Two Years.

Saturday was the worst day.

I’ve spent a year trying to get him to admire beauty, just to acknowledge it. And the one time he does i’m trying too hard not to cry to even look at him.

Saturday marked two years since the worst day of my life and I had to pretend I was okay and I was certianly not.

And as we drove through town and he admired the beautiful sky just like I did two years ago I cried and screamed inside and tried to agree that it really did seem unreal and perfect and beautiful but nothing was beautiful to me right then.

And as I walked through the store I felt like everyone was staring at me. And maybe I was imagining it but maybe I really looked as horrified and scared and confused as I felt and so maybe they were.

When he left the room to get me a glass of water I couldn’t help but stare at the dager sitting in the corner and want to grab it and hold it to my own throat, only for a second. Thank God I don’t need that.

I have to be okay now. And I will be. But this is not how I thought things would be.

I miss you Freddie.

and it still hurts

I can’t explain this feeling. But I don’t want to feel it anymore.

I’m not sure if it’s pain or numbness or nothing of the sort.

Almost two years have gone by and maybe it is easier now. But it isn’t any more understandable. It still hurts like Hell.

If only we had been the same age. Because I’m the same kind of person now that he was. And I’m going through the same things now that he was. And maybe I could have saved him…

And maybe we wouldn’t have all died that day. And maybe we wouldn’t all be so lost. And maybe this wouldn’t be so fucking hard! And maybe I wouldn’t have let him walk out that day without asking him to come with us. Or without telling him that I loved him. That we all loved him so much…

I don’t think we can ever go back now.

A Dreamer

I keep dreaming and all I want to do is sing.

All I want to do is sing and dance and part of me wants the entire world to know my name and my face but more than anything I want them to know my words. I want them to sing my songs at the top of their lungs and I want that to help them.

I’ve always been a dreamer. I’ve always wanted this.

My name is Hannah Filos and I’m going to be famous some day and you’re going to smile because you knew it all along.

Anyways, that’s all I had to say. I have to go start a band now. and that’s harder than it sounds when everyone is at school or at work all the time. 

songs and such

One of the best days of my life was the day when I first got a guitar.

Before that day, I used to sneakingly play my older sisters guitar when she was gone. She always got mad if she caught me, but it hardly mattered to me because I had just gotten to write music for my song.

I had one really good song back then. I had a few songs, but this one was my favorite. I still remember it now, though it was years ago, and I haven’t played it in ages.

Writing music has always been something I loved. And I loved it more than anything. I would go out and walk in the woods and begin to sing, and I could sing for hours, one made-up song merging into the next, and the next, and the next. It didn’t matter that no one would ever hear those songs, for they were the begining of everything for me.

Now I am years older, have sung for people in my church, and other churches, in talent shows and small concerts….

And I owe it all to the sweet woman who gave me that guitar.

I owe it also to the urging of my father to keep writing. He always told me to keep writing. And because of that I did.

And I will never regret that.

Wet Bones.

So I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for some time. The idea of Wet Bones.

And what I mean by Wet Bones, is bones supporting life. People talk about dry bones, and they think of death. So by association, when people think of bones at all, they begin to think of death.

In reality however, without our bones, we wouldn’t live. They support us. They help us move, walk, dance, skip, run.

Wet Bones. Bones that are still within us. The skeleton that never entered a closet.

I know that I’m not the only one who has a fascination with bones, with the skeletal system. But many tend to love bones as they love death.

I love bones as I love life.

I don’t say this in any medical way. I’m not a doctor, nor do I wish to be. I’m not thinking about this on a more spiritual level, if you can do so while speaking specifically of the flesh.

Wet Bones.

That’s all I had to say. Maybe this doesn’t interest you at all, but I wanted to give you all something to think about, and write about, today. Have fun guys. See you in Paradise.

words from my bed in the morning

I said a million times that I didn’t want to fall in love again.

But now I fall in love every day and I swear that it is the best thing that could happen to me.

And if I could go back to that night and tell myself one thing, I would tell myself that love isn’t a bit like the hell I thought it was.

But it’s a whole lot like the hot chocolate that I’m drinking right now. Hot, messy, sweet, and full of marshmallows. Yes, we both adore marshmallows. Yes, I’m talking about literal marshmallows.

Ah, love. So consistantly…right.