I Didn't Know Distance Before Now.

Music pumping through my car speakers finally speaks the line I need to hear to make sense of what I feel. They can take the kids from the summer, but they'll never take the summer from me. That one time I met you, that day the infamy of everything you were was in front of my own face; nothing can take it away from me. The hours I spend chatting with you and miserably attempting to shoot pool, and the countless more I spent in random, hilarious conversation with you are forever in my memory. I wanted so bad to see you again.

I wanted so badly to make a summer tradition of going to a place so many miles away and feeling like I belonged. You were one of the faces that stood out in my memory. You have been responsible for countless smiles, laughs, and profanities. You never did believe me when I told you I loved you most, you punk. So maybe I'll have to wait a little longer for that personal skateboard/falling down a lot lesson. So I guess I won't get to sneak attack and touch your hair with my best friend even though you told us not to again. Words can't describe how completely devastating it is to know that the one day I spent with you will be the only one in my living days. But I had the privilege of knowing you. I was acquainted with the kid notorious for being half asshole, half sweet heart, and 100% redhead.

Every conversation I had with you is a blessing. It's an honor that I can say I knew someone like you, because anyone who knows you knows that seriously, no one will ever be like you. Anyone can say they're an individual, but you.. it's undeniable. Friendship meant everything to you, and I'm keeping every single one of the people close to you in my heart. You'd be so proud that you brought one of my friendships together again. You would've done anything you cold to keep friendships strong, and you did. You reminded me who matters to me. I'm sorry this had to happen for me to realize. I wish so bad it didn't, and I wish I could call you and tell you instead.

I'm searching for the reason in all this. You were a positive force in so many lives. I know your last memory had to be a serene one, surrounded by your best friends on that quiet road. I see you in the stars. I won't believe that I won't see you again someday. I know you'll have that macaroni contest when we're all together again, and then we'll kick it and have the party we always talked about. Even now, you can't say I'm lying when I say I love you, and I miss you. I'll be missing you every day, with every Nirvana song on the radio, and every glimpse of the color red. Even one thousand miles away, people miss you. The three crazy Indianer girls that fought for your eternal affection will never forget the way you laughed at our accents. The distance is a little greater now, but it's nothing that can keep us from smiling at every second you lit up our screens, phones, and faces.

The fact that I can't see your face in this life anymore won't stop me from missing you. We're going to remember you the right way, know that. Even if we couldn't be there in body, our hearts are with you, with your friends. They can't take the summer from me. They can't take your memory from me. It's not fair that you're gone so young, but I'm so thankful I could know you. I wish I could've heard that sexy man voice one last time, or talked to you long enough if only to tell you that I missed you. I'll be visiting you the best way I can; you can count on it. My mind is filed with pictures of you and red flowers on my best friend's doorstep, because for some crazy reason that's where my dream brought you. Waking up was cruel, and my dream doorstep is the only place I can find you now.

I can't say enough how much I miss you. Thank you, Betty, for being my friend. Thank you for being the funniest person I've ever met, and my favorite redhead, always. Every day I remember a new story, and as my friends and I share them, every stab of pain is worth having had the chance to know you. The stories that make me smile are worth the tears that come along with them. I love you, and you better not fight me on that. :- )

I miss you, and I will every day. Thank you for the love you gave to me.

Alexander George Betty
10/5/92- 4/27/09
Thank you for being a part of my life, sugar. <3

Catching Breath.

A heartbeat fell flat between those two pairs of colliding lips. A dull roar fell silent that had gone unnoticed anyway. Ears no longer rest on the space between what is forbidden and what is sweet, and with all that is programmed to love stationed within its limits, love is a forgotten game. We are youth with a nasty habit for what is convenient. We cling to the kid with no social graces because he has a fake ID and the cash flow to support its benefits. We hold the hands of the one who is wrong for us because they make us feel alive in the most shameless way possible. We love her because she can get us a discount. We hang out with him because he has a heated pool and a big backyard.

Do you ever wonder what people see in you? Is it a sucker or a genuine person? Could it possibly be both? In the end, everyone uses everyone, but everyone feels the right to take the greatest of offenses when their actions catch the wind and fly back through their window. A mind running on low energy and even lower tolerance is a dangerous thing to flaunt. No wonder faith is few and far between when it comes to the young. Faith in anything but the party scene is set aside for the different, the brave, and quite often, the socially unaccepted. We're eager to believe in the latest good time and slow to believe in anything that tells us the things we do aren't right. But if everyone does it when they're young, is it wrong? Despite the realizations it's a cycle I intend not to break.

Sheets of paper and others slightly softer follow me throughout my days, and somehow I find my way back to them when I'm a little less or more honest. It depends on the day if I'm lying. Swallowed pride, but spit out fire; liars turn me on. I'm just another example for future generations that will inevitably turn out just like me. I'm good, but I sin. At times the sin defines me, and at times I spite it. I'm sick of taking the paddles to my own body, but I use them to reenergize every now and then. Maybe I'm not so sick of it after all. Again, it varies with the day-to-day nature of it all.

It's amazing how the same thing, person, feeling can mean everything to you one day and nearly nothing to the next. The same hands and faces that inspire awe evoke fury. Some people carry poison in their pockets where other would carry their wallets. I could've sworn you clouded the vision of every soul with any bit of potential. Your charm is impossible and infuriating, and yet I still catch its scent. What do you do? Where can I learn? I could count to seven or lose my head trying to count to godknowswhat. I'm confident in the cockiest of ways at my trigger's mention. I'm weak in the most helpless of ways when it falls away.

We're never gone for long when we run away from anything. I never have been able to make myself an exception to the rules. I don't know if I ever will be that extraordinary heartbeat one day, but I'm too young and crazy not to hope. This is the beauty of all that is dripping with uncertainty in the army of weekend warriors: that we hope for the best and play like we'll live forever. Sunshine, I'm alive. Sunshine is finally hot on my skin. I live for it. My heart is beating in time to the lifeline of my favorite songs. Those two sets of lips didn't crush it after all. I'm breathing.

No second of life is wasted.

Attention Spanned.

This is promising to be an interesting few weeks. Time is money and I have plenty of both, neither of which I am unwilling to spend. I have a fire for a best friend that will never be just that, and an absence of feeling where my heart is supposed to flutter. And yet, I'm so excited. Could I tell you what for? Nothing but life, really. Nothing but unplanned quirks and set in stone quicksand. I feel as alive as I did when my heart followed suit. I take mine with one or two on the side for good measure.

One teenage memory is fast approaching; I could care less.

I can't recall a thing that I have made certainty out of, and yet, the mystery of it all is exactly what has my feet racing towards the latter part of the calendar. I can tell you that I if I had my best friend and a grocery bag of essentials, I would have enough. I'm anxious for the seasons to change. I'm itching to get away from everything I know. It's always a wonder when you find out who misses you. I'd like to take you with me. Let's drive like we said we would back then, but it's been autumn since the day that I met you. I am eighteen and invincible. I am eighteen and breakable. I am eighteen and living. The recipes for happiness and disaster are really only a pinch of salt different.

I'm headed to showcase the brain I got and maybe didn't deserve on a stomach that can't take much today. If I hadn't come in late, I'd pack up early. I ran out of new episodes of my favorite show, so maybe I'll start from the beginning again. Maybe instead I'll work on the song that's kicking my ass. Your song. I never have written one in completion, and the thrill is mounting and overwhelming at points. I've been singing, and you'd be proud. Soon enough you'll hear my voice. It's shy like the me I left behind, or at least keep in my back pocket. But it is honest. I guess it always has been a personal point of strength, one I lose when words connect to vocal chords, but I take it all the same. Paper will be the honesty shyness can't deliver. I'll take it like that. I like it like that.

Oh, but I'm making a fool of someone; I wish I was sorry. We'll call it a time passer, placeholder. Who says that? Still not sorry. So much is missing, but I've got a surplus. I'm playing slight of hand, but the payoff's worth it. My favorite song is thirty seconds long and twenty-nine seconds longer than my attention span. I want some new shoes. Just saying.

Oh the things we do when we're young and it's worth it. I'm completely in love with this thing called life.

The Way.

I don't like the way my heart feels. Half of me is breaking free, starting new; half of me is still in a stranglehold, captive and unmoving. It's your face in front of mine that tears my progress to shreds. It's the way you look at me. Tell me, did you feel the magnetic forces that always have been present? I did. My eyes hardly left you. I'm helpless when you're feet, inches away from me. It's easier when you're gone. I can imagine life without you when I cannot see you. But in a crowd of familiar faces, I dance because I am having a good time. At the same time, my eyes tear up as my ears fill with familiar songs and ones you used to sing to me. Sensory overload. The most emotionally sobering thought crosses my mind and this time I don't ignore it. I form my words to the tune of a confession only my best friends can play witness too. I don't remember falling, but I remember every second of trying to fall out. I can't. The seconds your eyes and mine lock, my mind runs on repeat.

I can't fall out of love with you, I can't fall out of love with you, I can't fall out of love with you.

It's like the song you sing, I want to run away from this, from everything I feel for you when all at once your arms cover me. I've been writing you a song of all the things I wish you'd spoken as loudly as your eyes did. Your words were few where your face sold you out. You cared, and it terrified you. So you run and run and stop at random occasions where we just so happen to cross paths. It's always like all the fighting I did when you were away has fallen at my feet. Your walls crash and shatter just like mine do; your body language says it all. I could be dreaming it up, but the way your eyes lit up when I walked through the door urges me not to fight my gut feeling. My heart dropped when you said my name and all eyes were on me. I'm glad you enjoyed the novelty; I hope you look at it with a smile and think of me.

I miss the you that was my best friend.

Yesterday familiar words sunk in, and it was then that I knew you were the type of love that will never be forgotten. My heart still races like I told you it did. My head still screams when you look at me like that. My hands still get cold when I know I'm about to see you. I felt the worst mixture of dread and excitement when the timing was iminent. I don't want to tear what you have apart. I can't do to another what was done to me. So is it selfish to want to speak my mind? Is it terribly unacceptable to shake your face? I'm lost and so is my guidance whenever you enter my mind. I'm jumbled, but I am okay inside myself. I'll figure this out; I'll figure you out. And boy, all I can hope is that you figure yourself out first. Easy ways out are fleeting with time.

Tell me, my dear, what exactly is your poison? The ones you boast are the ones you hide behind. You're deeper than your skin. If only you knew.

Soundtrack.

I just got to thinking about musicians.

Musicians are so often people with countless feelings and a passion for something bigger then everyone, anything. They write words that touch hearts and play the background music to someone's life story. Tell me, do you ever stop to think about the inspiration behind the song you're jamming to? I hear the words of songs that I would bide my time with in the past months and wonder why anyone had to feel what I did. Someone wrote the lines that spoke to my heart, so someone had to feel similar enough to count. Who forgot to wind you, Jesse Lacey? Who does Andrew McMahon hear in this old piano? Someone else felt the taste of One More Weekend and bad tattoos and worse IDs; maybe I could hold my own given face time with William Beckett. Gabe Saporta was dying not to hurt when I was dying for his words to be sung to me. I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you. Who did Adam Lazzara have a bad feeling about?

I never stopped to look at how very the same we are to our role models and idols when we look at it closely enough. These are people with the talent to bring us to tears, and the modesty not to expect us to feel sorry for them. It's like their gift, their impact on the world. They are therapy where the keys below my hands are to me. They probably don't know how many lives they've saved or hearts they've held together. Today I think of them; I left my sad playlists behind before I packed up to head south. So now I'm staying awake, safe from the weight of the world. Someone right now is writing their heart onto scraps of ripped paper. Someone just had their heart broken. That same someone will go on to make beautiful music despite the hurt. What will be their soundtrack? What will be yours?

I Believe.

I wonder if I could go back to old Hollywood.

They say we're creating the perfect hell, but is it really any better than dropping blonde bombshells? What is hell, anyway? If we all have a different definition, how is it confined to only one location?

I think hell is like a series of dorm rooms, if it is at all. Each resident is assigned to a rundown room with the most undesirable companion as their roommate. Maybe claustrophobics have twenty-four roommates in their ten by ten cubby. Maybe attention whores get a spacious room to themselves, surrounded on all sides of their property by dust and abandoned roads with no one to show off for. People like me can't find a pen or paper to save, well, I would say their lives, but that's long gone, isn't it? People like you are forced to endure hours of group therapy in which you have no choice but to feel, no choice but to talk about emotion. And you, you have to admit that you're wrong every second of every day.

We all have a personal hell. I would say where the hell do they find room to fit all this torture in, but it's hell. Overcrowding is as prosperous as tourism. A staple, a trademark. It's terrifying that I can see the layout, the innerworkings, the very personal poison of each soul within. I don't want to understand; I don't even want to believe. When we die, we all leave. I don't want my own cubicle. Sign me out. I won't go.

Maybe there's a reason why I don't understand heaven. I don't understand forever. We all understand what makes us hurt. We all know what our personal hell would be like. But how much time do you spend really dwelling on what makes you happy? We fill our time with what ifs, regrets, and hurt instead of the smiles we've made and people we've saved. Sure, we can all recall happiest moments of our lives. But I've never imagined my personal heaven, at least not nearly as much as what hell would be like for me. I'm scared heaven will be angels and hymns 24 hours of the day. I'm scared that's what it's supposed to be, and scared that that doesn't sound like a fun eternity to me. I don't want to be a member of the choir for eternity.

Can I make mix CDs in heaven? Can I hold hands with a boy that for once won't break my heart a few months later? I want to spend hours laying around with my best friend in heaven. I want to recognize the faces of my family, my friends. They'll still matter, right? Because it won't be perfect happiness to me if they don't. In heaven, I won't have to worry about if I'll get a prom date or not. Someone will sweep me off my feet, right? Will romance matter? Will it exist? I don't know what heaven is, and God knows I have more than a million questions. I'm scared, terrified; what is Sunday school faith if I have no idea where I'm going? It freaks me out, every time I think of eternity. I believe in everything that is good. I believe in the smile on my face and that quiver of excitement in my heart on Christmas morning and when I first fall in love. I want to always be able to feel. In my heaven, I will feel. I'll write, and I'll share my voice. I'll write about nothing but joy though; my hurt won't exist anymore.

Will it be like you and you never happened? Do I want to remember falling on my face by falling for you and you? No one knows everything, and I for sure don't know the next damned thing about heaven. The dorm room mentality hardly works for heaven, but shouldn't it be personalized? I know heaven will be perfect peace and unity, but it's hard to visualize when individuality is a point of pride in most people. Will we have our own personal joys in heaven; will they fit the mold of everyone else's? I don't know. I don't know anything. But strangely enough, I don't care as much as I did an hour ago. All I know is that I've always found pride in optimism, and I'm not fixing my eyes on my dorm in hell. Whatever my personal heaven is, and whoever it holds, bring it on. I'll face it dead on, full of question that may never be answered until my eyes close.

Faith is a funny thing, and I think I have about three hundred times more now than I did minutes ago. I don't know where it came from or where it's going, but I know I want to believe. Always. Nt in the Lutheran High School mentality of it all, not in the order of service, not in the liturgies and hymns. I find myself in what really matters. I find myself in a God that never gave up on me. Not when I messed up, countless times. Not when I lost friends, let down family, chased the wrong lovers. I'm alive; it's always been my favorite sentence.

Thank you God. I'm always scared to speak your name because I felt like I wasn't good enough for it. But God if I was good enough for all that mercy, I'm here now to say that I believe. I have faith enough to know that no matter what heaven is, it will be perfect. It'll be nothing I've ever felt before and better than my happiest and most fond memories. Thank you for keeping me alive when my faith was next to nothing. Thank you for holding onto me when I thought you were boring, not my style. Thank you, for having your hand on me, always, and for whatever forever I'll live by your side. I'm sorry. I love you. My questions don't seem so daunting with the promise of someone who's always there. I'm unashamed.

I owe you my life. Keep it in yours hands.

Love Letter.

Time and memory seem to be two things that I interlace and keep close, always. I measure love, pain, healing, and excitement within the realm of time, inside it lying the memories I made. They're precious, and I have a lot of trouble letting them fade, or at least letting the feeling associated with them fade with time. Why do I still feel everything like it's still happening? I can think back to summer time and fall in love all over again, but this time my side's empty and I'm in love with nothing but a memory. I can think back to the day adulthood caught up with me, when I learned that I could be happier than I thought I could ever be.

It's only love, lust, and longing I can feel all over again. Why can't I peel back the layers of hurt, expose myself to pain again? The only way I do is by hurting over the memories of loving and losing. Seems I always do lose, but it hasn't stopped me from chugging right along. I guess you could say I'm feeling nostalgic today. I lost everything a month ago tomorrow. I met you a year ago in a few days. I met you half a year ago. Two reasons my life has known love and total hurt, and they're both living and breathing, holding piece of my heart to this day. So many firsts, two sources. I miss you both every day. I miss loving you, but even more, I miss you loving me. I know that's the past now, so pardon me for my occasional walks down memory lane. I love the scenery and it seems to be one of my favorite ways of passing time.

All you should know, is that lying next to you was heaven, and the way you looked at me when you though I didn't notice felt better than any vocalized sweet nothings. Is it blasphemous to write a reminiscent love letter with two recipients? You've had all of me. In both cases, it wasn't good enough. But at the end of the day, no matter how much you hurt me, or how much you took from me, I still deeply care about you. I'd still do anything to see you smile or help you out, and I still wish you the best of complete happiness. I love you, differently now, but in a way in which I'll never forget you or you. You are my two to miss, my two to smile about, and my two to always be a part of. Don't forget me; god knows you'll always have a place in my heart.