I hate cleaning my room. It takes a lot of time and motivation that I simply don't have. You have to go through all of the junk that's been piling up on the floor, in the closet, under the bed, on the dresser. I always end up finding objects that I never have a clue what to do with, which just results in more piles scattered in my room. But then you stumble on something that you remember, and you remember it pretty well.

You have mixed feelings about this object, because it brought you so much happiness. But maybe for every minute of happiness, there was an hour of heartbreak, betrayal, hurt, lonliness. So when you finally, after years, lay your hands on this object you immediately think of all the good times. That's what people are supposed to do, right? Remember the good times and forget the bad? But we always end up remembering the bad times as well. So you pick up this object, and a sense of overwhelming happiness floods your heart, and you smile, maybe even laugh a little to yourself. But after a moment your smile fades.

Your heart drains of the happiness which once filled it just a second ago. The bad times come rolling into your mind, they always do. And all of a sudden this object which was so meaningful to you turns into a weapon against your happiness. You want to throw it across the room, it caused you so much harm and feelings of neglect, but you can't. The fingers on your shaking hands wrap tighter around the object. It's causing you so much pain, even to this day, even after all the people told you to just let it go. What if that object was a note, a gift, a picture even?

I feel a little funny writing this, but people are like objects, no matter what anyone says. They can be hidden for years at a time, but when they resurface a million different emotions also emerge. Happiness, sadness, fear, neglect, heartbreak, betrayal, lonliness, hurt. But sometimes, the things we hold onto the most, end up being the things that hurt us the most.

For me, that object came in the form of writing which I stumbled upon just a few short minutes before I sat down to write this. This writing is my attempt to let go. I know it won't work, I know I will fail like the thousands of other times I've tried. But if I don't at least try to free myself, then I will be pulled into the object's orbit; a never ending dark and cold space, where even the brightest of stars can't shine.

The girl who seemed unbreakable, broke.

The girl who always laughed, cried.

The girl who never stopped trying, finally gave up.

She dropped the fake smile as a tear rolled down her cheek and she whispered to herself, "I can't do this anymore."

I realized I was thinking of you, and I began to wonder how long you'd been on my mind. Then it occured to me; since I met you, you've never left. Your smile has warmed my heart, your eyes stare deeply into my soul, daring me to open up and tell you everything, to express my true feelings. Feelings of happiness, excitement, butterflies...dare I say love. There was a bond between us that, even to this day, I've never had with anyone else, something special, something irreplaceable. Your face, your smile, your laugh swam through my mind, taking up all the space, leaving room for nothing else. You were my everything, but I was your nothing.

Weeks, months, years passed, and so did the feelings you once gave me. I forget when I completely let go of you, gave up on you. For good, I would tell myself. I watched you go after girls that didn't love you back, and I tried to block the images out of my mind. For good. But the day came when you were done chasing girls, and you settled down, and you didn't go after anyone for awhile. Then it happened.

The texts came flooding back, like old times, and the feelings drowned me for a second time. When he said the words to me, I couldn't believe it. Butterflies swam in my stomache; those three words meant nothing unless he said them. And he did, he really did. Happiness took over my entire life, you were my everything, and I was your world, and we were happy, we were genuinely happy. Nothing could tear us apart, or so I thought.

I couldn't believe what he had done, but there was no denying it. We didn't speak for days. I was afraid that if I did I would yell and scream and lash out at him, for being stupid and ignorant. When I did try to reach out to him, when I realized the only way we would get through this was talking about it, he ignored me. He shut me out and made me feel responsible, like all of this was my fault, like he had no part in this. He left me in pieces and never looked back, never reached out to me, not once...ever. The end of the school year came and went along with summer. Nothing. When the break was over and I saw him for the first time back at school, we didn't exchange words. There would be split seconds where our eyes would connect, and I would look away almost as soon as I saw his eyes staring into mine. I couldn't face those eyes that I once trusted my life with.

*****

What do you do when you used to be able to talk to this one person about everything, and now you feel as if you need to talk to that person again, you just need to, but you can't do it? You can't mentally bring yourself to do it, even though that's all your mind is telling you to do...it's heartbreaking. Knowing that you've shared so many secrets with this person; your deepest, darkest, most shameful secrets placed in their hands.Knowing that they actually understood you without judging, that you've both been placed in the same situation and helped each other through it. Knowing that even if you regain connection, you start talking again, things will never be the same. The trust will be gone, the feelings, the irreplaceable bond...is gone.

     I don't really know why I feel this way. I've felt this way before, it's the calm before the storm. I think I'm starting to get bad again, not like breaking the rules bad, but bad in the way that I do things that result in me getting hurt. I hate this feeling, all that has to happen is one little trigger, one action, no matter how big or small. I've been okay for awhile now, almost a year, and I don't want those feelings to come back, but I think they are. I just want to cry and disappear for awhile, maybe forever if that was an option. I think things that people fear. I don't want these feelings anymore, I was doing so well, so happy, optimistic, having great times with my friends. And now, they're the reason I feel like this, their one action, their words, their one little joke. I just want to disappear, I don't think I can stress this enough, there are no words to describe how I'm feeling. I shouldn't be here, I don't want to be here.

(365 Day Writing Prompt Challenge; Day 8)

     Every so often a dream catcher has to be emptied of all the nightmares it's collected. How this happens is left unknown to the people, but I wouldn't identify myself as a person really. I live in the shadows, in the cracks no one can see into, in the room no one wants to go in when it's dark. I creep around and advance onto innocent victims in the dark of night. Mostly little children, they're the easiest to conquer.

     Still don't know who I am? I hate dream catchers, they rip me open and make me question my own existence. They tear me to shreds, leaving me motionless in the back of your mind. I torment you in your sleep, leave you waking up to the most terrible memories of me. I am the reason dream catchers were made, I am the reason you fear sleep, I am the reason you wake up not wanting to go back to sleep...I am your nightmare.

     "All I'm saying, is that if you blow up the house, you're going to be so fired. Dad hates it when you bring home bombs after a job," I said to my brother as we walked along the sidewalk. 

     The night was dark, only the moon and stars were there as a pathway, even though we could both walk home blind folded. We tested that theory. The street was quiet, no cars would be driving along the roads at two am in our neighborhood. We were the only people you would see taking a casual stroll in the middle of the night in November. The air was frosty and our breath could be seen in front of us. The only sound that could be heard was the wind blowing the fallen leaves around the ground, and of course the voices of two crazy teenage siblings. 

     "Well then where do you suppose I test it out?" he looked at me with raised eyebrows, challenging me.

     "Hm, let's see, there's a field just seven miles out of town to the east, no one ever goes there anymore. Oh! The old elementary school off of Main Street, it's scheduled for demolition on Tuesday. I'm sure no one would care if that was moved to tomorrow," I ruffled his hair, "I'm sure you'll think of something little bro."

     Jason hated it when I messed with his hair. He shoved me out into the street and laughed. 

     "Hey! I could've been hit by a freaking car you idiot!" Even as I said this I knew there were no cars driving by at that moment, "But I have to say, that was a pretty good push, although it's better when you put the person in a chokehold first. That way you can time exactly when they get hit by the car." Jason just rolled his eyes at me.

     The rest of the way home we were both silent. The lights of our house were the only thing illuminating the night when it came into view. We quickened our pace, wanting to get warm inside and get to sleep. I opened the front door and almost got trampled by Jason as he ran past me to get to bed. I took off my coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. I could tell my Dad was still awake when I smelled the burning wood from the fireplace emanating from the living room. I slipped out of my shoes and walked to where Dad was sitting in his favorite arm chair right beside the fire. He was reading a book called "What to do When Your Kid Blows up the Toilet". Jason wasn't allowed to do experiments in the bathroom anymore. 

     "Hey, everything was successful," I took a seat on the couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table. 

     Dad lowered his book as he said, "That's good, how'd Jason do?"

     "I think he's doing really well, you know, for only being in the theft business for three months," I got up to go get in bed, "Oh, Jason brought home another prototype, so you might not want him alone--"

     A loud explosion came from upstairs, followed by Jason slowly making his way down the stairs with black ash on his face. 

     "I'm just going to go hose down out back," he hung his head and trudged out the back door.

     I burst out laughing and went to help Dad with Jason, even though I was really only going out to spray the hell out of him.

(365 Day Writing Prompt Challenge; Day 7)

     Ever since I was younger I had wanted to go up into space. My Dad was an astronaut, and he was pretty good at it, too. Whenever there was a trip, he was the first one they called. With all the technology we had, we could send people to distant galaxies in a month. That's where my Dad went most of the time. Twelve out of his seventeen trips were of him exploring new and undiscovered worlds. He had always brought me back something; a rock, a plant, once even a crystal from two galaxies over. I had an entire shelf filled with cool and strange artifacts. My Dad said one day I could be the one bringing those home with me to my children. Ever since then I had wanted to go to distant galaxies, well, until the fateful day that changed my life forever. 

     My Dad had been called up for another exploration. That night me and my Mom had said our goodbyes, and two hours later the take-off was being broadcast all over our city like always. Everything was going so perfect, but as soon as the ship started moving up something terribly wrong had happened. No one ever knew why the rocket had exploded into a million shards, leaving four people dead, one of which was my Dad. Our city was devastated, I refused to leave my room for an entire week. I wanted to surround myself with all of the artifacts, he would live on through them. The funeral was nice, a lot of people took their time to show up. The scientists in charge of the rocket ships made an entire museum dedicated to that one ship and the people who lost their lives. They even displayed a piece of the rocket ship they had found. It was burnt and the sides were folded in strange, jagged angles. 

     Now, ten years later, me and my Mom were attending the annual ceremony which took place in that same museum. Our city had never lost a soul because of the trips, so every year we would take the time to remember those who died that day. I would always remembe, because ever since then I wanted nothing to do with space. I hated it, and, if possible, I hated that rocket ship even more.

I remembered that fateful day,

When everything had shattered around me,

Burning my whole world down.

I remember how it stuck in my mind,

It wouldn't leave my head,

It haunted my brain.

I remembered that I wanted to forget everything,

The people, the setting, the screams,

I wanted to forget.

I wanted to forget everything.

(365 Day Writing Prompt Challenge; Day 6)

     It was the first time I had ever seen him. Maybe he was new to the school, but I knew we had something as soon as our eyes met one another. His were a deep green, the color that never vanishes on an evergreen tree. They were bright, happy, peaceful. Glinting in the light made them look like emeralds taken straight out of a science book. His eyes were the window to his soul, which I thought I could actually see if we had studied each other any longer. Lips curling into a small smile, he turned his face towards the floor and started walking away. I knew we would have to see more of each other soon, but if not, at least his eyes were what was burned into my mind that day we had made eye contact.

(365 Day Writing Prompt Challenge; Day 5) 

     Food. It was basically my life. I mean, I'm sure everyone loves food, but my love for food is a little bit different. I'm the head chef in a brand new restaurant in the middle of New York City. It opened a week ago and I applied as soon as I could. I had always dreamed of being a chef ever since I was younger and had my own play kitchen set. Now, my dream was coming true, well, except for the waking up early part. We served breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so getting to work early and leaving late was expected. 

     I had started my career working in food trucks all over New York. The pay was pretty good, but I wanted more in a job. So when the restaurant sent me a letter asking if I could join their team I was all for it. I never expected that in just a week I would be their head chef. I was living my dream.