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ourhearts_entwined

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I love you all. I won't shut this one down. It'll always be here.

Writing makes me feel so vulnerable. When you read my writing, you hold my deepest feelings, even if you can't read them just right. You still hold my heart. Hah, guess what? I wrote a song about that.

What you have is my exposed heart

Beating feebly in you hands

Not protected by the shield of my ribs

Don’t crush it please

I’m cringing with fear

I’ll flinch if you get any closer

Please don’t hurt me.

I don’t know when I’ll recover

There’s too much that this one wound could bring down

And I’m not ready for that avalanche.

One of the seven poems I've written today. I hope you understand it, because if you don't, it won't have the same effect. I don't know if this one's done yet.

Maybe the pictures we paint

from the words that we read

are one and the same.

Maybe we’re watching

the same foreign film

from behind sheltered eyes.

But that wouldn’t matter to you

No, your unfeeling heart has too much fear

For what it can’t understand.

It’s the modern day Romeo and Juliet

And you should cry for their breaking hearts.

Just another couple,

Running from the law

And then dying in each other’s arms.

©2005, Jennie Wachowski

Ahhhhh!! Happiness! Yes! August 9th, new Crickel Neek cd! Scoooore!

And, I've written a song, with music.... that I like! It's got chords, guys! I have to write them all down though. But ....   yeah. It only has one verse though.. Give me time and it will be perfect! But never as good as Sagey's.

Life is a song that we sing

To remind us that

The words are just a bonus

To the music it brings

So tell me I’m beautiful

Tell me you love me and

I’ll never even doubt it

Till the final ring

Dynamics of love, they speak

Straight to my heart and say

Everything will be okay.

Whispers of words that have

Lost all their meaning but

Everything’s okay.

©2005, Jennie Wachowski

Slash. This. Is. Slash. So, if you don't like slash, don't read it. It's Ray/Sawyer. If you don't know who Sawyer is, ask later. Coz I'm not gonna tell you here. Also, if you are ridiculously conservative, don't read it either. XP Yeah, I'm jumping ont he bandwagon. Leavemealone. Here we go....

            I always know what’s going through his mind. That’s just how well I can read him. I can tell you what he’s thinking when his head is tilted over to the side, and his lips are curled up slightly, pre-smirk. When he looks up at me through his lashes, and barely smiles, I know exactly where his mind is wandering. When his knee bumps mine, or his leg brushes against me, and he looks to the floor, and clears his throat, I know he’s thinking how he should apologize, but doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact that we made contact. Contact is for football. And girls. But not for us.

            Now that it’s over, I’m not so sure. I remember when I used to read his expressions like a book, when his body language was as clear as glass, and I could see straight through to his heart. Between then, and now, is this huge gap. Neither one of us really wants to acknowledge that it ever happened. We both know it did. But denial is all we’re capable of at this point.

            Every time I see him though, memories come rushing back. I can see that time after practice, in the locker rooms, or the 4^th of July, out on the lawn, with the fireworks exploding all around us. It’s all so painful. But I want it back. I’d give up everything I have, if it could just be the way it used to, and he could hold me when I cry, and kiss me in the rain, and laugh with me in the back of his truck, both of us high on whatever had been convenient.

            I look up at him now, sitting across the room, his eyes wandering, sometimes landing on the professor, but mostly on his sneakers, or on Liz. He even locks eyes with Angelina occasionally, smirking at her like he used to at me.

            He looks up, and catches my gaze. We both break eye contact immediately. It’s not that we’re not friends or anything. We’re just so engrossed with what the professor is telling us. I mean, it’s Shakespeare he’s talking about… or someone. Who wouldn’t be interested?