i found my lock.

We all have places where we feel like we most belong. We are all keys in this world, desperately tring to find the lock in which we fit. Swimmers find their lock in swimming pools, whilst Surfers find theirs in the ocean. Models fit into the runway and Cooks in the kitchen. She found her lock in his arms on a cold Sunday afternoon. In his warm embrace, she wondered where his mind was wandering, wondered if his thoughts were filled with her. She watched his chest move up and down with each breath he took, her fingers skimmed over the curves of his face. She tossled his hair lightly and brushed her fingertips over his lips. Such innocence he had on his face, it reminded her of the photographs she'd seen of him when he was just a young a boy. She felt his arms tighten around her and she pressed her head against his chest. Thump, thump, thump, thump - the sound of the boys heart was her favorite melody. A strange warmth spread throughout her body. It started at the tips of her toes and slowly crept upwards, until it reached the top of her head. She then realized this wasn't a change in her body temperature, she realized this warmth she had running through her body, was a beautiful and wonderful thing, something she'd never experienced with anyone but this boy. What was this thing your asking? This thing, is what we call, being in love.

- love always, jenn.

Invincible or Invisible?

I wonder if I should talk to him. I want to but at the same time I am afraid. I just can't keep putting myself out there. I can't risk losing anymore space in my heart than I already have. I am tired of fighting to hold on to something I never really had. Maybe my version of the past is screwed, maybe he never really loved me and maybe we were just friends. But maybe just maybe I'm right. Maybe we're both afraid of ourselves whene we're together. Maybe we're both afraid of change. However, he is a different person than he was a year and a half ago. She changed him. His eyes are still blue, his smile still boyish and genuine, his persona still unshakably good and he is still perfectly polite. For the most part he is the same, yes. But you have to look deeper to see the subtle alterations in his character. He lets cuss words sling from his lips without a second thought. He no longer looks me directly in the eyes; he is distracted and uninterested. My little chameleon, my lost boy, has cast his innocence aside. He has grown up. I look at him now and all I see is a testament to my labryinth of suffering- how am I to escape it when I see him everyday? In his arms, a place I have never ventured, lies the warmth I so desire. With a quick, small smile on his part, he can bring about a big goofy grin from me. But he does not see the sadness in my eyes. He is no longer atuned to the peculiarities of my crooked heart. My world is teeming with life; estoy contendo (I am happy) but I am not complete. Maybe I have some horrific disfigurement that I have overlooked or failed to aknowledged. Maybe I am obnoxious and loud. Perhaps, I am overwhelming and incomprehensible. But what people fail to realize is that I am not like this out of choice, but rather out of nescessity; in order to be invincible, I must be unlovable, complicated and unatatched.

-Whit