingly funny and life got glorious and life got momentsofbreakdowns and life got staringattheceilingsmiling and I don't have any regrets thus far, in my seven days of my junior year, but I really ought to blog more. For me. Because right after laughter, writing is the best medicine. For me. There is this quote that I love, by Ray Bradbury. It's so beautiful that I have it committed to memory from reciting it over and over again to myself.


"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."


I'm gaga for quotations. They're beautiful snapshots of life, of personality, of beauty. I'm blessed to be friends with some of the most hilarious people in the whole world, who constantly have me doubled over in laughter or sitting back in awe at something said brilliantly. I don't even… I always remember something said by John Green about spending life behind a camera, that sometimes you have to just put it down and live, but I think I've become too dependent on that notion. I want to remember these moments where I could hardly breathe or my head was just swimming with all of the possibilities of the world. The feelings I had because of them. I don't know. My Facebook quotations section is filling to the brim daily, all alphabetized and organized. Reading it just makes me smile when I want to frown.


It's really ironic how I talked about my horrible 8th grade poetry a couple entries ago, and now I'm reobsessed with poetry. It literally happened two days ago. I was hanging out at my friend's house after school on Friday, waiting for my mom to pick me up, and she randomly took her book of 100 poems off of her shelf and wanted me to read some. And then we started reading them out loud and figuring out meanings and it was… great. It was nerdy and the sun was pouring through the windows and I had to leave soon, but it was just… the words, the everything.


That night, we were on Facebook chat, and we were suddenly just changing the words to our favorite poems into things that applied to our lives and it was just nerdy. Nerdy and cool and now I'm falling in love with words again. And then on Saturday, todayyesterdayit's1:20am, we pretty much did the same thing all day. I read Love That Dog by Sharon Creech and the part you know if you've read the book made my vision blurred and eyes shiny. Just, Sky. That beautiful dog. And I read more poems and started Tuesdays with Morrie and I came home with four books, the previously mentioned, a poem anthology, a collection of Emily Dickinson poems, and Gradma Torrelli Makes Soup.


To keep from nerd overload, I'm going to stop rambling and leave you with this poem by Paul Verlaine.


Tears fall in my heart
Rain falls on the town;
what is this numb hurt
that enters my heart?


Ah,the soft sound of rain
on roofs, on the ground!
To a dulled heart they came,
ah, the song of the rain!


Tears without reason
in the disheartened heart.
What? no trace of treason?
This grief's without reason.


It's far the worst pain
to never know why
without love or disdain
my heart has such pain!