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thursday streets

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friends-locked! [Nov. 14th, 2014|10:44 pm]
! C (amilla)

Sometimes when I listen to you and realise you sound exactly like someone - me, I wish you would just listen to yourself talk about being your own person and realise quite how ridiculous and ironic it is to have your actions contradict those words you speak louder and far more often than anyone else.

I'm disappointed. I don't want to talk about it either. Just quit doing whatever it is you're doing if you realise you're doing it.

I'm just really tired of this same situation repeating itself with every new beginning I make in a new place. So, I'm not about to move again. I'm just going to keep writing here. From now on, thursdaystreets is friends-locked. That's why you don't see entries 36 and before, and that's why you won't be seeing any more entries unless I do the occasional public one. I'm sorry to all the rest of you. If you'd like to see my entries, please try to get yourself a livejournal account and leave a comment here.
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41: ... for me? oh, what could it be? [Nov. 18th, 2006|12:45 pm]
! C (amilla)
Hello you,

I miss you a lot too :0) Be glad because you're worthy of a public entry! And this one's all for you. So I read all the stuff you said in your entry, and I was just thinking about what we used to have, and the Christmas parcel last year, and all the stuff we wrote on guestbooks in secret places. In your entry you said you wished for so many things, and you know, sometimes I secretly wish for those things too. Because you're right, I did think we had some kind of understanding that was something I couldn't (and still can't) find with most other people. I hope you're having fun in other places now, and you know you've got a letter to be written when you get back!

Love as always,
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37: comfort is [Nov. 14th, 2006|12:46 am]
! C (amilla)
This afternoon, alone in the quiet band room, I picked up my clarinet, instinctively played that bit from Jericho I had memorised from camp, and realised (apart from the Good grief, do I miss NCO camp! sentiment) how it is that I always find myself drifting back to the things that are familiar to me and that bring me the most comfort.

We had band practice today, no matter that the rain was drumming a hard beat on the roof somewhere above us or that somewhere else in school the dancers were dancing up their own storm, for those three hours I felt - as I sometimes do - that the entire world belonged to us and with us.

How do you explain something like passion? I remember a conversation I had not too long ago, about passion and how it defined itself, and I remember saying, I think my passion is the written word. And I still believe that is my greatest passion - but what, then, about music and about being in the band? What then, would you call the rush through me when I hold my clarinet, warm in my hands, or when I'm sitting, eyes shut, feeling my skin tingle just to be amidst all that motion in the music?


Today, after I had showered, we sat around the dinner table with Bailey's (with a hint of mint, mmm), and I thought about how happy I was just to be there, the amazing warm feeling of chocolate liqeur slipping down my throat, with the people I loved most in the world, not caring how jampacked my holiday schedule was shaping itself out to be or that my head had hurt so much earlier in the day, just thankful for the little things and for happiness, happiness in the rain outside in the night, and happiness in the reminder of dark chocolate (the best kind of chocolate, I declare!) sitting in the fridge, secretly telling me that everything was going to be okay, after all.
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