Certainly, my love, I’m lost and found.

Dear Dark Hours,
I basked in the quiet outside of Pick’n’Save South at 11:15 pm. The air was still, headlights flashed sparingly, and the glow of the spotlights seemed surreal. I took a deep breath and tried to diffuse the stillness into myself, which lead to EPIC failure, but it’s the thought that counts. I love that time of night, when everything is still humming with life, but not the noisy, distracted daylight life. Tranquility is found in the dark hours by a sleep-deprived, emotionally confused, sparingly eloquent girl named Amanda. I am becoming fluent and well-used to the stillness of the night, that has placated me after soul-destroying, heart-blugeoning, anger-stirring nights (and no, I am not referring specfically to a certain Friday night).

The more I think about things, the more tangled the web becomes. Why? Thoughts, words, feelings, and actions are ever-changing, so the conclusion reached one day may not fit the next day. It’s an uphill struggle to read the minds of those around me, which is why I am puzzled as to why I continue to try. It causes headaches, misled glee, and dashed hopes. I continue to battle not only the lies, but the truth as well, although the truth seems to have many facets; some facets are explored while others have not yet been recognized. I am told that perhaps the world may never right itself, and that’s a concept I’ve made myself familiar with for months. Whether or not I feel like accepting that answer is another story, depending on how stubborn and childish I feel like acting.

Ah, I am a dreamer. I am a dreamer, a romantic, and one hell of a persuasionist (hey, i made up a new word). I soak in tranquility like there’s a limited amount in the world and I delve into the thick of things to spark my curiosity and sense of adventure. I place myself where I’m not needed, I pull out of where I’m wanted, and my eyes are always expectant that things might swing my way, in all desires. I’m explosively contemplative, I evade the truth in order to know I still have a heart kicking around in there somewhere, and my words come out in a twisted tangle. I desire silence yet feel the need to fill it up; I despise insecurity yet it’s my constant companion. There isn’t one fiber in me that doesn’t loath myself for what I am. There also isn’t a single one that isn’t compelled to find that one fiber of goodness.

Because my eyes are heavy and certain scents still invade my subconcious,
Amanda