My pen is the barrel of my gun

...Remind me which side you should be on.



I want to write about closure. Closure, accepting it. Realizing it. Forgetting it.

clo⋅sure  [kloh-zher] Show IPA noun, verb, -sured, -sur⋅ing.
–noun
1. the act of closing; the state of being closed.
2. a bringing to an end; conclusion.
3. something that closes or shuts.

The Psychology definition:
10. Psychology.
a. the tendency to see an entire figure even though the picture of it is incomplete, based primarily on the viewer's past experience.
b. a sense of psychological certainty or completeness: a need for closure.


a need for closure.
Do we really need closure. Do things really come ot an end. Is there really really a state of being closed.
After months of confusion. I am finally accepting And I believe accepting is the first step to closure. If closure is even a such thing. Or a made up fix we feed to out minds to let them accept something/someone is really over. An accepting that we tell ourselves or persuade ourselves to feel better and let go.
Just let go Lyn.
I feel connections all around me. I made 22-422 a day I have come to realize. I can't help but make connections whether is be with new people, while grabbing my coffee at 6am. Or old people while grabbing sushi after ballet rehearsal. I can't help but make connection.
Throughout my long days that are longer then anybody else's, because sleep is not a friend I meet a lot of the time.
I connect with myself most. If I counted the connections I made in one day, with myself it'd probably be over 100,000. I feel I am a very connected person. Which leads me to my fault.
thinking to much.
For the past five months I have thought to much into everything he has done. And he never gave me a reason not to. I used to think he was so much like me. thoughts, views, insecurities, faults. But in the end. He is nothing like me because for him that is all act. For me it's things I wish I knew how to act, not really feel.
I feel like people, are out to get me sometimes.
I question the morality of a best friend for 13 years, because of someone I knew 6 months moving in on her. Cornering her. What way will she chose.
Lately I've just been very introverted. Like a hermit crab. But I don't want to be a hermit. I want to turn back into an octopus. And have my feet in all these doors. So my mind doesn't wanted. And os the connections I make with myself soon match up or catch up or come close to the amount I make with other people.
At the end of the day, I have 42 pages written within the 18 hours I have been up for. In those 18 hours, I have showered, done ballet for 6 hours, grabbed lunch with my father, met a new boy for coffee, edited pictures for about an hour, sent about 200 texts, received about 140, listened to new cartel CD on repeat, cried over copeland breaking up, listened to old copeland, blogged 6-7 times. Got myself out of my memory foam bed, got ready and went out to connect with people, at a local bar then to a house party. I drive there alone. I like to go late. I like to leave early. I smoke with people I haven't talked to in ages. We talked about memories, laughs, my mind for 3 hours was completely on these people at this party, connections, flirting, engaging in new conversations, dance talk, gossip talk about what the girl is wearing next to us, 6 girls bond sesh, and continuous eye fucking that I never seen to change with. I talk with my eyes. I can tell so much by someone else's eyes as well. Eyes, it's all the eyes. It's what you see to accept. For me it's about what I see not hear. After my adventurous day I get in my car and I don't want to drive yet. I reach in my black bag in my back seat, so happy it was here. Grabbed my book. My book that has everything, I feel see think want in it. Not a blog where chances are people are stalking me and reading. A true confide to me as a person. and I write. outside of a party that is breaking up. Ignore the texts saying to come back, or go meet at taco bell. Or asking why I always houdini. I just write. My head for 32 minutes doesn't care about anything. Not the gas I'm wasting with my heat blasting. It's just me and my pen writing. To myself. I GET AMAZING PLEASURE OUT OF WRITING TO MYSELF.

yes.

Now I write to you about the pleasure I get to writing to myself.

I know when I find something that I actually follow through with. I am anxious for the texts, I am awaiting the witty and funny- ness. This one I won't walk away from. .... Yet. My mind is all on your right now. You want to figure me out, and I need to be figured out. So here goes<3

Good day mate'.

CLO-SER kloh-zer
-noun
1. a person that closes





..... they always open again <3