Ask any teenager and he or she will tell you that there is nothing more dull and pointless than sight-seeing. I was one of them… until I watched the sunset from Mount Sannine in Beirut, Lebanon. Growing up in an urbanized city like Montreal, I had yet to believe that I could find inner peace by being in direct contact with Mother Nature. Since I discovered that peace, I now know there is nothing more important than finding tranquil moments for that purpose. Maybe it was the breathtaking view or the feel of the cool mountain air; maybe it was the gentle aroma of the sea salt. All I know is that I’ve found my happy place.
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All divorcees are hypocrites.

Have I gotten your attention yet? If I haven’t, here’s the fun fact of the day:
Statistically, in Quebec, 1 out of 3 children are from divorced parents. That’s ten out of thirty teenagers in a classroom. My point here being that divorce has become more of a common aspect in youth’s life than cell phones… and we know how popular THOSE are…

Don’t get me wrong – nor am I against divorce nor am I a firm believer in the return of all traditional values. As a lebanese girl born and raised in Montreal, I’ve found a harmonious balance between the importance of keeping touch with certain traditional values and open mindedness and/or tolerance; all in moderation, right? We’re all sharing this planet, so we can’t turn a blind eye to our differences. Read the rest of this entry »

He had an old car. You know, the kind of car that you’re slightly embarassed to be seen in, yet deep inside, you’re glad you have a ride to begin with.

A ride. She would ride with him rarely, yet when she did, he’d take special care of her, and he’d make sure she was comfortable and happy. But he didn’t need to make sure of it…he didn’t know, but everytime she was with him, she would smile on the inside and wish the night would never end.
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She thought a lot. Mostly about him, but other issues corrupted her seemingly young mind. People saw her as a teenager waiting to experience new things and make helplessly immature mistakes, redeem herself, breathe and reboot. But she was not like that.

She refused to be caught in the stereotypical vicious circle that threatened her individuality, though she never made the effort to conserve this unique image of herself. It was an inner power she had never thought to use to her own advantage, though sometimes these advantages just flowed to her and she was too deep in thought to appreciate them. Some people would stick up their nose and call her ungrateful, rudely walk out of her life without any apparent reason…just shallow frustration.
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“A bird. That’s what you’re like…A bird.”
He grinned, the mango sunlight drowning his face in a dreamy pool of afternoon sun.
She grinned, too, and answered him, her eyes lit with a smile:
“Oh…and might I ask, how did you get the inspiration for that?”

Slowly, he lifted his arm and pointed across the street to the sidewalk, where a dirty-looking pigeon was picking at some seeds on the sidewalk.
They burst out laughing.
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Everytime she went downtown with him, she’d hold his hand extra tight. For some silly reason, she was always afraid they’d seperate and she wouldn’t find him. He didn’t have a cell phone, even after she had tried, for months, to convince him to get one. When they were walking on the busy sidewalks, they never spoke. There was too much to see and hear for them to lose themselves in a conversation. But the fact that his hands were curled around his, this subtle body contact, always made her feel closer to him than she usually did. One day, as they were walking across a busy intersection, he turned his face towards her and made eye contact. Her face fell, she was troubled by this sudden gaze in her direction:
“What..? What’s the matter?”
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“I’ve always wanted to be with you.
-No you haven’t. Can you cut the crap, please? she replied harshly.
-Do you even know what you’re saying?”

His anger was mounting. She saw his flushed cheeks, pinched lips and pained expression collide.
His anger made her frustration even deeper. She was supposed to be the angry one, yet he was spitting lies in her face and expecting a response.
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the clock strikes midnight
you reach for what you can’t get
the world around you
is stingy and wet

fear rolls in circles
like an angry maelstrom
beautiful faces curdle
and oh here they come

tonight…
blood leaks from eyes
axes deep in brain flesh
everything is a lie
angels and demons mesh

nervous twitches develop
headless riders gallop
you don’t know what you haven’t seen
you kind of forget it’s halloween.

We talk like if there was a wall between us.

You love me like I’m made of brick.

I love you like you’re made of thin glass.

Oh baby, you’re walking on ice, you’re walking on thin ice.

But you don’t know that, you think you’re walking on brick, and that crushing noise you hear are not my bricks, that’s my heart, and you’re walking all over it.
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oh, love
that four letter word in my vocabulary
i used and abused it, rolled it around like it didn’t mean nothing
you used it, you abused it, you rolled it around like it didn’t mean nothing
but the difference, my love, the difference is
that you never loved with your dishonest heart
and i loved with my dishonest heart
and tried to love enough for the both of us
but when you’re made of brick,
holes are just too hard to make. i get tired.

you’ve got to meet me on the other side.

home, oh this house is not a home
but i live here, and i cry here and i am here.
where are you? vanishing into the night like an impossible dream.
so hard to grasp, yet you were right there beneath my touch, and i felt the warmth of your cruel cruel affection that’s hurt me so deep.
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Hi. it’s me, the girl that’s been following your abyss of lies.
I know what you like, and I know what you said…
because I hang on to your words like I can hang on to your love.
but it’s not there.
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My blood, it runs cold in my veins.
like you do. i shouldn’t care, no.
because you’re ice, and you’re still.

this is how it is, you laid it out for me,
but the shovel in me is digging…
digging for something further than concrete words.

never found anything, no gold.
just brick. cold, hard, brick.
and you stand there.
you’re smirking, you’re happy, that i’m exhausted.

i’m squinting. i don’t want to see that smile.
must be something behind it,
but no.
just cold blood running through our veins.

the difference
is that my cold blood was once warm
and yours
is still.

A red rose
is a disgusting thing.
oh and love,
same.

you ask me questions
and don’t know the answers,
you know my heart is knotted.
between you and flying away.
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He called me gorgeous
and kissed my lips
I let him do so, knowing that
he thinks we fit.

I wanted to tell him,
he lied everyday,
but looking in my eyes
and telling me he loved me.

how do you know me?
how do you know who i am?
because of my kiss?
or because you’re the man?

you don’t know what i want
or what i think
you don’t know me, stranger
but damn, can you kiss.

Why don’t you punch me in the stomach,
and slap me across the face?
It might hurt a little less,
than leaving me like this.

–

The night was dark. Really dark. The street they were driving on was not lit with orange city lamps.

It was quiet…well, almost. Some slow cheesy song was playing on low volume on the radio. Little snowflakes rested on the window her head was leaning on.
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“Mais tu es beau…eh…regarde-moi…”

J’avais beau lui parler, son regard demeurait vague, incrédule. Comment lui expliquer que sa copine, maintenant une ex-copine, n’avait pas cassé avec lui pour les raisons qu’il pensait? Assis sur mon lit, dans ma chambre, mon meilleur ami et moi nous tenions

la main dans un silence lourd, lourd d’émotions. Une larme coula le long de sa joue plissée d’émoi, et il l’essuya lentement, comme si le temps passait à reculons. Je pris doucement son menton dans ma main, et leva ses yeux vers les miens.

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Pourquoi est-ce impossible pour nous de contempler notre réflexion dans le miroir et d’être satisfaites? Il y a toujours quelques kilos à perdre, des sourcils à arranger, de l’acné à dégager, de nouveaux habits à acheter…nous nous perdions dans les millions de petits changements que nous voulons faire à notre personne. Nous ne sommes jamais assez belles ni assez minces ni assez intelligente ni assez pudique. Qui a crée la supposée image parfaite à laquelle nous devons ressembler pour être acceptés dans la société? Qui a dit que les filles minces sont plus belles, que les boutons causent d’énormes problèmes, sans passer par les habits qui sont supposément “hors-style” ou les commentaires que nous recevons si nous ne sommes pas copie conforme de l’image que la société a crée pour nous. On a beau nous dire qu’on est belle, nous ne le croyons jamais… “Je ne suis pas aussi belle qu’elle…”.

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Un mots de ses lèvres, son cœur saute de joie

Une fille qu’il câline, son bonheur est déjà fade

Elle ne se souvient plus d’un monde sans lui

C’est juste que sa réalité s’en va, elle pâlit, pâlit

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