A Bouquet of Ice Cream Cones

My alter ego smokes cigarettes and stays awake until 5:00 am without thought of the morning's responsibilities. He is addicted to sex and Adderall and lives a life that I used to daydream about while I was in class. Without him I have no confidence but without me he doesn't exist. He is clearly better looking than I am, but we are both still at odds with who's smoother. His temper reminds me of my father's, so much that I start to pace around the room fists clenched, grinding my teeth with no substantial way to back it all up. My right mind kicks into gear at that point and begins the uphill battle to regain control and composure. Most of the time no one else notices anything but a friend of mine often tells me I just have an over active imagination. Basically everyday she laughs at something I do that I would usually blame on my alter ego because she doesn't think he is nearly as tough as I make him out to be. She smiles and tells me "Toph, you're such a little kid, your imagination runs wild on a constant, nonstop basis." I never really understood it. After a while I decided to see if someone knew exactly what was wrong with me so I asked a doctor, but I know I'm not schizophrenic nor do I have Split Personality Syndrome and his white lab coat freaks me out, so I left his office and walked to the nearest fortune teller. She sat me down in a back room area with dim lighting from a seventies-style chandelier that hung low from the ceiling. A mesh bag of moth balls swung from the bottom of the chandelier and made the room smell as shady as it actually was, and only solidified my reasons to leave. So before she filled my head with hogwash I stood up, took out my wallet, handed her $50 and walked out with my dignity in tact but still with no answers. On my way back to my apartment I figured I'd stop in the bookstore to see if there was any reading material that could help me. The bells that rested on the inside of the entrance door served as an alarm to the bookkeeper when someone came walking in, and sure enough the bells that rested on the inside of the entrance door served as an alarm to the bookkeeper as soon as I walked in. At this point I was tired of hearing advice from other people but I had no choice right now. I went on to explain my problem and what I was looking for. Out of the three, the bookkeeper seemed the most interested but later I found out it was only because she thought I was making it all up and encouraged me to write a book. She let me know she envied my writer's brain, but her only advice involved me shooting a hole through the back of my head, thus killing my imaginary friend. I told her that it was an alter ego, not an imaginary friend, and I advised her to lay off the Chuck Palahniuk novels. The bells rang as I left and it reminded me of an ice cream truck so I went to get an ice cream cone. Ice cream parlors always made me feel so happy for some reason, probably because the sounds and colors and scents and probably due to my constant need to reconnect with my childhood years. Behind the counter a younger boy standing only 4'2'', that must have been the owner's son, was waiting to take my order. Although short, I would say he was about 14 years old. The entire time studying the layout of the place made me forget to think about what flavor I wanted. I asked his advice without remembering the terrible words of wisdom I had gotten earlier and he replied without hesitation, "I usually get 3 different flavors. I get 1 scoop vanilla, 1 scoop raspberry, and 1 scoop chocolate peanut butter in a rainbow sprinkle covered waffle cone." It made me smile because that was my favorite kind of cone. I asked him if he thought those flavors tasted best together. Again, without thinking about it he smiled awkwardly like someone would when they were about to reveal something strange about themselves and said "Nah, I just wanna make sure each part of my brain gets to have their favorite flavor, it wouldn't be fair any other way." I told him I want three of those and he rang me up for 3 vanilla, raspberry, chocolate peanut butter, rainbow sprinkle covered waffle cone ice creams cones. I handed him the money, he handed me the bouquet of cones, then I handed him one back. I said, "Thank you so much for everything and walked out." I met my friend in my apartments elevator on the way up to my floor and about half way through eating my tri-flavored treat. I handed her the almost melted third ice cream cone. She looked at me as she always had and once again smiled before telling me, "Toph you're such a little kid." It was the first time ever my schizophrenic, over active, alter-ego stricken, writer's brain of an imagination had nothing to respond back with except a smile of agreement.

C Sick

The current came calling
Her waves began rolling
And my body bent towards the sun
But the current that's daunting
Reminds just how haunting
The nausea you graciously brought
It feels like you

Now the times not the problem
The tide keeps it crawling
And the air still escapes my lungs
It's just that every so often
I exhale with a cough and
It's your breath that's always at fault

And it will be the salt of the sea and me
My chest red from sunburn and heat
The horizon ahead sings to me
The only voice I need

Since I stopped caring about dying
Each moment's so blinding
Now that everything shines like the sun
With eyes open I'm floating
I'm happy just knowing
That my pulse still keeps time on it's own
It goes...

And it will be the salt of the sea and me
My chest red from sunburn and heat
The horizon ahead sings to me
And she sings
Stay afloat, just stay afloat, stay afloat

And I, I've been sick
But it's not from the swells that hit
It's the time it takes to sink
To our wreckage where it now sits
To think that ship
Was the only place I would fit
Looking down from where I swim
Now helps me to see that...

This is the time away I need
Let my chest burn from sun and heat
The horizon will sing to me

And it will be the last place I thought I'd see
My heart and my head finally meet
Where the words that I scream
Will finally be what I mean
And now I'll float
I'll float
I'll just float
I'll float

One Nice Thing

We're both happy to say the least
But the things that we always miss
Seem to hide way up in the trees
Waiting for either one to see

So if I climb each branch then leap
Would you follow close to me?
And right before we hit
I'll ask you one last thing

If I do one nice thing for me, will you do one nice thing for you?
We could meet somewhere between the two
To help each other through

So I'll do one nice thing for me, and you do one nice thing for you
We'll meet somewhere between the two
We'll help each other through

Then you can do one nice thing for me, if I can do one nice thing for you
I'll promise to meet you between the two
I'll promise this wont fall through

Let's do one nice thing for me, then we'll do one nice thing for you
And if afterward we still can't do
The things we thought we could
We'll let it be and let it go
We'll let it be, we'll let it go
Please let it be, don't let it go
If this could be, please let me know

Sometimes Just the Idea of Water Can Have the Ability to Satisfy Your Thirst

The weather right now is too warm to freeze the approaching body of water, and even if a mirage, I'm far too thirsty to not attempt the walk. The only thing that concerns me is the fact that winter is on its way and in the same direction as I am trying to get to the water up ahead. It doesn't take much too realize that winter can and will take huge strides towards the same goal I can only take baby steps towards. By the time I get there the water will be frozen. I will one again be standing, facing you, on the same unreliable patch of ice that tempts me to walk onto it without thought to check its stability or thickness.

We've stood on the ice once or twice before though, with the sun working hard on our side to hide away so we avoid sweating as much as we can. The more we sweat the quicker the ice melts away. The nerves strung inside our bodies that control our need to sweat are another story though. They seem to always override their systems and start sending paralyzing circuits sporadically up and down our already shivering bodies. Our core temperatures inch closer and closer to the 100 degree mark causing heat to radiate from the two of us. We avoid touching for obvious reasons. Beneath us is nothing new to us. It seemed to be where we have the most fun. The ice was always on a timer though, and the cracks that split the ice between our feet never seemed to follow the line of a clean break.

The chance of it shattering under our weight is the reason it has always been so appealing to us in the past and this time will be no different. If it were to splinter into tiny shards instead of breaking into pieces large enough to support our individual weight we would have access to the water we've been so desperately needing to stay alive. The bittersweet aspect of the situation we constantly find ourselves in is that the water needed to survive is beneath us but if we were to finally have the chance to reach it our lungs would freeze up and fail from the rapid intake of water flooding our systems. Our nerves would no longer short-circuit, our thirsts would be permanently sufficed, and our intertwined still beings would begin to descend and disappear into the water.

On the long and lonely walk to the water, with the winter sweeping over me, just like usual, I began to think about where you are, if you're as cold as I am, and about the past instances when I have been in this spot just to help me prepare for whichever outcome may occur. However, the last couple of feet until the waters edge made me curious to see just how long we could go without a drink and I started to hope for yet another jagged slice of ice to carry us off in opposite directions once again.

Seconds away from blindly stepping onto the ice, I pick up the pace and force my legs to run full speed. The sun has hinted to me that another crooked slab of frozen water will be mine, and your, next destination by stopping itself from rising at all for one time only. The wind that picked up and what seemed to be 24 hours of darkness halted the temperature at a low enough point to keep the water a solid. Full speed ahead and we will once again find out if our thirsts will finally be quenched or if we will be going another unknown amount of time floating in opposite directions until the next piece of land comes our way. Regardless though, I'm assuming, preparing, and expecting a long, secluded, thirsty trip ahead of us both. I never want to sink with you and I fear the shock of water hitting my tongue for the first time again in years. So for now, I hope the two of us float, until we blend in with opposite horizons just to experience the rush when the waves carry us both close enough to see each other in the distance once again.

Concealment in a Forest Fire

Being in limbo is being turned upside down, lowered into the ocean by your ankles, rotating 18 times clockwise, 18 time counter clockwise, and then being lifted up 3 feet above the water just to be dropped quicker than the water can bead up and roll off your chin. Being in limbo is believing that heaven and hell exist but ending up in purgatory. Being in limbo is a constant nausea brought on by nothing but your own poor gag reflex. Being in limbo is meeting your wife at your mothers funeral. Being in limbo is telling everyone about the things you can't remember from the night before. Being in limbo is the pursuit for symmetry in nature. Being in limbo is searching for concealment in a forest fire. Being in limbo is waiting for the carbon monoxide alarm to go off. Being in limbo is killing me slowly. Being in limbo is saving my life.