I can't explain, the feeling of rain.

It feels like I'm trying to catch clouds, really. Like I've got a nice empty jar waiting to be filled with warm, puffy clouds. But, how do I get them inside? How can one possibly capture something so beautiful and sweet, yet not quite ordinary, but definately taken for granted?

I admit, I'd feel a bit miffed if they were like sweet fairy floss in my fingertips. Eventually it would become too sweet and melt away at the touch of a delicately moist tongue. Instead I'm blessed (please regaurd my religious reference as just another adjective, describing the peculiar greatness of it all), with an explosion of clouds, surrounding the world that is my heart, and spinning around ever so gracefully.

So here I stand, reaching effortfully, atop my green apple tree, glass jar ready in hand, trying to sweep the essence of cloud with my palm. Of course, it will never come, but it will always be there, dancing tantelisingly above me, with such protection that a sense of safety practically overwhelms me.

Sometimes I feel nautious with the amount of times I go tumbling down boistrous hills all day, with the mistakes of the past, catching up with my future and presenting me with painful bumps and bruises of regret. But, as they heal, I learn, and so the clouds help me. They watch me at the top of the steepest of hills and immediately capture my attention. I lay down and watch the clouds, changing from swirly snails to angry dinosaurs and all that's between, and I smile till I feel the upward crease of my lips, and smile harder still.

There's something about these clouds that make me wish I could run away from them, and I try to sometimes. But they know I enjoy their beauty, so they'll never leave me. They will hug me snuggly and I will never be empty again.

But then I remember when the floated away one dreary day. And my tears drowned my world worse than hail or rain. My eyes pained with the memories and my heart jerked with the thought that such an event could ever happen again. I can survive without the clouds, but I definately don't like to.

So now I lie staring patiently at the clouds and see that for now they are mine. They are my clouds and even when they drift away, their shaddow will sink behind the dark forests and at the bottom of deep hills, and I will visit them every day. I can't forget what they mean to me, but all the same I grow impatient.

I will my clouds to shower me in rain, hail even better. I want them to drown me in happiness and passion and care, but most of all love. When my clouds rain on me, I will finally feel the love that is burried thick in their slivers of puff.

Maybe if I scream at them and beg them to rain, or tell them I love them, then they will feel the same.

A thought between her toes.

She woke with a start as the tears flooded her dreaming eyes and she squeezed her pillow so tight. This was the second time that week that she'd woken to her own crying, and she had a funny feeling that something was wrong.

Stress perhaps?

But stress doesn't turn innocent dreams into real nightmares that seep into your confused soul and jumble your insides. So, maybe there's more to it.

The shrinking girl tried with every last ounce of her morning strength to smile, but could only weep and feel ridiculously sorry for herself. She cluthed her sides and forced her eyes shut. But the sobs only grew stronger and more urgent. And the face in her dreams thudded through her subconcious in streams of quickened heartbeats and pools of frightened sadness.

She splashed her face with water, and scrunched her face with the effort of taming the ever enlarging beast, she calls, her feelings. She was tempted with the urge to be sick, and tantalised by the sharpness of her not so safety scissors, unable to hold the memories of relief back any longer.

And so her worries flew around her little mind fruitifully, and twisted through the tangles in her tinkerbell hair, and slipped between her toes and wove their way inside a curdling heart of longing.

As she fumbled helplessly for her ipod, tears returning to her eyes, the thought exploded. What was that strange feeling of strangeness that had possessed her that seemingly lovely morning? Why did things seem to be falling apart, but were infact lacking the actually apartness in falling? Why, oh why did she overanalyse every milisecond of events and turn the great things backwards? Why couldn't she stop believing that just because she had a funny feeling in the pitt of her stomache not so long ago, it meant that something beautiful was about to end?

Robin Thicke swam and danced and circled her mind harmoniously through the sweet sounds of remembering. It was beautiful, no, is beautiful. And, though she'd told her self a million and one times not to let such a connection that she would internally die if it ever was broken form again, it was too late, and she knew she could never handle the rest of her life once it had fallen apart. Dramatic, I know.

It's going to be fine. She repeated, angsting in the process. And more tears fell as she realised that this wasn't all. By her bed on her desk lay an A4 page of things that needed to be done for school, and only one of them was ticked, and she did NOT have much time.

But what did it all matter anyway? That's what was really worrying her. What did anything matter? What was she even going to do with anything after she'd achieved whatever short term goals were inconspicuously ingrained in her subconcious? But, more importantly, what would it matter in the long run? What WAS the long run?

She stopped crying and switched the light on, pulled her book on sigmund freud onto her lap, and read, and wrote, and completed the work that needed doing. She smiled at the fact that she was a morning person, and the day followed just as any other.

Love is all around

"I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes"

I reach for the handle of the carbon-fibre door, as golden sunshine peeks through the edges, my grimey fingertips turn. I'm swimming in a pool of sunrise and rain, with long white socks, suspenders, my summer shorts, John Lennon on my chest and my trusty bowler hat. The nature-thriving scene evaporates with my dreams and a narrow corridor forms before me. The door slams shut behind me and I furrow my brows. Damit, I should have remembered my key.

So I awkwardly wander forward a few steps, noticing the poor finishing of the cracking cream paint on the walls around me, and feeling the creak of the dusty floor boards, leaving the souls of my white linen socks bleak and grey. I look forward, and keep seeing, there appears to be no end to this corridor, but there MUST be another way out, I'll just have to find out for myself.

I pull my right foot into my buttock, and then my left, stretch my arms and my back and click my neck to both sides. And, with a jump, I begin to run. A little slow at first, I've got to pace myself don't I?
After a few seconds I notice my lack of need for breath or air, I cannot tire, so I run faster, and faster. And faster.

"The love that's all around me
And so the feeling grows"

I've never run quite so fast before, my toes tingle in joyous love of the slidy floor and clumsy knee-high combination. A grin explodes on every square nanometre of my face, and I feel so alive. I close my eyes and he's holding my hand and Jessie is singing "When Somebody Loved Me" as I'm strangely close to tears. My lips widen and the hard wooden floor and clostraphobic corridor, suddenly appears comfortable and cosy :)

My lip is splitting with the effort to grin and my eyes are burning from the speed of the air wizzing into them. My stomache turns a little with the obscene speed of my movement and I collapse. My head bounces, somewhat playfully, as it shatters like glass on the floor and I sink into an old memory.

It is a sunday morning and my eyes are wrinkled in nightmare-ish fear. The eary sunshine peeps through my curtains and falls upon those eyes. They come alive and are relatively shocked at being awake. Not a secondly later they recieve awful brainwaves informing them that the aching pain of loss and longing deep in my chest, has reverberated through my bones and veins and lungs and is heading eye-wards. This is much worse than a frightening dream. My eyes water as Missy Higgins aids my ears in thier apparent sorrow, and time passes carelessly as begins my obsession of forgetting. They overflow and drench my pillow case until every happy memory disapparates without the aid of floo powder or a nimbus 2000.

"It's written on the wind
It's everywhere I go"

The sharp edged pieces of mein kopf retreat to their former positions, as if someone had pressed rewind on a universal remote, and all was well again. I pull off my socks in light haste and tie them like a scarf around my mosquito bitten neck.

My toes wriggle in the grimey dust in pleasure as I look down and smile his smile. At the next blink I'm transported, to a new musical, up in lights. "Saliva" was it's name, and it was to be running on the beautiful set of a tired, old mattress located in a bedroom of sorts, for the next five hours. Well, it was certainly the loveliest musical I've ever seen, though I'm not sure that "Remind me never to do anything, ever, again!", "That's just lacking abscence!" and "What are you doing!? ... I'll take that as a yes!", are very enlightening lyrics, though, we'll work on that.

But, none of that was important when he whispered in my ear words I'll always remember, though in their hasty tone, were sweet none-the-less. The abscence of feeling anything which one may associate with
":(", which abruptly took place when his lips touched mine for the first time. Only to dance forever in harmonious expressions of relief and happiness.

"So if you really love me
Come on and let it show"

I shake the hair out of my eyes while they watch for some action. The corridor is silent, and bare, and nothing is there. Except me.

I Suddenly feel alone, with a jolt of forgotten pain from months ago, or a very similar feeling. I see there is space ahead, but how can there be space if nothing is their to occupy it. So I run, my hair waving in gusts of increasing velocity and I close my eyes, as I know I may only go forward for the time being.

I look down and see my matching brazzier and pantie laden body, and not much else. I hear giggles and pleas of jealousy at the sight of my figure. I hear footsteps approaching the stairs and scutter to the comforting fan, only to stand by it seductively, yet carlessly willing for my body to be visually adored. There he is, nervously realising that a deal of lack in clothing was made, and there begins the string of perfect obscenities. I am suddenly wrapped in his warm arms, nuzzled against the curious beatings of his heart. With every movement is made preciously, and I feel like the most breakable object the world has ever known, safe in the most carefullest of hands.

I'm looking straight ahead in my alleged "weird look." I can't see it for myself, but I know what it feels like to wear such an expression, as it subconciously pops up when I least want to look like a raging peadophile. And there I see more corridor, with a slight haze of avocado green blinking back at me.

I realise now that, this corridor with all this useless space is there for one purpose only. For my life, and when it ends and I can no longer go further, I won't want to go back. I will become a slither of a corridor in a gigantic building of life. I won't feel or be, but the endless memories of love and angst and pain and all things imaginable, and imaginary, will sneak back through the crack at the bottom of the locked door, and wreak havock.

I also realise, that this endless (well, eventually, enevidably ending) corridor of plain nothing, will leave it's mark on life, just as I shall continue to leave marks of my own, in my own little corridor. I thought as I reached for my sharpie and printed on the cream wall "naww, ilys marebear" accompanied by a poorly drawn cartoon with a badly shaped speach bubble. And before I liquid paper it all out and write "blueblerry blast" in block letters over the top, I am engulfed in my lamity, almost drowning in fact.

Please disregaurd my previously deleted post,

please.

What is a friend?

"Lean on me, when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend..."

One of the many things a friend is good for, being there for you when you simply can't handle all that life stuff. So, I can count on my friends to save my ass when I've been used and dumped and parentally abused and forgotten, to hold my hand and reassure me that they'll always love me, even if I won't have much of a life, and will never achieve my dreams and will always take more than I give, in the end. And, you can always count on me to choose the most cliche lyrics and write some disgustingly emotional crap, in that "feel sorry for me" way, but really, I'm just saying it how it is, or atleast how I see it, and feeling sicker by the click.

Fortunately, this little post is not some curdled story of despair and love and whatever depressing things I ponder on a daily basis. I'm here to discuss friends, and what they really are.

What is a friend? No, really, think hard young warrior, what in the world is a friend? To me, friends come in all shapes and sizes, with all kinds of smiles and frowns and intricate ways of showing emotion from slight twitches in the lip region, to running to you and balling their eyes out, weeping for help, to giant hugs and lots and lots of loud love.

Personally, I like every kind of friend, but the kind that I care for most is what I like to call, the rare species, the biffle. I have a few of these amazing specimens hanging around with hands of steal and hearts of gold. And they're all different.

There's the most amazing of them all, whom I haven't spoken to for the better part of 6 months. I wouldn't trade her for ANYTHING in the world, though she'd probably swap me for an irish tap dancing elephant in a heartbeat, though she might be a little sad afterwards. She is absolutely unique in everyway and I love her to bits. But, what makes her a friend? Is it that we've known eachother for so long? Or that we could say anything at anytime about whatever the bloodyhell we like and not think it ridiculous or awkward but cherish it in the pits of our charcole souls? Or maybe it's the way that, I would kill almost anyone, take whatever sized risk necessary, do ANYTHING, just to see her giggle for even a second, and it pleases me more than I can admit to be the one helping her recover from whatever it is that's upset her at any time. I think that, even though we hardly see eachother, or talk, she'll always be everything and more, in my eyes.

Shortly after comes my FANTASTIC morganmuffel. The german princess of being amazing and witty and an all-round sexmonster. If I was an appropriate man of the hot description, with perfect shoulders and sideways smile and angelic-like loving style, I would take her as mine, and love her forever and ever. She deserves only the best, but instead she has me and the rest of the cohort and is perfectly content, which is admirable. Her talent and happiness and love is so so beautiful, and if it weren't for her I'd probably be hunched in a lonely corner smushing my face with my hands and wondering when life got so shit and no one was there to pull me back to my feet.

With her comes her lovely accomplice Mr Patrick Star, who does not sies to amaze me with every word he utters, or writes or THINKS even. He is also fantastic and heck, I wouldn't be me without my newly learned skill in third wheeling and double dating, with aid from LBT3 and Fawlty Towers.

One of my most favourite people in the world, though, would have to be miss Pitt. All I have to do is see her, and instantly my heart will jizz in excitement. (Ok, this has gone on far to long, as of this moment I solemnly swear I will NOT, repeat NOT use jizzing in a description of something, which before described, was utterly innocent... amen?) What I mean is, she rocks my world, and she gets me like no mortal could. She's pretty much ace and if I didn't have a chicka like that to randomly mock me, and fiddle with important reciepts, and buy me things, and spend all my money, and get fat with, I would feel very much brotherless. So, thus, friends are like the family you weren't lucky enough to be born into, only a bit "hipper" and less old.

Another champion deserving top spot on this list, but I KNEW he wouldn't be offended at being down here, is my friend and pact holder, smallballs.
He's alright, that smallwood kid. He's the funniest person I've ever met, INCLUDING chalwell :O, despite his lack of puns and apparent annorexia-figure, he is SO FANTASTIC. And, he knows it, and he knows I know it, and that I value him more than any boytoy, I mean, boyfriend, or their brother, or whomever he may have had unsettling relationships with. Point is, he's top shit, and you should all know, that if you say anything about him that I don't like, I'll rip your balls off, kthxbai.

There's someone else, whom I feel somewhat obliged to mention, though I don't see much of her nowadays, she used to be my BEST FRIEND. And now, we're still friends, and still catch up on old times, but I guess nothings ever the same as it was when you're 12/13/14. Her, my ex and I were pretty much, the greatest friends in existance, and one day, we slept in a park and... yeah. Ok, so my point here is that, even though my mum isn't so loving towards her, and we hardly ever see eachother, and I'm not really at the top of her priorities anymore, I still love her as a biffle, and she'll always have a clean cut place in my heart.

To finish off, I give you, this fantabulous boy who I have most of my classes with this year. Actually, nearly every class. He's amazing, little does he know. And I definately consider him a biffle. I didn't see him practically all holidays, and I regret that. Whenever I see him, we managed to sing our hearts out for a little bit, which happens to be my favourite thing in the world to do, ever. And there's something about him that makes me sing better, for some reason, and it's just, well, beautiful. We talk about everything and anything, I can trust him with my life, although, weather I would is debatable, and he's rightly deserving of his biffle title :).

I think a friend is someone special, who you don't have to smile sweetly and politely at all the time, and who doesn't care if you fart while sitting on their lap, and who will always love you a little, as you'll always love them. And, there's a few people who aren't my biffles, but definately deserve a mention.

A girl, who I don't know very well, but is insanely easy to talk to, and so, so nice. She's a talented blog writer, video editor, facebookstatus updater, and a fantastic friend. I know that if I was in strife, she'd be there for me, even just a little :), as i'd be there for her.
A boy, who sometimes, actually, most of the time, completely confuses me. Who made me that little bit happier when I was down, and that's what friends are for, right? I'll always instinctively flicker my expression to that unsure sideways smile, when your name is mentioned, as a flutter of guilt and unfinished business waves accross my face. I'm sorry, and even if I say that a million times, it won't change a thing.
A young woman, who's russian ways compell me. She is stunningly gorgeous and overwhelmingly loving. Though, she doesn't like people to touch her hands, I show my love in other ways ;) She is one of this girls who is just down right decent, and I love her for it.
A young man, who is so, so shy, and so sweet, yet obsessively immature. I love seeing him and greeting him with our *scissor fingers*. He is someone that I understand and appreciate and the best friendly friend.
A little girl, who I used to hate, and once had romantic feelings for, and now I love like a sister. She is always well dressed and made up, with sweet hugs galore and for some reason or other, finds my jokes amusing! woah. She is sweet, though people may thing she's an ice-queen bitch.
A little boy, who I haven't know for long, but I feel like we get on only too well. He's sweet and lovely and caring and oodles of fun, and sometimes I don't know what I'd do without him. Though, I do know what I did without him, for that little while, and I'm not sure I ever want to revisit that. But I probably will, and with a little help from my friends, I'll stay strong and alive. Whatever happens, happens. But, my blublerry blast buddy, whatever does happen, you'll atleast be the rockin-est friend. Oh, and ilys :)

I think I've established what friends are, and pat-on-the-back to those who got a mention. And whoever didn't, I obviously love you enough to add you on facebook, and allow you to click a link to read this, so kudos to you ;P.

So, to end this... thing, which I call a blog, I've got some questions;

Is a friend...
Someone who draws a picture of you and her, crying and eating nutella and thinking about your ex-lover, all in french, to show in some way, that they care?
Someone who buys you ice cream and frozen pudding to help ease the pain?
Someone who uses you, only for you to realise that you'd just been used, as they intended to throw you a way shortly after?
Someone who subconciously flaunts their love in your face, just when you'd lost yours?
Someone who listens to you drawl on about how happy a certain sweetie made you with open ears, even with their pressing relationship problems and urging jealousy?
Someone who hugs you till your love handles turn blue and you're face is red with joy?
Someone who reads your blogs and leaves a fruitifully abusive comment at the fact that they weren't mentioned, or alternately, leaves an enthralled comment at the fact that they were mentioned, but argues that you mean a lot more to them than they could ever mean to you?