The Motions...

I find myself going through the same motions every day. I wake up. I get ready. I go to school. I go to rehearsal. I go home. I read. I write. I listen. I sleep. I repeat.

I live in a world that is somewhat different. In both good and not so good ways. But, mostly just unfamilar, and uncharted territory that I have yet to explore.
I stay. Huddled in my own little being. Refusing to stand and look with my own two eyes.
Maybe I'm just scared? Me scared? That's scary.

I don't think I talk as much as I used to. In fact, I don't think I laugh or smile or converse as much as I used to either. At least at school I don't.
There is one thing I do a lot more of. At least a lot more than I did before.
I think a lot more.

I process things. I focus. I find myself thinking about certain things for hours at a time. My brain capacity has increased through it's other absences. It's really what gets me through the days. Through the same old motions. I think about words. I think about how people use those words to communicate. I think about people. I observe them every second of the day. I never knew a person could be so observant. People fascinate me. They are all so different. They all have their own motions. The differences in speech or manner. The differences in they way they walk and look. The way they transfer thoughts to words. The way they communicate to one another. The way they feel about one another. Honestly, if you really took the time to watch, you could easily see how someone feels about another person.

Is it weird that I'm saying all of this? Saying that I spend my emptyness watching other people.
It does sound rather odd, but you must not understand my reasoning...
I watch them because they do in fact fascinate me. I watch them because they help me in a way.
They inspire me to look past. They inspire me to think.

I watch and I write.
I observe and I write how I feel after pondering over a certain person for a bit.
I write about the brilliant boy in my theatre class. I write about the girl who though very pretty on the outside, is not much to see on the inside. I write about the way people walk and talk. How they bite their nails and write with their left hands. (which I believe must be a genius trait)
I never knew anything about these people until I stepped down from myself and looked onto others.
More people should do it. I'm sure the world would be rid of a few less selfish and self absorbed people.
Then again... I may very well have been one of those exact people.
Then again... Aren't we all?
We are ourselves, therefore we think about ourselves a lot. Understandable, of course.

I just really feel thankful to these people. They truly get me through the days.
They get me to Friday every week.

I never thought about writing.
But, now I see why people do it.
Some can brilliantly compose words out of dust. Words that capture you and refuse to let you go. Words that leave you in another world.
I see now that a writer can make a world of their own with just a thought in their mind and a flick of their pen.
A world they do not have.
Perhaps a world they long to have.

High School...

There is a far off place in a far away land where every boy and every girl soon come of age to travel to.
It is a a place where heroic and strong viking warriors battle, a place where brilliant magis and magicians experiment with potions and spells, a place of minstrels and jesters, a place of noblemen and noblewomen, a place of peasants, and of course, like every kingdom... a place of evil and frightening witches.

This far off land is place where the sun shines bright and warm in the summer, the leaves turn viking gold and orange in the fall, the wind, crisp and cold, flies through the land in the winter, and in the spring... the rain washes away the past.

A place where the latest fashions of the kingdom are always displayed. A place where you hear the squeaking of markers on dry erase boards. A place where the boom of the kingdom officials is always heard on the overhead speakers. A place of monotonous lessons and insincere greetings. A place where the lavatories are always avoided, and by the stench... you'd understand fully. A place where a pack of gum can be an opportunity to make seven new friends. A place where potions are experimented and animals are torn apart by magicians (chemists) and medicine men and women (biologists) in training. A place where the equations you are forced to do in a book are not anything like the equations you will have to figure out in your own life. A place where knees and elbows are scraped on the warriors rough green turf. A place where words that are written by other men are recited on stages made by other men, acted out by other men. A place where cliques are made and broken and other cliques are made out of those broken ones. A place where people make you, or they break you.
This place in this far away land is called High School.