Well hello all. As you can plainly see I've given up here. What may be less obvious is that I've created a new account, one shaded in anonymity and freedom of expression. I invite any who would like to watch my at my new account to do so here [link] I must attach a warning however, that I will not temper my pen or my emotions because any particular person choses to watch me there. You may find poetry or spoken word pieces about you, and they may not be in the cheeriest of spirits either if you catch my drift. I will not repost any of my pieces from here there. Even in love we feel pain, in joy the seeds of tears are sewn, and through it all peace prevails. I know not if the love I feel today will extend toward tomorrow, and I know not how far that may reach. I do know that I love to write, and will continue doing so with or without an audience to back me.

Happiness as we know it is a very fickle thing, like the weather. Very few know true happiness, and I am certainly not among them. How I long for the lake of tranquility.

I haven't been around much, chances are I won't be for quite a while, at least until after AP's and college stuff, if not until the summer. Sorry, just thought I'd let those who care know.

There is great beauty in sound.

Winter is both beauty and disaster, the climax of unrest embodied in beautiful white blankets. Winter traditionally symbolizes the end of innocence, death, hardship, and we've seen our fair share of it this year. Yearnings for summer have never called stronger, and yet perhaps its time to stop and take stock of what we've got: the ones who we call friends, who take us for what we are in good and bad, the ones we love and who love us in return, the individuals that make a difference in our world past and present, the warmth in a home and the joy in a good novel, a warm mug of hot chocolate on bitter winter nights. There's so much in the world that's overshadowed by the defeatist feelings wrought from hardship.