And once again, reprise our roles? Not if I can help it.

I really do miss camp today.
I was talking about it to a friend, trying to describe Creative Writing Week, and my brain was just flashing with images.
+Megan and me and some others under the flagpoles. The clouds are moving really fast, so it's alternating from sunny to cloudy in a matter of minutes.

+Leaving camp at the end of my third week, and the rain was just POURING down on us. People lost shoes to the rain, and had to chase after them as the water swept them away. Dustin and I got caught outside when it started, and had to bolt for the closest dorm - his all male dorm I shouldn't have been allowed it. And then we tried to wait it out, but had to grab a blanket and just make a run for the theater we were performing in, because we were scared of being late.


+I remember on the sunday after creative writing, when so few people were left in camp. The sun was really strong, and I lay down in the middle of the grass, tanning and reading and writing, and chatting with the very small amount of people who came by. There must have been less than 20 campers that day, and the rest of the population of camp was made up of the volunteers and the deans and the instructors.

If your words

were really all it took,

than I wouldn't be here

and you wouldn't be there.
We wouldn't be standing across from eachother.
If all it took for me to forget

was your apologizes;
If that's all it took

for my nightmares to stop;
If all I needed was that,

than I wouldn't have been lying on the hardwood floor last night,
wondering how I was ever

ever

going to put myself back together again.
Had I been able to just lay back

and close my eyes during the whole thing
I would not have had to wander

I wouldnt not have had to find what comfort I could

In people who've taken me far away from you.
In people who helped bring out

what I never knew was inside me.
And now I stand here

and you stand there,

your hands out and palms upturned.
Asking me to do what I know I can't.
Asking to me to forgive,

to forget and to put away

all I've achieved since I was able

to pull myself off the ground.
I'm a 90's child. And I can't stand how you're looking at me.
Like a piece of meat,
like a pretty ring to own and wear around your middle finger.

I'm a flower child, and I can't look your hands in the eye,

never mind put mine in yours

and just trust in you blindly again.
No matter what pretty words

fall from your lips