America; A New Hope

Tomorrow, a new era in American history will begin, and I get to be a part of it. Tomorrow, Barack Hussein Obama will officially become the first African-American president of the United States of America. I would just like to take the time to say that I am honored to be a part of this time in American history. Tomorrow we not only get a new president, but a new hope and a new America. I'm proud to say that I helped, in whatever small way, to make this happen. I will be proud to tell my children, and my children's children, that I voted for the first black president of the United States. A man who, hopefully, will restore our nation's sense of pride, hope, and unflinching patriotism. Within the next four years, I look forward to having the ability to be proud, for once, to call myself an American, and I look forward to others being envious of that fact. Most of all, though, I look forward to having a president that I can trust, and believe in. I look forward to being able to feel all the more secure that he is the leader of the place that I have called home for the nearly two decades of my existence. I look forward to cleaner and more reliable energy sources, and affordable health care. I look forward to the restoration of our country's economy. But really, most of all, I simply look forward.  

As yet, untitled.

I've always wanted to be able to tell people stories, like really amazing stories. Stories that they'll want to steal, and tell, and sell as their own. 

I've never possessed that ability, however. 

I'm fantastic at talking about myself, but I couldn't tell a decent story to save my life. 

I wish I could weave tales of far off places and the exact hue of blue of your eyes when you're angry with me, 

but I can't. 

I want to tell people the wonders of the sweet surrender of love, 

the magic of kisses, 

the odd semi-mysticism of religion, and 

the slightly less than tactful way in which you approach 

romance. 

I could tell legends and faery tales and folklore. 

I could tell them about the taste of your tongue. 

But there it is. 

There is the difficulty. 

It all leads back to you, doesn't it? 

Every thought leads back to a moment or a memory of you. 

A graceful dance of weaving incongruency. 

I'll never understand the way you look at me...