soft.and.gentle

It had rained so much, when I arrived at Poli Sci, my notebooks and folders were all soggy. It made me so happy.

I love the rain. The weather today is beautiful, so perfect. I wish it was like this everyday. Days like these I don't mind being alone with my thoughts...I welcome them.

I hate growing up. I think my best writing was when I was in high school. Everything was so new and painful. I had to write, without writing I surely wouldn't be here today. It kept me alive. My first love, my first heartbreak, the first time a boy cheated on me, the first time I cheated on a boy, all the firsts make great literature. The pain and torment from experiencing things for the first time, the loss of innocence, is a feeling unlike any other. I could just pour my soul out onto a piece of paper. Worrying only about getting all the emotion out.

Now, nothing is new. Through growing up, one is made conscience of their writing. Now, one has to be aware of what he/she writes. Adulthood is censorship.

Today, I was alone on my floor. I was going to the bathroom to brush my teeth, when I saw a man. He was just wondering around on the floor. Only him and I, just the two of us, on the whole floor. At first I thought of my safety. What if he raped me? It isn't often you see some random, upper 50's, man, walking around in an all girls dorm. Then it dawned on me. It was my father. He was looking for me.

I would go back to my room, and shortly there after he would knock on my door. Of course I would be skeptical, so I would only open the door a little bit. He would say, "Are you Megan?" I would say, "Why" Then, the climax, "I am your father." Do I slam the door in his face, or embrace him?

I never got that far.

He is the maintenance man.

Who are you and where are you in my life? I was wondering how much of me is still alive. I don't even know if I can swim again. You know how cold we get with all this struggling.