Believe me when I tell you I could never kill a man.

I promise to keep writing, I promise to keep writing... I promise to keep writing.

C

Oh, Mr. Conductor man.

You don't want me no more.

Bye bye, baby... bye bye.

C

Home is where the heart is.

When I was growing up, my mother had a ceramic muffin tin that sat in our kitchen. It was a gift on her wedding day when she married my step-father. The words 'Home is where the heart is," were painted on to it. Even when I was a little girl, these words baffled me. For most of us, home really is where the heart lies. It's where you first learned to ride a bike, where you had your first kiss, where you had that first sip of alcohol; a place that will always hold a memory, no matter how horrible or how exciting or how upsetting or how delightful. Being the dreamer that I was and still am, it was only normal for me to see this as something to tie a love story to. Home, being defined as the one you love. The one you pine after, the one you spend hours day-dreaming about, the one you eventually learn is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with. Everything that makes for the perfect Hollywood romance. I thought it to be very silly that you would tie such emotion to a house. Sure, the things that go on there are things that define you as a person, but I wouldn't personally say that any of the homes that I have lived in would still feel like home today.

I was riding in the back seat of a car today and was day-dreaming while looking out the window. Suddenly there is a vacant lot, where there once was a home; now, just a foundation. I can remember seeing the home not even a month ago, very wise-looking and cared for. The house has since been reduced to nothing. But something was different. There is now a natural growth happening there. Flowers are blossoming, trees are growing, and no doubt - a home is in the works to be built right on top.

It's time for someone else's memories to be made here. Someone else to be brought into this world and fall in love with somebody. So that someone and that somebody can come together and combine their hearts to write their own enchantment.

- C

Steady & standing still.

I'm going to wipe my slate clean today. I'm going to change a few things. Starting with this: I think it's very healthy for someone like me to keep a journal. A journal that is public, but a journal none the less. I have far too many thoughts going on during the day to waste it all on my self and my mind only.

I've been listening to quite a bit of softer music lately. Sad, melodic, poetic music. I've also been reading lots of Pablo Neruda poetry. This mixture makes for a very romantic and intimate 20 year old girl. Pablo's poetry is... well, here: " I do no love you, except because I love you. I go from loving, to not loving you. From waiting, to not waiting for you. My heart moves from cold, to fire. " And that is exactly what I am trying to avoid right now. The indecisive and difficult person I seem to have become. Then there is the music. " Long walks in the dark, through woods grown behind the park... I asked God who I'm supposed to be. The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep. I had a dream I could fly from the highest tree... I had a dream. " This might not mean much to the average listener and Priscilla Ahn fan, but to me, it speaks volumes. I've been aimlessly walking around like things cannot change, and they will not change. However, I need to tip-toe around now, take a closer look at why things are the way they are, and how I can begin to fix and mend and bandage.

Follow me...

C

It makes no sense.

Tick, tock.

It's a very rainy and cold day in Vancouver. My mind is full of things that I cannot decipher, and I haven't the energy to try.

It's just a matter of time, my darling boy.

Tick, tock... tick, tock.

You don't get burned, because nothing gets through. It makes it easy. [Easier on you.] But that much more difficult to make you see: Love ain't fair. So there you are, my love.

What's a girl to do?

There is a homeless man who sleeps next to a construction site just across the street from my apartment building. I can only assume that he leads a very lonely life. As my boyfriend and I walked past him tonight, everything was normal. He was fast asleep, tucked in like a little child. Two drunken men stumble around the corner and shout something in-coherent. Thinking nothing of it, we keep walking. Waiting for the light to turn, a crash rings out. It turns out the man was no where to be found, and the other two men had taken it upon themselves to trash his "home."

I still cannot, for the life of me, figure out what makes someone think that this is okay. What possess' someone to do such a thing? That man has not much to call his own, and you just spent the last 15 minutes destroying everything. What is he to do now?

Maybe I am the coward for not turning around and stopping those men. Isn't the one who watches, the real devil?

I surely wish there was something I could do now.

Love of mine.

You and me. Let's move to the seaside. We can have strawberries and champagne for breakfast, and lay beneath the sheets. Get up just to jump in the ocean. Walking barefoot in the sand... dreaming of nothing - because we have everything.

Lost at sea... you and me.