Head vs. Heart

My head knows that this is wrong.
The little voice in the back of my head is constantly there.
Nagging me, warning me, convincing me.
"Don't do this, this is practically suicide. You're just asking for trouble."
And yet, I ignore it.
Every. Single. Time.

My heart wants this more than anything.
The hummingbird heartbeat pounding behind my ribs is constantly there.
Exciting me, worrying me, tricking me.
"You want this, it's worth the pain. You won't regret this."
And my heart wins.
Every. Single. Time.

Bri.

Melancholy.

I've hated high school from the very first day.
Days were too long, classmates too loud.
All I wanted was to escape, finish as fast as I could & get out.
That's true.

But I can't say that I regret these 4 years here.
Because I don't.
4 years is a long time.
And in those 4 years, growth is inevitable.

I am not the same girl who entered through those green double doors.
4 years ago, I was naive, lost, scared.
I had absolutely no idea who I was or what I wanted.
I was clueless.

Freshmen year taught me not to waste my time on high school boys, they just break your heart.
Sophomore year taught me that it's okay to break rules, just as long as you don't break your beliefs in the process.
Junior year taught me to work hard, and never settle for less than what I deserve.
Senior year is teaching me to accept the past, learn from it, and continue onwards.

I've waited for high school to end from the very first day.
And in 3 more months, it will.
And when it does, I'll have to say goodbye.

To friends.
To favorite teachers.
To crowded school hallways.
To life's simplicity.
To my former self.

Because once I walk through those green double doors for the last time,
my life here, and my life as her.
Will end.

Bri.

Dreams.

Escape from this dimension and venture into another.
One so mysterious, so enigmatic, so captivating...
That you never want to wake from it.
Dreams.

In dreams, nothing is impossible.
You can fly high above clouds.
You can sink below the depths of the sea.
You can discover your soul mate.
You can bring back the dead.

I dreamt of you.
Out of 6 billion people, I dreamt, of you.
That smile, that laugh, those warm arms.
And for once, everything fit.
Everything fell into place.
You made me feel more alive than I do even when awake.

I was happy, blissfully so.
Surrounded by people I know and love.
Surrounded by you.

My eyes fluttered open.
My ceiling fan's blades circled round and round.
My heart raced with a feeling I've never had.
My mouth was upturned in a euphoric, girlish smile.

It may have only been a dream.
It may have not been true.
It may well be that we will never meet again.
But at least I'll always have this memory.

Bri.

Crushed.

Don't do this to yourself.
Don't slip now.
Not when you're so close.

Don't fall for it.
Don't let those eyes fool you.
Not this time.

Don't let this one in.
Don't let it get out of control.
Not when you've been hurt so many times before.

I recognize that old familiar feeling.
I remember those butterflies.
I remember that skipping heart.
I remember that uncontrollable smile.
I remember those wishful thoughts.

And all those will do...
Is get your hopes up,
hurt you,
disappoint you.

Don't do this yourself.
I've been down this road before.
And it's a dead end.

Bri.

Lies.

Your voice: Scratchy like sandpaper, calloused.
That's what is etched in my brain.
Hooked to each dark cavern of memories.
It's the most noticeable.

More shocking than any sight.
More repulsive than any taste.
More poignant than any smell.
More hurtful than any touch.
Anything I've ever experienced.

Because your voice tells the truth.
Even when your words don't.
And I know... that you're lying.
Just like you like always have.

Just like you always will.

Bri.

Paris.

I've flipped through those crisp white pages.
Allowing the intoxicating imagery to satisfy me.
The scent of fresh baguettes, the feel of cobblestone streets.
The special sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.

I've surrounded myself in its art.
My room full to its brim.
A vintage Parisian picture, a metal Eiffel Tower statue.
A black and white photo of the Moulin Rouge.

I've dreamt of my inevitable, someday journey there.
Those hopes, wishes, and dreams quickly becoming goals  I must fulfill.
To take dozens of artsy pictures, to see the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
To live and experience.

France.
The Eiffel Tower.
The Moulin Rouge.
The Seine River.
The Louvre.
Montmartre.
Notre Dame.

Paris.
The city of lights.
The city of love.
The city of me.

Bri.

Writer.

"You know you’re a writer if your work clothes are mostly sweat pants and pajamas."-Kathryn Smith


"You know you are a writer if everyone has told you that you’ll never get published and you keep writing."-Julian Padowicz

"You know you’re a writer if you can’t remember some of the plot details of the book you just released because you’re so engrossed in writing the next one."-Chris Knopf

"You know you’re a writer when you walk around in the zone, open to believing that every person is a potential character, and every object suggests a metaphor."-Pegi Deitz Shea

"You know you’re a writer when you are not writing with pen to paper or with fingers to keys, you are writing twenty-four /seven in your brain because everything around you becomes a story."-Donna-Marie Cooper O’Boyle

"You know you’re a writer if your friend tells you a heartbreaking story and your first reaction is – wow, that would make an incredible plot for a novel. You know you’re a smart writer if you manage to keep that reaction to yourself."-MJ Rose

"You know you’re a writer when every moment of every day you turn whatever you are facing at the moment into a short spurt of prose or poetry in your head, including your dreams, and it has become so commonplace that you have stopped writing things down and bemoan the loss of them later as the story or poem idea that would have wowed your readership, as if you had a readership because you are, after all, a writer."-Faith Vicinanza

"You know you are a writer if every overheard remark becomes a beginning of a story, if  what you glimpse from the corner of your eye triggers a vignette, if you awake in the morning wondering what the characters in your novel are going to do today, if something you read  evokes a memory you can use in your writing, if all of life is about making connections that help you understand who you are, well then, indeed you are a writer!"-Claire Vreeland

Bri.