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Several half-thoughts have done more than cross my mind, but after two hours of sitting idly and forcing text into my brain, I am far from articulate, and all I want is to get this stuff out.

My two worlds are worlds apart. As much as I can imagine one loving the other, appreciating the other, being fascinated and captivated by the other, there will always be an undercurrent of difference, which, if exposed, will cause each world to back away gently, chuckling at the novelty of the other. Money makes a difference. We are all the same struggling being at our core, maybe, but our outer selves can't help but boast themselves through our language, through our attention to...things. I am most me, sitting cross-legged on an air mattress in a room lit by a single blacklight bulb, making animal sounds and playing card games, feeling warm in a cold place, catching light in friends' eyes. Then again, I am most me, surrounded by nice things and nice people in a nice place, with my best friend, being the only ones figuratively walking barefoot and dancing in a context that demands the strictest metaphorical footwear and literal body language. I hope to never forget house creaks and fast food, I hope to always appreciate stucco and shiny shoes.

I waste time compartmentalizing, and don't spend enough time being. I must not let my sometimes accurate perception of things cloud my often mistaken judgment. People are in my life for different reasons. Some of them actively pursue my soul, run wildly into the unknown with me, laugh and cry willingly at the tragic and beautiful state that all of us are in. These are my soulmates. Some of them laugh with me, endlessly, at the trivial (and most joyful!) things in life, and together, we cast away our soul problems all to be content and merry in the simple comfort of the moment. These are my best friends. Some of them will talk to me for hours in gardens, sometimes nodding in acknowledgement of my brief responses to their life-tales, but mostly, trusting and opening and willingly giving me their hearts. These are the ones I am drawn to (sometimes unwillingly), the ones I seek when I should (and still when I shouldn't). I am not sure what that means. (See? The organizing? Terrible.)

When does it end? I will die one day, hopefully roaring (roaring, roaring, roaring), and perhaps they are right. English and Philosophy are self-serving studies (maybe not, but that is how I feel at the moment). I will question, I will read, I will write, I will not contribute much that can be carried beyond me. No advances will be made, no formulas discovered, hell, no answers will ever be known (except perhaps, what words like "cacophony" and "iambic pentameter" mean). Then what? My flight home was more turbulent than usual, and there was a point, before we reached 3000 feet, where I contemplated my own death and was surprisingly okay——perhaps I wasn't meant to experience requited love, perhaps I wasn't meant to do anything more than just cry and smile for 19 years--and it was fine. The moment passed quickly, when a hum from my cell phone reminded me that there is a world I would be leaving behind, and there are people there. I do not think we should fear death as much as we do, but nevertheless, there is nothing more important in life than the people in it. And that should always be cherished.

I love the snow. I love being cold, then warm. I told my friend the other day that I liked my twin bed at school better than mine at home; my full-sized bed seems to unnecessarily emphasize my being alone (not to be confused with loneliness). I did not realize how true it was until I said it. Perhaps this is pathetic, but I have moved past caring about what "pathetic" means a long time ago, but I just let myself fall asleep to TV episodes now; I miss the sound of voices outside my door.

I love being home, I am uncomfortable at home, I am more warm and content than I could ever be. There is no conclusion for me to write; like I said, these thoughts, this writing, it's all self-serving and stupid, and I can't help but write them. Au revoir.