maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me

Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now

Backbeat, the word is on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
But I don't know how

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall

Today was gonna be the day
But they'll never throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you're not to do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now

And all the roads that lead you there were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall

     "Wonderwall" by Oasis is a lyrical sensation that evokes a plethora of emotions, while utilising many poetic devices. In turn, the lyrics and mood that are expressed in this song give it the unofficial title of a "summer anthem". At first glance, or listen, this song has an uncanny resemblance to a sappy ballad of a broken heart, about one's pining for a loved one. However, Noel Gallagher, the lead singer of Oasis, corrected the media by stating that " [Wonderwall] is about an imaginary friend who's going to come and save [one] from [oneself]." ... So he says.

    

thought ...

just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to,
doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they have.

-- unknown

Pick ME

I am a figure of intelligence. I have memorized the digits of pi, while inventing Braille and Morse code. I cease to score less than 100.278 percent on each test, quiz, and exam I write. I have mastered every iPod app involving numbers, puzzles, and accuracy. My GPA is 5.0 and I compose speeches for famous orators on a regular basis. While vacationing in the Easter Islands, I discovered a new species, the "Wallamboquailrat", a combination of a wallabee, bison, quail, and rat. I can have an entire conversation without using the words "I, the, and, a, it and yes". I invented the spoon.

I am a figure of skill. I am the original MacGyver. I have slayed the most malicious predators using only a Hermès handbag and a pinecone. I have snagged every Hugo Boss model's phone number, along with their hearts (figuratively, of course). I can walk in 8-inch stillettos while carrying seven caramel macchiatos, chatting aimlessly on my celllphone, and juggling a few tennis balls for sport. I design all collections for Chanel.

I am the best decision you'll ever make.

Brian & Lydia

     "Brian," Lydia stammered, "There's... Something I need to tell you." Brian looked up from the Tuesday paper, crinkling it. He removed his reading specs from his face and placed them on his lap.
     "What is it, Lydia?" asked Brian. He looked lazily into her hazel-hued eyes, as if it were a chore.
     "You remember how I said I wanted to get away, to take that trip? You remember?" Lydia asked bashfully.
     Brian scratched his head, noddding, "Yeah. Yeah, I remember. What about it?"
    "Well," Lydia announced, reaching under her pillow, "I happen to have two open-dated tickets to Rome!" Lydia was now electric, dancing around the room, her nightgown floating slightly above her aged dancer's feet. She noticed Brian, who ceased to mirror her excitement. She pondered worriedly, "Well, aren't you excited?"
     "Lydia," he whispered, "Sit down."
     "What is it, Brian?" she asked, all the prior glow of joy now drained from her face. She took her place next to him on the bed.
     "My turn to share," he chuckled nervously, his voice like poison.
     "Okay,"
     Brian rubbed his eyes, he faltered, "Lydia, I'm having an affair."

A Blank Canvas

I can feel the rough linen canvas rub against my fingertips as I clutch it tightly, beginning to perspire. As I walk through the proverbial, yet so real, front doors of high school, my bulky, blank canvas lightly bangs against my leg. My fingers are wrapped so tightly around my acrylic tubes of paint, they nearly burst, attempting to stain my hand. This feeling of uncertainty, of being miniscule, wasn't something I was willing to become accustomed to. I painted this feeling on my canvas. It was a deep, cobalt blue, perfectly signifying the colour of my thoughts and my outlook. I search through the sea of faces, seeking a familiar silhouette. Eventually, after what seemed like centuries, I find a pod of friends standing in small circle, hugging a lonely corner. This intuitive whim of familiarity is painted hansa yellow on my canvas. I slowly gain a comfortable aura after a few months into grade 12, my canvas gaining more and more colours as time travels past. My first love colours my canvas a blushing pink, and blooms into a passionate alizarin crimson. Heartbreak brings a shroud of grey and black, looming overhead for ages. After the dog days, I realize that life needs warmth, and my canvas needs colour. My friends lift my spirits, I succeed in every class, pen-to-paper, I am on fire. Flecks of electric purple, neon green, and hot pink are splashed onto my canvas. It is more wreckless now, in the most responsible way possible. Every single second of experiences I endured in highschool, created the most beautiful masterpiece. I soon realize, that the duty of every high school student is not to survive, it is to thrive. The greatest thing achieved and ever felt by me, will be looking at my canvas at the end of the ride, and being content and proud of what I have created.