Chapter Two

                The Third Thought…

                It’s strange how your daydreaming can be quickly disturbed so easily or how you come out of your daydreams abrupt like someone’s whiplashing your attention so fast you have to get scared, for instance your minding to your own thoughts and a teacher slams his/her hand down on the desk and your eyes go wide like an Owl’s. As I woke from my minds fog and the short spark of the memory died out I returned to my computer. Okay I got this, I said to myself and as it turns out with jinxing I caught myself lying –to myself. Okay, Okay is a strange word, but when you’re Augustus and Hazel it could just be something more than just word.

                I remember this book.

                Have you ever thought about how amazing stories could be? How one minute you could be smiling like an idiot, crying hysterically, or even getting angry enough to chuck the book at the wall with emotional rage? Books are brains version of chocolate (and not just any type like Hershey’s Kisses or Reese’s Pieces but Milk Lindor Truffles). A book I can remember reading that dragged me into an emotional ride was “The Fault in Our Stars”. Now I’m not one for romance novels but for Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace I don’t regret it. It’s was as if I was given a purpose in life from reading this book which taught me a lot, for one all good things don’t willingly come to an end and that “you don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but that you do have some say in who hurts you” (Augustus Waters “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green). Words can muster up so many emotions and make you feel alive, it’s as though you’re Hazel Grace Lancaster experiencing her story and it’s you and you alone. You, Reading in First Person, the center in this little universe called a book.

The Fourth Thought…

I remember blue eyes.

I swam in the deep depths of the color teal. Not ocean blue, not aquamarine, just teal. They were alluring, teal gems in his eye sockets. Now I’m sure I wasn’t the only one that stared, I mean who wouldn’t? When you see a dazzling painting in a studio you can’t just give it plain five seconds of admiration, and if people do that it should be illegal.

                It’s weird how they say eyes are the doorways to your soul, I mean  staring directly brown eye to teal eye I was caught more than aghast, I was more than flustered, I was more than dead in my tracks, I was looking beyond and into his eyes; into his soul.

                They hid so well the truth, which had me ponder, were they sad or were they happy? Did they see everything they wished or did they daydream as well? What life did he see: the fantasy of the world or the real side effect of everything? And as I ask these questions after question does he wonder as well?

                Brown eyes, although not just brown eyes and at the same time nothing as interesting as teal, yet still unique with a tint of black and a twinkle. To see beyond them would be to lose yourself and your self-limitations entirely. Would he see the dark truth to the dark eyes? And even if so these brown eyes were lost eyes, they were a mirror to a soul who dreamt more than lived in the given moment.

Chapter Three

                The fifth thought…

                I remember thinking about how weird love is.

                I must say I do have some pretty bipolar thoughts it’s a great paradox wanting to find love but having no clue what it is—like any unlucky confused hormonal (and let me add playing for the same team) teenager. The idea of Love and Mr. Right are downright WEIRD But yet I imagine it so.

                I play it out in my head and yes it gets sappy I would believe more so than a maple tree (you may view that as an exaggeration but let me tell you I kid you not).

                It starts with a wind shoving its way through skeletal looking trees, orange and yellow leaves which then fly with swift velocity and bundled up people with brisk brute force—I wouldn’t call it violent but considering I saw someone get pummeled over while riding their bike had proved its ruthlessness.

Then there is me being the black sheep of a person I am sitting outside actually ENJOYING the beginning of fall and its chill breeze while others stay inside enjoying their cups of coffee inside this cute café you’d see in a movie called Cocoa’s Café(I know what you’re thinking how “unoriginal”, right?) It’s a perfect day and I find myself smiling, writing intimate feelings in my journal as I revel in the beautiful fall sunlight and its alluring orange hue. And –it’s one of those days.

                See, the journals I buy have leather covers–Usually if I have enough money- but after a while they tend to get a little flimsy when I start ripping out the stupid pages that have messy writing errors on them, so it’s easy for wind to pick up, what once was a “Pretty filled- yet- slightly a tad delicate” journal which now is, “A-half-filled-featherweight” journal. Good Journals are twenty bucks now-a-days and this one I earned with my own money so you can guess how I felt when it took off soaring in the harsh wind especially when my thoughts began screaming that anyone who picked up my journal could read it.

                And of course it flies in the direction of this cute guy with amazing styled hair and gorgeous hazel eyes which then makes me panic more. It’s pathetic really. He picks up my book without reading it hands it to me and our hands touch and our eyes connect and it isn’t love at first sight but there’s definitely a connection and I say.

                Me: “Thanks.”

       Him: “You’re Welcome”

       Me: “Thanks.” It was weird I felt as though I was caught prey in his hazel eyes.

       Him: “I think you already said that.” And with that I was caught.

                So many thoughts cluttered my mind and it took me a second to hush them and get myself together with the best smile and giggle I could manage, and when I felt myself gaining confidence my words came together, “Right. Sorry about that I was writing and then it flew and then out off nowhere it was gone and I-” I stopped myself before losing his attention and laughed, “I’m Keoni.”

       Him: “Ah, well it’s nice to meet you Keoni, I’m –”

                This thought never finished itself, he was nameless but felt real as could be, and it drove me mad.

The sixth thought…

                Thoughts like fog lift as an array of sunlight breaks through its cloud bubble like an arrow. Or that’s how it’s perceived, I guess it is true. Bubbles POP if tampered, and the fact that a teacher called ten minutes till we leave school hadn’t helped my train of thought stay on track.

                It was almost time to go, to return home, and to return to life. Life. What is life? How does it even begin?

I remember this journal entry I wrote.

I could never grasp the concept of life, and it was always better defined in a book or some crazy twisted movie, because in books and movies there were always these several types of people.

                There was the person that lived life without much thought.

                There was that person that lived life with WAY too much thought.

                There was that person whose life began when Mr. or Mrs. Right came into the picture.

                There was that person whose life began when they lost someone.

                And then there was me who: lived life with WAY too much thought, waited for Mr. Right, but then lost somebody and had to pick up the pieces where I left off.

                What was life? Was it on going pain? Was it finding what type of person you were? (Again books and cheesy movies had a way of describing it better than anyone ever could) I mean look at Hazel Grace she loses the love of her –so far- life Augustus Waters, when she’s the one thinking he’ll lose her through the whole story. Then look at Baby Doll (The protagonist in Sucker Punch) she loses her sister and mother, her cruel father sends her to a Psyche Ward; then, life thrives in her with the idea that one day she’ll get out of this prison of a Mental Institute. In Romantic movies the girl gets the guy after facing many obstacles and their life thereon begins. Or in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty for instance he daydreams constantly, living life with nothing but endless thoughts and alternate fantasies, and then he loses something of importance and goes on this crazy adventure you wouldn’t expect. And this is where I see all the pieces of my puzzle unravel. Like Walter Mitty I daydream on a constant basis hoping to find adventure. Like Baby Doll I live in this world that makes better sense to me and fills me up with a passionate fire that drives me to live for a goal. Like Hazel Grace Lancaster I know I’m going to die one day, and as I can’t stop the inevitable, I will love like I don’t have a tomorrow. And Like all cheesy love stories and movies, I know that someone out there is going to change my life.

So what would my beginning be?

                Well I guess I have yet to figure it out.

                As I said before and I’ll say it again, a mind –especially one full of imagination- is a crazy thing. For me, I know that LIFE, is limitless with possibilities.