Through the wind and the rain, she stands hard as a stone in a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place where she's loved

Concrete angel

Stream-of-consciousness as of three o'clock this morning.

: the conscious experience of an individual regarded as a continuous, flowing series of images and ideas running through the mind.

And then it was silent on the opposite end and anything that could have been was lost--or at least postponed until it was time to skin the potatoes and prep the giant turkey. No one really knows what they want. Or they have a solid idea or two and they continually mold them and readjust their dreams until they crumble in their hands. That's the part no one wants to talk about. That's the part distorted on the silver screen, unless producers choose to play off the second-guessing crisis as a much-needed plot element ultimately leading to some sort of happy ending. The problem with happy endings is that they don't apply to each character. Typically, only the protagonist and company are spotlighted. But what about the villain who made a mistake? What about the bad guy? Doesn't he deserve to be happy, too, in spite of his faults and errors and shortcomings? People make mistakes. Does that mean they should suffer until karma makes her rounds and they're finally off the hook? What happens when the television is turned off? What happens when the movie ends? Does the happy ending spill over into reality? "Why can't anything in life be simple?" a notably flustered customer asked me weeks back. Without putting much thought into it, I matter-of-factly stated that if life were easy, we would never learn anything valuable. The only thing I'm learning is nothing lasts forever and not every single minuscule event occurs for a purpose. Sometimes, things just happen. Better yet, things happen because people make them happen. Remember? Jon. Tiffany. Fanny. Joy. Tony. Sarah. You? The problem has got to be me. When will it stop? I destroy great things before they have the chance to destroy me. Again. I'm waiting for my happy ending--just like the rest of the planet--but the inner cynic lurking in the back of my mind taunts me with every failure and all the if only, if onlys and all the what ifs. Remember the curly-haired boy with freckles and braces who built robots for fun? The seven yellow carnations, symbolizing a secret admirer, creatively spelling out J-E-S-S-I-C-A? Remember? Did you forget that you made him fall for you--"She's the coolest girl I know, but I have a girlfriend now..."--and then you walked away without so much an explanation, let alone a good-bye? "Yeah, hmm. I've actually been living in fear of relationships and commitment and emotion since I turned fourteen and my dad...." That would have gone over well. You haven't changed much in the years cementing the memories together. Same pattern. Different boy. Different excuse. Same root. Same fear. Remember the older football player every girl at school was crazy about? Remember when he left his long-time girlfriend to fall down at your feet, but it wasn't enough, and you chose to walk away despite his sacrifice? Walking away. The only thing you've ever truly excelled at. (The voice in the back of my mind knows me better than I know myself.) Don't forget Davey. Remember how he could have been perfect for you? Remember how he vowed to treat you like a princess, and you weren't interested until it was too late (and there was no chance of getting involved and therefore getting hurt?) Remember when you cried and cried and all your tears were in vain because it was always your fault for running away? Jon was in from the get-go (the voice in my head reminds me.) Remember how he made you feel? Nothing more breathtaking and nothing more weepingly devastating. Who said that it's better to have loved and lost? I wish that I had never loved at all. Remember when you were never good enough (but your best friend was ideal) for his blameless family, and eventually, he quit fighting for you? Remember how you tormented yourself for weeks upon months approaching a year and you lived in an empty place where no one could touch you? Unreachable. Remember crying yourself to sleep because your revealing prom dress and rotten attitude totaled the best thing that ever happened to you? Remember how he walked away? I know you didn't forget. I know you can't forget. Remember longing for those mere five seconds after waking up before you remembered that your dreams had shattered and that you were completely alone? And then sobbing so hard you couldn't breathe and consequently staying in bed all morning and missing school? Remember pretending? Remember smiling because it felt like the entire town was watching and awaiting your breaking point? (It was all my fault.) (All my fault) (I was to blame.) (I brought this upon myself.) Remember how Tony wanted to give you the world (beginning with the moon) but you were hollow and he wasn't Jon? Remember all the chances you wasted? I know you remember Alex. Remember deciding to give him a chance, and then backing out last minute because your fear of being hurt tremendously outweighed your fear of being alone? Remember how you lost your chance because you were too afraid? Fear is the mind killer. All the truths I try to live without and all the memories I try to erase are powerless against the petite portion of my mind not living in a state of complete and utter denial. What exactly am I trying to prove? And who am I trying to prove it to? Why? For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son...but I know He would have done it just for me. Jesus Christ shed His blood for me, so what could I possibly have left to prove? (That I'm good enough for somebody?) "Think enough of yourself. Think enough of yourself..." I sat in the front row and played the perfect student and took notes and nodded at appropriate occasions. Think enough of yourself. Obviously, I don't, but I never did get those four words out of my mind, nor was I able to shake the emotion quivering in the voice of one of the few people I respected in my life. And now I'm stuck and I'm suffocating beneath the increasing pressure of all the blame and all the guilt and the memories and the mistakes and the laughter and the expectations. Where am I supposed to go from here? How long can a person float, looking at an empty horizon? How long do you drift before you call it quits?