The Problem With Time

The problem with time is that it never slows down and waits for us to catch up. Once something happens, we have to move in sync with time and learn to deal as we move. These past eight months have held some of the biggest changes of my life and in moving on, I'm also learning how to cope.
In MAY I turned the big 18. I'm now legally an adult.
By JUNE I was officially a high school graduate.
At the end of JULY I was an international traveler.
Come AUGUST I began my career as a college student.
SEPTEMBER. A moth of loss, grief, silent tears, body wracking sobs, and confusion.
By OCTOBER I was lost as a bat trying to find my way. I also became a licensed driver. Finally.
Enter NOVEMBER and the first Thanksgiving without her. I also became the proud owner of a 1999 Red Chevy Silverado.
Now, as I sit in DECEMBER, I've endured my hardest Christmas yet.
As I look toward the coming moths I know changes will come and nothing will ever be quite the same again. Its a frightening thought really. But it's also inevitable. I guess in the end all we can do it hold on tight and hope that for one solitary, impossible, magical moment, time slows down just enough to let us catch up.

Short and sweet.

The sky is your limit.
The sun your own.
The stars light your pathway.
My heart is your home.

Fall into me.
I'll pull you near.
I'll hold your hand.
I'll fight your fear.

Your heart is mine.
And mine is yours.
Forever & always.
And forevermore.

Mine Alone

I stand at the frosty window with my hand idly tracing circles in the condensation. I stare out into the dimming light and wait. He'll be here soon. My heart pounds wildly with anticipation. I see headlights turning the corner on our long street. My heart skips a beat. I hold my breath. His black truck crunches ice beneath its large tires. Dropping my hand I run toward the stairs and fling myself down them in record time. My hand touches the doorknob the second he knocks. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm the storm surge of butterflies in my stomach to no avail. I turn the knob and open the heavy wooden door. Before me stands the epitome of handsome. His dark five o'clock shadow had grown into more of a darker, short, fuzzy, layer of hair. The ink black locks that were so short last time we spoke have grown out a little and lay tousled on his head. His eyes are the same. An unwavering, icy, sea foam green. My very favorite color, since I met him anyway. I collapse into his arms the moment I lay eyes on him. His chin rests on my head and his arms engulf my body in warm embrace. I missed you. He whispers into my hair. I hum my agreement. When we at last reluctantly release each other, I gaze up into his eyes. My whole world stands in front of me and no matter what else happens, in this moment, I know I'm experiencing the true meaning of love. Weightless, joyous, overwhelming, all-encompassing love. And I've never been happier, because this love, this joy and this man are mine, and mine alone.

It's twisted.

Why are the relationship standards also different for men and women? Why aren't we held to the same expectations? Why is it that if a girl sleeps around she's a variety of vulgar names but a guy that sleeps around is treated like a king? Why is it that when a girl cheats shes considered "easy" but a guy who cheats is just a player? Why is a woman weak to take back a man who wronged her but a man who takes a woman back is a saint? Why are the roles so opposite? Is there anything a guy can do to be looked down upon? The only thing I can think of is that when a man is faithful and loyal to a woman he's suddenly "whipped" and it's not considered a good thing. Like wise, is there anything women can do to be seen in a good light? If she's faithful to get man or decides to save herself for marriage she's suddenly a prude. How is it that the things we should be disgusted by and shocked by have become the things we congratulate? How is it that faithfulness is now a sign or weakness or timidity? I believe any weak person can go and sleep around, noncommittal and not invested but it takes a strong person to stay faithful to one other person through the good and the bad. I believe it takes strength to declare and stick to the decision to stay pure until marriage in a world where openness and sexuality is becoming more of a hobby than a special thing. I believe it takes strength to walk away from someone who hurt you and keep the best interest of your feelings in mind even though you love that person and would give anything to be with them. I believe the world we're growing up in is a drastically different place than it should be. We are constantly taught to stand up for what we believe and to be who we are and as soon as we do, we're shot down with insults and degrading remarks. A touchy example: The battle over same sex marriage is on fire in our country right now and it's kind of hypocritical. We tell people "love is love, be who you are" but when someone stands up for their beliefs and says "well I'm straight and that's the way I want to be" they get shot down with labels likes "close minded" and "bigot". How is it fair? We're just standing up for who we are like we've been taught and the world tells us who we are is wrong. The world says "be who you want. Do what makes you happy" but when I tell people I want to be a writer all I get is critics. I get the face like they've suddenly detected rotten fish. It's a "silly" profession I'm told. And people constantly offer me ideas on what I should do "to make a living". Listen up, I know it's and impossibly tough field. I know it's unstable. But it's MY CHOICE it's who I AM. that's what you've wanted all along right? We'll here it is. And you don't like it.
It's tough to figure things out in such a backward society that prides itself on being open yet only ever shuts people down. We should all be free to express our feelings regardless of who it offends. Feelings aren't meant to moderate or ease the tension or sugar coat or protect. Feelings are meant to be FELT regardless of how "politically incorrect" those feeling might be.

I Hope It Isn't

It's an ache in the pit of my stomach. It's nestled in that spot between my belly button and my spine. It's like that aching, yearning emptiness you feel in your stomach when you're about to cry. That's how I feel when he walks past me. Like I can't breathe. All the air has suddenly been sucked from my lungs and I can't seem to get it back. Like I could cry or choke or laugh all in the same moment. I don't know what to call it really. My heart speeds up. My head hurts. My plans sweat. I can't breathe. Love? Can't be. Love is supposed to be easy and free and beautiful isn't it? How could this sickening, sinking feeling in my gut be love? I hope it isn't. I hope this isn't what little girls wait all their lives to fall into. It's miserable. I hate feeling so open and vulnerable and dependent when he comes around. I'd like to think I can love someone and be independent too. I'd like to think I don't have to become some needy, clingy woman just because I fell in love. No this isn't love. I don't know what it is. I feel it even now as I write. It's awful. I hope this isn't love. If it is, I feel as though I've dreamt my whole life of something beautiful and magical that is absolutely awful in reality. Please don't let this be love...

What is it about winter?

The winter is closing in fast. Although I know we'll have no snow, and hardly any frost, the chilling air is binding us closer than close. It's "sweater weather" and time for romantic nights by the fire place surrounded by friends and loved ones. I can't help but wonder why it's the winter that brings out our desire for human companionship. Maybe it's the chill in the air that makes us want to snuggle close with someone. Maybe it's the simple fact that we've made it almost twelve months without anyone to call your own. I wonder if the ones we daydream about dream of us. I wonder if they wonder if we're dreaming about them. I wonder if we find solace in cups of tea and oversized sweaters and fuzzy socks and cats because we're lonely on the inside. I know I am. I'm lonely inside and out and while I find no solace in cats in particular, the other things though, they appeal to me. Maybe it's the mistletoe at Christmas and the New Years midnight kiss. Maybe that's what makes the winter so nostalgic for relationships. Or maybe it's nothing in particular at all. Maybe winter is just a more romanticized time of year.

Waiting for Winter

I'm waiting for winter

& twinkling lights

I'm waiting for winter

& icy cold nights

 

I'm waiting for winter

& holding my breath

I'm waiting for winter

& ready to rest

 

I'm waiting for winter

& I'm all alone

I'm waiting for winter

& for your coming home

 

I'm waiting for winter

& for your sunny smile

I'm waiting for winter

& its been quite a while

 

I'm waiting for winter

& still loving you

I'm waiting for winter

& waiting for you.

 

I'm waiting for winter

I'm waiting for you



Bitter Reasoning

I’m bitter. I can own it. And I have me reasons. But if you’re reading this and you know me, and you want to know why, here’s your answer:

1. My best friend of eight years, and first boyfriend decided to turn his back on me in the sixth grade. I thought nothing of it and assumed once we got into jr.high, everything would work out. Fate tore us apart, sending us to different schools but we were determined to stay intact. We wrote one another letters and hung out on the very rare occasion that we had free time and on my fifteenth birthday, I was extatic to get to spend time with him at my party. As the day went on, he became more distant, and began to spend more time with my friends that he’d never met than me. I was hurt. I was embarrassed. Frankly, I was a little angry. At the end of the night, he decided to tell me that he was gay. That was his big reason for spending no time with me, because he didn’t know how I would handle it.

I am NOT going to turn down a friendship with someone, or look down on someone because they’ve chosen that lifestyle. When he told me, I was mostly confused. I mean, hello, we dated remember?  I felt like I didn’t know him anymore. More than anything, I was hurt that he took my friends away from me on my birthday and shared that part of himself with them and not with me.  By the middle of freshman year he was pretending not to know who I was. What friend of eight years drops a bomb like that and then pretends not to know you? He eventually texted me, telling me how I was a bad friend and I was mean and we got into an explosive fight, from which we never recovered. I miss him to this day.

2. The next friendship incident blew up in my face sophomore year around time for my sweet sixteen. I’m picky when it comes to who I want to spend time with, and I’ll admit that. One of my closest friends had a friend that got on my nerves almost all of the time. Naturally, I had no intentions of inviting this “friend-of-a-friend” to the day that was supposed to commemorate turning 16. When my “best friend” found out I wasn’t inviting her annoying tag along, she refused to come to my party. In addition, she told the other girl to plan her party for the SAME DAY as mine, and not invite me. Again an argument ensued and I was left without a few more friends. In case you were wondering, the party went off without a hitch and was spectacular without them, but I digress.

3. Finally, the one that sent me over the edge. I wasn’t bitter yet. Not yet. Until the summer after my sophomore year. This one gets kind of messy, so if you’re still with me, hang on. My best friend (and when I say best friend I do mean soul-sister-other-half-of-me-sister-from-another-mister) had some problems with jealousy. This was old news, I would bring someone around, she would get jealous and angry and we would argue until we sorted it out. That summer, we went on a trip with a whole crew of our friends. One night, we were on the porch and a few of my guy friends that I had gotten extremely close to over the week, came and asked me to go walk and talk with them. I got up, thinking nothing of it. When I got back, my friend was in her cot crying her eyes out. I had a feeling it was somehow my fault when she said “nothing” in reply to my “what’s going on?” I let it go and the next day was frozen out. I spent the last day of our trip on the river with the guys since she wouldn't talk to me.  We all spent the following week together and the entire week she froze me out, laughed at the top of her lungs when she passed me, and made sure I saw her having a good time with everyone except me. I was done. When we got home I called her, she denied it and said I was a bad friend and it was all my fault. Needless to say, we decided to take a break from our friendship. That happened three years ago.

I can’t seem to see what I did wrong in any of these situations, but obviously I either suck at choosing friends or I suck at keeping them.  Either way, this is why I’m bitter. I don’t think I can keep a friend without it going haywire and in turn, I push people away whenever I start to get to close. I do it to everyone, friends, family, guys, anyone who tries to get close is met with a steel wall of opposition because in all honesty, I’m too broken on the inside to try again.

It sucks to be so stone cold.  I’ve gone on one date.  I’ve been single for four years now.  I can count on one hand the people I talk to daily and they are all blood relatives of mine.  I talk to two of my friends maybe once every other week. My life consist of school, home and church, sometimes in that order. And the problem is, though I’m lonely, I’m scared to be surrounded too. I’m so desperately lonely that I cry… a lot…. And it doesn’t help for very long before I start feeling empty again. I try and reach out but I just can’t. I’m no good at it. I’ve gotten bitter and jaded and I’m only 18. Is this the life I would have chosen for me? No, probably not. But it’s the one I got, so I’m trying to work though it the best I can.

Colorblind

They say it isn't good to see things black and white. You're supposed to see the grey areas in between and have a little give and take. You're supposed to see things in full color. The idea behind this is that we don't see two starkly contrasted categories, but a mix of hues and pallets and colors where things can mingle and become one with another. This is nice, I suppose, in theory. It gives a bad man credit for the right he's done in his life. It makes second chances necessary because it proposes that maybe that one instance wasn't exactly representative of how it will be every time. But the way I see it, seeing in color gives all the negative things a foothold. It gives the advantage to the bad and disregards the good.
I'm not talking skin color or ethnicity or anything here, because when it comes to people, I'm a one color person. I don't see the color of peoples skin, I see, rather the color of their heart. And in this matter, I have no intentions of being color-sighted. I believe that sometimes, being colorblind is the best way to protect yourself.
When you see it in black and white, that boy who hit you is scum. He doesn't get another chance. That girl who kissed your best friend is a distant memory. She doesn't get to make a fool of you again. Those people who used you for your money or your fame or your popularity aren't friends. They're users.
Its a harsh way to view things, I understand. But I guess I'm bitter in that way. When it comes to people's intentions, for me, they are very plainly black or white. Good or bad. Wrong or right. I've been hurt too many times to give people much of a grey area to hide in. Being colorblind isn't a very accepted way to see things. We're supposed to give everyone infinite chances and forgive and forget and all that lovely jazz. But here's the thing, at what point do you stand up for yourself? At what point do you stop being a doormat? At what point are we "allowed" to say enough is enough.
Many of you may not agree with my black and white ideology, but for me, its a measure of self-defense. And I refuse to give it up. I used to be the infinite chance giver, believe me, so I wasn't born with mentality. I chose it. I chose to b e colorblind when it comes to other people and their intentions with me. And honestly, its a daily choice I make, some days are greyer than others and some are stark and apparent, but I choose, and proudly so, I choose to be colorblind. For the sake of me. No one else.

Fragility and Strength

I've been thinking a lot about the things our lives are made of and their fragility or, their tendency to shatter or break. We can't survive with out any of them. And almost everything is fragile. Promises are easily broken, and in turn trust. Hope can be torn to shreds in a moment as can plans and dreams and ideas. They all break down. They can all be ripped apart. They're all fragile. Our bones break. Our muscles tear. Our hearts shatter. Our cars break down. Our homes can be destroyed. Our belongings can vanish in a instant. When you begin to think of things in terms if fragility, you begin to realize how unstable our lives really are.
In turn, there are few things I personally can deem as constant.
Air. Air cannot be physically torn or broken or ripped. It can hardly be felt, yet it sustains our lives daily.
The earth, though it may implode one day or crash into another planet or some insane thing like that, is constant. It's not fragile in the sense that something I do could instantaneously destroy it.
The idea that so many vital things are so fragile is frightening yet oddly inspiring. We have been given the gift of perseverance on a daily basis to sustain life though these elements are so unreliable. Life really is a miracle, and I thank God daily for my fragility, for it is through my weakness that his strengths are made apparent. I will gladly be the fragile vessel if it means his glory may be shown through me.

{2 Corinthians 12:9}
And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

My Destiny

You can create worlds, lives, love, tragedy, family, hope, dreams, plots, you can create anything imaginable when you write. This is why I fell in love with the art of writing. The fact that one's words can move another to tears or to action is so powerful. I live for those moments where I read a quote and I feel like the author crawled inside my heart and wrote everything I'm feeling. I live for those moments when I read something that give me an instantaneous new outlook on life. I live for those moments when I read something and am suddenly comprehending something that never made sense before. But more than that, I live to write something that gives someone else one of those moments. To think that some mixture of words i could create could resonate with another soul in the way other's words resonate with me is overwhelming and astonishing and it's exactly what I want. I read that a writer doesn't merely want to write, but has to. And I do. In my heart and soul I have an insatiable need to write. My heart salivates at the thought of an empty spiral or sheet of paper. My mind wanders in the wee hours of the morning into places and lands that exist not on this plane. Writing is what I am meant to do. I know, in my soul, in the deepest darkest part of my heart, I KNOW I am meant to write. It's my destiny.

Facades and fake smiles

She smiles until her face is sore. She giggles and flips her hair. She blushes and batts her eyelashes. She laughs and greets and hugs. All day long she's on an endless cycle of fake joy. Feigning interest in those around her and their seemingly trivial rituals is exhausting but she pushes through. One more fake laugh, she thinks. One more forced smile, she hopes. One more wretched hug, she pleads. Internally she cringes with every ounce of fake smiles. These people don't know her. They don't know how she really feels. They don't know her at all.
Tears seep into the pillow as she muffles her sobs. The quiet music croons in her ear as she prays for this lost and lonely feeling to disappear. She's out of tears for now but feels like she could scream or cry or vomit at any second. Her bed creeks as she tosses and turns in her bed. She reaches for her phone and scrolls through the contacts in search of someone worth talking to. Unsuccessful she tosses it to the floor. No one really gets her. Even her friends think she's weird. She's the black sheep. The drama queen. The dramatic. The emotional. The tragic. They don't include her unless they have to. Sometimes she doesn't mind, but others.... Other times, like tonight, the emptiness creeps in and fills all the spaces. Her heart seizes up and she blinks away the tears. She's all alone right now. She needs someone. But she's to scared to reach out, to be a bother, to annoy. She's terrified.

The Night

The night has a way of making things painfully obvious. It makes a broken heart feel more like an empty crater. It turns confusion into a dreaded feeling of empty hopelessness. It turns loss into a pit of anguish that nothing will fill. It makes insecurities into flaws and uselessness. It makes even the smallest of problems seem like a vast and impossible issue. The night has a way of destroying everything we work so hard at in the day time. The shadows that creep in are where the fear, anxiety, failure, doubt and rejection hide during the day. Once the sun goes out, one's mind become vulnerable to the fear it's been ignoring all day. That's why children sleep with night lights. That's why we have nightmares. That's why scary movies are often filmed in dark scenes. Darkness lets in the fear. It lets in everything that scares us and intensifies it ten fold. In all honesty I think we're all afraid of the dark in some way. Maybe it physically scares us to be in a dark room. Our palms sweat. Our hearts race. We scream. We cry. Or maybe it scares us mentally. We know realistically nothing is there but the doubt and imagination of the mind create frightening ideas. We think we feel a touch. We think we hear a breath. We think we see a flicker of movement. The night gives way to fear of all kinds. Not only the physical fear of harm but the emotional fear of inadequacy. We begin to believe we're too fat or too tall or too ugly or too stupid. We begin to tell ourselves we'll never amount to anything and that we'll never be loved and that we're useless human beings. What I've found, though, is that these ideas we conjure during the night when terror takes us over and doubt fills every corner of our minds are just that: ideas. Thoughts. They aren't reality. Because with the light of day, we see the truth. We see how beautiful and elegant and intelligent and marvelous we really are. Not in an egotistical way, but in a way that makes us more appreciative of the life we're living. I heard a quote that relates rather impeccably to this series of thoughts and it goes something to the effect of : "don't believe the things you tell your self late at night". A statement couldn't be more true. When the darkness gives way to doubt and insecurity, don't believe it. That broken heart you think is an infill able void will one day be made whole. That loss that seems to break your soul more every second, will one day hurt a little less. Those imperfections are what make you unique. Those things you loathe about yourself will one day be the exact same things that make someone fall in love with you. So don't listen to the night ridden thoughts you have. And remember that every night will end in the light of daybreak.

You'll fight too.

It's that moment when you realize you fell for who you thought he'd be and no who he really was. You realize you've created this person in your mind thinking he would be it and he's not. He's far from it in fact. He's impulsive and selfish and inconsiderate. He's the opposite of how you thought him to be. But it's too late. You fell. And now your broken a little too soon. You realize you have to move on. You aren't, after all, leaving him behind. Your leaving the man you never thought he'd become. You aren't leaving a hero. Or a knight. Or a genius. Or even a friend. Your leaving an immature child. And that's okay. But your heart doesn't understand. That's okay too, mine didn't understand either. I'm still fighting the urge to run. To run back to him. To pretend that he is who I thought and ignore the problems. I'm fighting everyday. And you will to, when you realize who he really is. And how different he should be. And you realize he isn't perfect for you, not yet.

Do you remember?

Do you remember that night? Surrounded by little kids on that loud chaotic, bus? Do you remember sitting next to me and me rolling my eyes? Do you remember my pillow? The one I brought on the bus to help me sleep? Do you remember stealing it for the entire four hour ride? Do you remember stealing my heart? Your cologne faintly clings to it when I finally wriggle it out of your strong hands. With the scent, I am reminded of how we grew that week. Of how we worked our way into a flirtatious friendship. I am reminded of how how hard you make me laugh and how your dimples light up your smile. I am reminded of how much I love spending time with you.
I found it today. That silly pillow. Months have passed since I last saw you. Even more since that glorious week. That silly pillow smells of nothing more than batting and material. Your cologne is gone. I miss it. I want it back. As do I you.

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Even when it breaks

Do you ever want to go back to the way it was before? Just for a day. For a few select moments. And really soak it in. To have a chance to relieve those moments you took for granted? To engrave those happy, carefree moments in your heart and lock them away for a rainy day?
I do.
I without a doubt, absolutely, totally do.
I miss my best friends. Both of them whose friendship ended in a useless argument that now seems irrelevant. I regret what happened. I wish it happened differently. Sometimes I wish it hadn't happened at all. But at this point I've tried to reconnect to both of them and was once again left disappointed. I guess that's what I get for assuming it would go seamlessly back together without a hitch. Instead the pieces are shattered more now than ever before. On nights like these, when I am so utterly alone, I look back and realize they're really gone. He's miles away, enjoying his life without another thought about me. She's around the corner and I bet it doesn't tear her heart out to drive past my street like it does me.
I guess in the long run I know it's for the best. We fell apart for a reason. They aren't meant to be in my future. But sometimes, like tonight, I find myself aching to talk to him. Or to laugh with her. Or to hug him. Or to cry with her. I feel like the other half of my soul was torn out and replaced only to be torn out again. And still it hangs empty. Maybe that's how the loneliness gets in. It creeps in and fills the void making it seem deeper and colder than ever before. I'm missing them. Both of them. And they probably won't ever miss me again. So here's to lost friendships and reminiscing, even when it breaks your heart.

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Below the surface

The way I see it, we're all a mess. Some of us messier than others. Some of us better at sweeping the mess under the table and pretending everything is picture perfect. But behind the smiles and masks we're all a disaster. Nothing is going perfect for everyone all the time. Sometimes things begin to fall apart piece by piece to the point where we turn around and wonder how it got this way. Other times, the whole world shatters all at once and in a single second we're wondering where to go next. Even the most put together of people has something, one tiny thing, that's nagging at the back of their mind. It's chipping away at their sanity one tiny piece at a time and eventually the cracks start to show. It's okay though. Because no one has it all going for them and all together all the time. If we would stop judging people at the first moment and try to see what's going on behind the smile they've painted on, we might realize that we aren't the only ones who have problems. Everyone's struggling with something, some of us are just more open with the struggle than others. Everyone's a little bit of chaos. It's all just trembling beneath the surface. That's the beauty of life and coexistence. We learn to deal with the storm and find companions along the way.
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My imaginary future

I've worked up this image of you in my head. We've had countless, charming conversations in my dreams. When someone mentions love, or relationships, or future plans, you name slips quietly into my mind. When you walk into the room, I can't even look you in the eye for fear you might see into my mind and realize my heart's quickened pace. Your smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Some days I feel it, soft and quiet and patient at the back of my mind. Other days, it comes stampeding into my heart all at once and I have to blink away tears.
How can you fall so madly in love with someone who hardly knows your name? I've wondered this often. I wonder if you'll be my forever as I picture so often when you pass me by. In the back of my mind I know it can't be. I know we wont end up in forever together. I know you wont see the light in my eyes and the flush of my cheeks. You hardly see me at all. Today however, was a stampede day. As you stood there, effortlessly confident, and forever strong, I fell even more. I know not what you do to me nor how to escape it but it seems I've been caught in some mesmerizing trap of yours. And even in knowing the fictional state of our future together, I fall willingly for you. Because in the depths of my heart, I pray that the pain I'll feel when you leave will be immeasurable in the presence of the joy I found in loving you.

Projects and prospects

So ive been doing a group speech project in my speech class these past few weeks and ive learned a few things. For one, the age old addage "dont judge a book by its cover" couldnt be more true. I went in with pre conceived notions about everyone in my group, and almost all of them were proved wrong. I made friends in people I was slightly wary of being around and I love spending time with them. I've always had a problem with judging people. I try not to, but my mind always picks them apart and creates this idea of who they should be and who they look like. I find it hard to believe I'm the only teenager with this problem. I think that's the problem for most people. We can't look past the outside and look into who the person really is. We take things at face value that we should be really taking time to figure out. We see the hardened exterior or the extra large jacket and create words like "witch" and "fatty". But what do we really know about them? Maybe that witch in your class has been abused. Or cursed out. Of heart broken. Or damaged. And maybe that chunky girl in the corner who won't talk to anyone has a medical condition. Maybe she starves herself every day in hopes that it will help. Maybe we should just stop judging everyone. Maybe we should take the time to get to know one another before we decide weather we like one another or not. We are human beings, with souls and hearts and feelings and emotions and we deserve to be treated as such. Everyone deserves to be treated as such.

A song.

Everyone has a song. A song that makes your heart stop and makes you stop breathing. A song that sets your soul on fire in a way that gives you butterflies. A song that seems to have been written just for you every time you hear it. That darling is the definition of a "good song". And that is why I believe in the power of music. Because it can turn your most tragic memories into a masterpiece. It can hold your hand through the pain. It can lift your spirit in a way people just can't. Music, dear, is the most powerful thing we have. Use it wisely. Don't waste it.

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Weak

My heart is broken. My soul empty. I feel void of any emotion other than sadness. And fear. And confusion. I don't understand why this happened. I don't understand what I'm supposed to do now. I feel so alone and so sad and so fragile like ill never be able to put the pieces back together. I feel like part of me is missing. I feel lost. And the pain won't go away. The sobs come over my body. Racking and shaking and trembling. And it's terrifying. Once the strong sobbing gasping cries have gone, a littered array of tears and sniffles are left in their wake. And I am left weak.
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Don't say it just yet.

I'm a strong believer that the words "I love you" should only be used when they're actually meant. It's such a strong emotion and people tend to throw it around like it means nothing. I tell my friends I love them, I say I love a pair of shoes, but put me in a relationship and the little "L word" will not slip out of my mouth. Don't tell me you love me if you just kind of like me. Don't tell me you love me if you like me a lot. Don't tell me you love me until you actually love me.
Life isn't a Disney movie, as much as I'd like it to be, it isn't. This is life. We don't all get fairy tale endings. Some of us don't end up with the guy of our dreams. The sweet girl doesn't always get the hot popular guy. Love takes knowledge. Love takes time. You may fall into deep infatuation with someone where they're all you ever think about and they make your world spin around and they are all that matters. Throwing in the love word too early can scare someone away. It did me. This amazing boy I dated a long time ago told me he loved me after three days.  3.  I panicked. We didn't last long.
I don't want to hear I love you on the first or second or third date. I want to hear it when you mean it. When you know the good, the bad, the ugly, the stupid, the silly, the thoughtful, and all the other sides I have and still think you'd have me no other way, that's when I want to hear it.

What I need

I need someone who is prepared for:
-A million questions
-Uncontrollable laughter
-My family
-Musical outburst
-Random dancing
-My friends
-Happy/Sad tears
-Deep talks
-My imagination
-Random texts
-My sense of humor
- and absolute acceptance of me
I'm a lot of things. I'm crazy, loud ,silly, dumb ,shy, smart, girly, country, sweet, sad, broken, happy and almost every other emotion and adjective you can think of, all in a concoction that created someone unique. It created me, and I'm like no one else around. I need someone who will accept all the strange and quirky things about me that I hate about myself.

Late night musings

He broke her. In every way possible. He broke her heart. He broke her hope. He broke her will to love. He broke her trust. From that day forth she was never truly whole again. For how could she be? When the only man that held her heart and soul and world proved to be nothing more than an ignorant boy who delighted in playing games with her heart.

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All Over Again

He makes my heart speed up.
He makes my head spin.
He makes me question all the choices I've ever made.
I'm not sure he realizes what he's doing to me from so many miles away. When he was here it was different. I couldn't stop thinking about him. He was my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night, and I "knew" I loved him. But he left. And every day with him gone, my heart got a little lighter. The burden of unrequited love wasn't as heavy because I wasn't so sure it was love at all. I figured out how to breathe without him. My heart had room once again for someone else. I found a "someone else". He's perfect. He's gorgeous. I thought I was doing a fabulous job of getting him to talk to me until he started talking to someone else. As my heart tries to figure out what it wants, he comes back, out of nowhere, my first love, my knight in shining armor. Though now, he seems to be more of a loser wrapped in crinkly tin foil than a majestic knight who can ride in and save the day.
He was absent from my life for so long, I forgot how much it hurt to even see his name. Now, he's thrown himself into my life. His name pops up on my phone and I dismiss his text message. His name pops up on any number of my social media sites and I close the notifications with a sigh.
I thought it might be easier to figure him out when he left, but he's all the more confusing with distance between us. I don't understand what he wants. His name lights up my phone again and I read his name on the screen over and over. Ive decided to engage in his silly texts and his useless comment conversations. I'm in deeper now, I think to myself. I never should have given in. I never should have replied. A lot of good this realization is doing me now, after the fact. Now that I cant change things. Now that I've let him in again. Now that I'm falling all over again and am facing inevitable collision that is sure to hurt in the end. Now I'm in too deep. Now I'm falling in love.

Books in essence

So, I've been reading a lot lately, a lot of fiction, a lot of romance, a lot of fairy tales, a lot of tragedies. They all seem to weave themselves together in a strange way to mirror different aspects of my life. Then again, I guess that's what all books do. I mean, that's why we continue to read them right? Because they whisk us away from our problems and our trauma. But something in them has to connect to something inside of us, of else we would never be connected enough to finish a book. Something has to tug on our heart, something has to pull us in, we have to relate to something or someone or some situation. For me, I have to like the main characters name. Stupid right? I read a book once, and I didn't like the girls name. It just wasn't pretty enough for me, and I couldn't find anything relatable and I didn't even finish the book.
I love those connections. I love thinking "oh my gosh I've been there" or "yeah I know exactly how that feels". I think we all do in some way. I think we all want to feel like we aren't alone, and that's we let ourselves get emotionally invested in the well being of fictional characters within the pages of a book.
Books are where we can run away and hide for as long as we want. Books are a safe place where nothing can happen to us and no one can hurt us. Books are a place where we can have innumerable friends and have adventures that we would be too terrified to attempt in reality. Books are a safe place. Yes, indeed, they are one of the safest places I know of. And I cherish every safe place I've found so far.

"Books don't offer real escape, but they can stop a mind from scratching itself raw"

Unexpected Tragedy

The thing about unexpected tragedy is, it effects all aspects of your life.
You never know when emotions are going to come flying in and make your heart ache and burn and race. You never know when the realization will hit you that this thing has actually happened to you. You never know when you'll realize that this isn't just a bad dream, and that you cant just wake up from it. You never know when you'll realize what you've lost. You never know when you'll just begin sobbing uncontrollably, the kind of silent sobbing that makes you hold your face and hold your breath so no one hears you. You never know when you'll be furious at the entire would around you for no reason at all. You never know when you'll become so delirious that you just laugh at everything to avoid crying. You never know how each day will go.
I woke up this morning, and yesterday, and the day before that, with a sinking, broken heart. It just feels painful to smile sometimes. The afternoon is the easiest. I get a second wind and I'm in that delirious mood where everything is hysterical for some reason. Night is hardest. That's when scenes from that day play out over and over in my head and I cant stop them. They scare me. They scar me. They hurt me. They break my heart. Mornings are just sad. I wake up with a frown and a sick feeling in my gut. Yesterday, in the drive through at McDonald's, I just started sobbing, out of no where. I cried and cried and cried. I thought I wouldn't be able to stop. Likewise, today in the middle of cleaning my room, I just started crying. It hurts so bad sometimes. I know time will help as our tragedy happened only a week ago, but it doesn't make it any easier now.
I'm sorry to keep writing such depressing, sad stuff. We lost a family member about a week ago and its hitting me hard. I promise I'll lighten up eventually.
Anyhow, I'm just so sick of feeling sick. I feel broken and hurt and sad and abandoned and I don't know how to fix it. I cant fix it. I just miss her so much... I wasn't ready for her to leave yet. I love her so much, and that will never, ever, change.

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim"- Vicki Harrison

My Place

The cold winter air hits my face as I run. I just want to get away. Away from the pressure, the stress, the chaos of my life here. Everyone wants things for me that I have never wanted. They do not understand me here. I run as fast as I can. I only hear my heart beat racing in my ears. I tear down their streets and sidewalks into my place. Into my forest. I got lost here once, as a child. I fell in love with the mystique of the trees and the low slung fog that ambles around in the evening. I feel safe here. At peace. It is as though no one can find me here, in my place. No one knows of it. No one knows I come here. No one knows I love this place like a second home, that I feel so at ease here. This is not a place people around me know of, or would like to know of. They are stubborn. They are spoiled. They are only intrigued with things like wealth and appearance. This place, my place, is too lowly for them. I doubt they know it exists here, behind their glistening buildings and rush hour traffic. They have not the faintest idea of what beauty lies but a few hundred feet from their high heels and noses held higher. They don't understand my fascination with the beauty of simplicity. The beauty of nature. They don't see it, but that's okay. They don't really see me either, and when they can't see me, I can slip away. Here, to my place. My place, without them.

Free

People look at her, but they never see her. If they do, all they see is a quiet, introverted, terrified, child. All of which she is not. Her friends look upon her with pity. They know she has fallen once again into his trap. He will never love her, they know this, as does she, but she doesn’t care. He holds a small part of her world and almost the entirety of her heart. She has fallen into this spell before. A kind word, a smile, a nod of acknowledgement is all she will ever get from him, but to her, he is perfect. Sometimes, she comes out of her haze, and snaps back to reality. Sometimes when his disinterest becomes abundantly apparent. It doesn’t last long. Soon she is faded into a hazy, love-veiled waltz through life once again. She builds him up in her mind. Creates a super hero of sorts that could ride in and save her from her problems and whisk her off her feet. But usually, he is her only problem.
She has a happy life. Loving parents. Many friends. As any other teenage girl, she has her spells of arguments and embarrassment and loneliness and anger, but her life is far from broken. It’s rather whole, in fact. But her mind is her greatest enemy. She can’t stop thinking. Even if it’s becoming destructive. She plots and imagines and daydreams her days away and often finds him in the middle of her make-believe turmoil. She asks herself the riddle: how can he save me from himself? And she tunes back into reality. She goes on a binge of hateful thoughts and comments to convince herself of his worthlessness. He hasn’t done anything wrong. It just makes it easier for her to unstitch herself from him if she can feign anger. In reality, he hardy knows she exists. In reality, he is blameless. His imaginary faults are her own.

After her fictitious anger comes tangible sorrow. Fits of tears and nights of silent sobbing accompany her broken heart. She cannot help it. She is fragile in her love for him. She is weak and the unstitching process might just break her heart irreparably.

She realizes, for a final moment that he is not good for her. Now, she moves on, completely. His name is not her first thought every morning. His smile is not the last thing she sees in her head every night. Her heart no longer stops when someone mentions his name. She sees him around their tiny town and hardly realizes. Though her heart is not whole, it is no longer crushed or crumbling. Her world is once again turning and the sun shines once more upon her smile. She is free.

My Sanctuary

I have many sanctuaries. My room, anywhere with a good book, my grandma's house, and the actual sanctuary at my church. Last night and this morning, I spent a lot of time in the sanctuary of my church. It's a place where I feel closer to God, and a peace settles on my soul. It's also a place where some of my closest friends and extended family gather on a weekly basis. It's like a family reunion twice a week. It's great. We have this awesome maroon carpet that I love to pieces and these old maroon pews that have a special spot in my heart, and it's a place I'm so familiar with, that when I bring my friends, its almost awkward to show them around. I know where more cleaning supplies are in the church kitchen than in my own home.
In my eighteen years of existence, I have only ever visited two churches other than my own. One was a mission that we support. I went with some of my church family. The other, was a sister church in Georgia which our youth group attended while on a mission trip in the area. Though I haven't been physically exposed to many other churches, I'm quite happy with my own. I dread going off to university when I finish community college for fear of having to find a new church. My church is so happy. So welcoming. So open. So nice. Every morning, I'm greeted with smiles and hugs and kisses from so many people that have watched me grow up, it's almost overwhelming. They've seen me through some of the roughest and some of the happiest times in my life. I love them dearly. I'm so thankful God has placed me in this place, in this home, in this church, surrounded by these people. It truly is a blessing.
"Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the father, but by me" John 14:6

Blogging maybe?

So I guess I'll try my hand at blogging. I haven't ever done this before, so forgive me as I learn. I want to be a writer, so this is going to, essentially, be a place for my mid-day inspiration and story fragments and whatnot. feel free to read or, if I'm not your cup of tea, you wont hurt my feelings if you pass me by.
xoxo -muse