Incomprehensible

I think the reason I really like it when the weather’s force is so prominent is because it starts to feel like the wind itself, or the rain, or the snow, or whatever, is actually a part of something that has order. It makes me feel like I have a friend, or a companion, and when I open up the door, and the winds blowing so hard that it rips it out of my hand scaring the shit out of me, it makes me feel like maybe, the wind is just having a bad day. And that for once it’s being selfish and it isn’t thinking about being gentle, so as not to hurt the human beings. I mean, I get that nothing is connected. Or at least, I get that there’s a possibility that nothing’s connected. I once read in this book called Accepting the Universe by John Burroughs, that said weather isn’t a negative thing; not even when it hurts us. It really makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, because the weather is just the weather, and its’ just happening. It’s not making any consideration to the humans, because we ourselves are just part of nature too. Usually, I think of stuff like that before I end up reading it in a book. But that time, I happened to read it before I got to think it up myself. Personally, ever since I was a little little girl, I always loved the weather. I’m not talking the quiet stuff either though. Until I turned about 12 maybe, I swear I wanted to be a tornado chaser.
There’s something about tragedy that I can’t get enough of. Some weird, twisted, sadistic part of me that wants to have to suffer. I don’t mean it in a suicidal way. I just mean being so close to something so much bigger than me… seeing how easily it can just be without thinking about other people… it makes me want to cry, but in a good way.
It just is.
I know there’s more to my fascination for it.
I feel like the explanation I just gave only touched on the reasons behind it.
But I really can’t place it.
I just know that I get this rush in me. Something that has a root, embedded so deep underneath all of the shit that’s piled on top of what once was my core central being, that can explain just exactly what the fuck I mean. Maybe I just want to be miserable. Because misery is true passion, and with that kind of misery, you never have to question if it’s justified. If I was more eloquent, maybe I could write a real book. Maybe I could take all the things that make me feel like I’m alive, and put them somewhere; compile them, so they make sense.
But the problem is, sometimes, putting ideas in to stories destroy them a little bit. Just imagine, a singular solitary image, or a mysterious, insightful kid, with a childish face, upon who’s surface gazes eyes that you knew held things like clarity you could only imagine. Imagine that this kid was always eating apples, and imagine that he always cut them with a pocket knife.
I can like that kid right now.
But the minute I throw him in with a story lacking passion for everything other than him, it’s like I’ve diagnosed him with a terminal illness. Soon, I’ll relate him to that that stupid story.
And eventually, I’ll end up hating him. Just like I’ve hated all the other characters I once cherished so much in the past.
Because I can’t show anyone else what I mean by clarity, and wisdom. No one but me can understand what I mean when I say the kid has an understanding of things unfathomable.
And in the end, he just ends up getting lost. Thrown in with all the others, once so precious in the mind of their creators, now so warn, and used and tarnished, from being thrown from lips of people who take the idea, and form them in to their own.
They’re only dead to the creators.
Which is why, I think I’d rather keep my characters locked up inside my head.
Where they continue to remain precious.
Where no one can tell me they’re cliché.
Because the way I think about them; they’re really not.


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Hey,
I know it's been kind of long.
This is the first chance I've had to be on a computer
and I didn't even mean too
but I just started thinking
and putting things down in to words

it's not really a story.
but it's what i really believe in.

by the way
this is Miranda.