Penny For Your Thoughts

 Sometimes I'm scared to write and to post my thoughts. It's not because I'm scared of you, or any of my readers. It's because I'm scared  of what I'm admitting to myself. -Emma Lancaster

 A simple text, and suddenly, my heart wants to go home.  Home: Grilled peaches and vanilla ice cream while sitting by a citronella candle on a hot summer night.  Sitting in a garage, watching and listening to the rain pounding on the tin roof.  Jumping over the catnip bush to get to the window to say hello.  Making s’mores using mini waffles instead of graham crackers.  Helping pick the black raspberries even though the thorns are prickly.  Looking for the ripest cherry tomatoes that are best when eaten right off the plant.  A grumpy old cat sitting at the door and watching every move of the people sitting outside.  Talking about comic books and the newest superhero movie and planning a night at the theater to watch it.  Home is one of the things that you don’t realize you miss until something reminds you of the people that Home are.  -Emma Lancaster 

 Dear You, Yes, you. You still know who you are.  I'm getting so sick of thinking of what was, what could have been, and what is. Most of my friends think I'm hopeless. They're really sick of my reminiscing, and my hopefulness every time I simply see your name. They're good people, and they care about me. They don't want me to be hurt or sad anymore. It makes them feel sad too.  I just don't want to give up. I have this feeling that I shouldn't give up. Every time our eyes meet, I remember what you felt like.  My roommate thinks I should keep waiting for you, even though every day that you're with someone else kills me a little more.  She said that every time I talk about you, no matter how devastated, excited, sad, annoyed, or angry I am, she can feel the passion. She can tell I care. She said that level of passion and care doesn't happen more than once in a lifetime. I pray to God that she's either wrong or that we find our way back.  It's

 Do you ever dream of that perfect kiss? Whether it was one you already had or one that you dream of having one day, you know exactly what I'm talking about. He grabs your hand with one of his own, then wraps the other around your waist.  As he pulls you in, he gently dips his head down to meet yours and you can feel the warmth of his skin close to your own.                          A moment of hesitation, and then,                      a  gentle brush that turns into fireworks.                The passion feels unlike anything you've ever felt and you never want it to end.           A moment to breathe, forehead to forehead.      A small smile, one more kiss. Maybe it was as you were walking away from him,     maybe it was in the pouring rain,         maybe you had been dancing,                 maybe it was a kiss goodnight,                          or maybe it was the very first one. Regardless, Your knees are weak,  you can't stop smiling,  and you know it's the best

 And just for a moment of reality, I am so confused.  -Emma Lancaster 

 And the wind blows and the trees sway and she thinks of all the things that she would like to say, but speaking when the wind blows means her words are not heard, and so she watches the wind blow,  and listens to the trees sway, and she prays and hopes: Maybe someday. -Emma Lancaster

 Every single time she leaves her box and has a sliver of hope that it might finally be her turn, something happens and that sliver of hope turns out to be sharp.  This is why she stays in a box.  Every time it ends, she puts herself back in her box.  Every time, she gives away a part of herself, and eventually, the inside of the box will be more space and air than it will be parts of her.  She gives and she is stolen from and she is so tired.  She wants to know what she did to deserve all of this.  -Emma Lancaster 

 And all her problems in life could be spelled out using only three letters:  M E N.  -Emma Lancaster

 My head is the logical one, Telling me to keep moving on Because that’s what he told me to do And that’s what he’s done too. My heart is the hopeful one, Whispering that there’s still a chance And to hold on a little longer, Just in case he changes his mind.  Logic attempts to lie to hope, And head attempts to control heart, But who am I kidding? The heart listens to no one,  Save for the soul  And the Spirit in the Sky.  -Emma Lancaster

Don’t look at me and tell me the spark isn’t there anymore, But also, Don’t touch me.  It might turn into a flame.  Isn’t that what everyone wants, though? For their heart to be on fire? Nobody said it would be easy And nobody said it would make sense, But everyone has said  When the spark could start a fire, You can feel it in your soul.  -Emma Lancaster

 Fear holds me back, And the greatest things I accomplish  Come from the question: Why not? -Emma Lancaster

 Everyone hates that 1:30am train, But I have many sleepless nights where I lie in bed and listen to the train roll through.  My great grandpa used to work on the railroads in this town before he moved an hour west and never looked back.  He loved the rails, and lived by them for the rest of his life. I never got to talk to him much about those trains, but I know he loved that job.  Every night, when that 1:30am train to New Orleans runs through town, I listen and I know I am not alone.  Great Grandpa would ride that train to Louisiana.  He’s a conductor of angels.  -Emma Lancaster

 We place so much value on the hundredth thing, but what about her one hundred and first thought? I think this one-hundred-and-first thought holds just as much depth as the first, if not more. You see, when Penny For Your Thoughts was merely a thought, I was a child and acted as one. The thoughts were worth a cent and had the depth of a hundredth of a dollar.  We see 101 as a base level.  I cannot say that I am grown,  nor that my thoughts are worth any more than a penny still. I simply know where I have been  and where my writing was. I know who I am, and what my writing has grown to be. Be patient, there is more to come. -Emma Lancaster

 I was tired. I was tired of being around people and I wanted to go home. I wanted to be alone,  be in a state of mind. I wanted to turn my brain off, ignore all the stress, and put behind me what was instead in front of me. I needed a hug, someone by my side. Instead, I sat up alone in bed and popped a melatonin pill instead. -Emma Lancaster

 Daddy used to sit by my bed every night and sing to me.  It was the same songs every night for the first five years of my life.  Tonight I’m hugging his old blue sweatshirt and listening to a recording of his voice and crying because daddy used to sit on the floor right by my bed every night and sing to me.  He’s a couple hundred miles away and I miss when he used to sit right next to my bed and sing to me.  It was the last song of Orpheus.  Goodnight, daddy.  I love you, and one kiss on the cheek. -Emma Lancaster

In love with a boy so much that it scared her, she cried a few times a week and brought him home to save him. She was waiting on a miracle, on that free ride to college. She knew she could win deep down inside, but always worried about it anyway.  She was memorizing things every day, both for her classes and for the school play. She was excited about Arizona, a trip only a month away. In the midst of bloodwork, hospital bracelets every few weeks. Struggled to keep the student council afloat, and put on a dance that only her friends came to. She didn't know that better things were coming for her and so she threw herself into every moment and worked herself harder than she ever should have because that is what she thought she needed to do. Oh, what a year does to a person. -Emma Lancaster