More Than Tinted Glass

I hold the bronze aviators gently in my hands as I fall into a pit of memories.

I can still feel the awe when I saw the mountains through their dark lenses for the first time.
I can still see the smiles on my friends faces when we stepped out of the bright white vans.
I can still see the house we painted through the protective coloring of the glasses.
I can still feel their protection, as the dark lenses hid the tears in my eyes from the outside world.
I can still feel them shielding me from judgmental, angry glares.
I can still hear the laughter from our trip down the river, where all the problems were washed away and I was saved by the boys  grew up with from self-destruction.
I can still feel the icy water as the glasses tumbled into the river and our rafts were momentarily abandoned to save my beloved shades.
I can still feel the laughter echoing down the river as they were passed around, resting on every face in our group when we retrieved them.
I can still see the beauty of the riverbed as their tinted color shielded my eyes from the world again.
I can still feel the awkward tension for eighteen hours as we traveled home.
I can still feel the resounding gratefulness for a week of bliss and stronger friendships.

I swear I can almost see our happy faces reflecting back at me and I have to blink a few times to dissuade the illusion.  These glasses hold more than tinted glass.  They are a reminder of the most blissful and most painful week of my life.  They are a reminder of the bonding and the breaking of friendships.  They are a memory in and of themselves and I treasure them to this day.

Glass Heart

Her heart was fragile, like a thin pane of glass.  One wrong move would break it down.  She was cautious with her glass heart, never falling too fast, but landing gently in disappointment so her heart was scratched, but still intact.
He wiped away everything she had worked for when he blew into her life.  He was a storm of a man.  Feelings, glances, laughs, touches, smiles all whirled around and swept her up in his wind.  They had a whirlwind romance, it was never meant to stand the test of time.  And when he left, taking his storm with him, she didn't have a chance to catch her glass heart before it shattered on the ground.  Every piece she picked up held a memory that ripped her open, leaving a trail of crimson in her wake.  Soon she had gathered all the pieces, but nothing could make them go together again.
Her glass heart was in pieces and with them she built something new to fill the aching hole in her chest. Piece by painstaking piece, she fashioned a rose from the bloodstained shards of glass.  And when she placed it in her chest, a light burst from her.  For no longer did she have a fragile glass heart, but a sharp, strong, beautiful, piece of artwork that rose from the ashes of disaster.  And from that day on, the light drew people flocking to her.  But the rose was sharp and she never let anyone get close enough to touch it again.  For if they did, they would undoubtedly be cut and their crimson life would only serve to deepen the red of her strength.

The Kind I Wait For

Me and my Grandma are very close. We're tied at the hip.  She knows me better than pretty much anyone in my life and I love her to the moon and back.

I never got to meet my Grandpa, her husband, because he passed a few years before I was born.  But I feel so close to him because of all the stories they tell about him and all the little bits of information I've picked up over the years.  I love him.  I never knew it was possible to miss someone you never met.  I never knew you could cry and hurt and miss over someone you've only seen pictures of.  But this isn't meant to be a sad post, so I digress.

Among the things I know of him, I know that he and my Grandma had a love like no other.  They were meant for Hollywood.  For Nicolas Sparks novels.  They were the epitome of star-crossed, madly in love like you wouldn't believe.  And that's the kind of love I want.  Even after all these years, my Grandma has always said that she'll never love anyone again like she did him.  She never saw other guys, she never got remarried.  They had a love so deep the ocean would be jealous.  And that's what I want.  I want a one time, end all, never looking back kind of love.  A love where he could be gone from this earth and Id still love him more everyday.  A love where no one else would ever measure up to him.  A love with no regrets and lots of laughter.  A love where you're truly best friends and lovers and spouses and where you truly stay in love forever.  I crave a love like my grandparents had.  Because even though I've never met him, I know he saw his entire world when he looked at her and she did the same and that's the kind of love I wait for.

Like Rain

He was like rain.

He was sweet like the sent of fresh rain drops.

He was soft and quiet and mesmerizing.

He was gentle like the falling rain kissing your skin.

Being with him was like being caught in the rain.

He drenched you in himself and when it was over, everything was washed away, leaving nothing but refreshing newness. 

His voice was so warm and rich it gave you chills.

He was the best of everything and being loved by him was better than a fairytale. It was perfection. It was intoxicating. It was remarkably dreamlike yet so unbelievably real.

My Nineteens

They say you find yourself in your twenties.

I think I've found myself in my nineteens'.

One year ago, I wouldn't have recognized the girl I see in the mirror right now.  Not that that's a problem, seeing as I actually love who im becoming.  A year ago I never would have been this strong, this determined or this happy.

I haven't found myself in the way I thought I would either.  I guess I figured it would be gradual and Id be happy, skipping through fields with soft music playing in the back ground and the sun shining off my hair.

I never knew it would be instantaneous.  That it would come through on entire year of depression and tears and loneliness.  I never knew that in one second, everything would change, like a light bulb coming on and I would be stronger than I ever thought imaginable.

I've changed more in the last three weeks than I have maybe in my entire life. 

I know what I want.  I am no longer willing to settle for anything less.  I know what my goals are and while I may not see a straight shot to them, I plan to achieve them all the same.  I don't get mad about minor things like I used to and I have an inner confidence that supplies peace in every situation.

I look back at who I was and I cringe.  I was so sad.  So broken.  So willing to be trampled on by worthless people.  I willingly let my heart get broken and I was ready to settle for a sick, twisted, one way love that could have really damaged me.

I look in the mirror today and I am amazed at what I have become.  There is a strength present and a spark in my eyes that I've never witnessed there before.  I stand taller, smile brighter and laugh louder.  My breaths are easy, not labored with the task of faking it anymore.  And I wouldn't trade this version of me in for anything else.  Im on the road to success.  Im on the road to happiness.  Im on the road to my future and I don't plan on making anymore pit stops.

I Live To Blow Your Mind

Writing is not an occupation for the faint hearted. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I think to myself I cant do this, there is no way im doing this.  Its an occupation full of self doubt.  Im constantly pondering if I can even call myself a writer.  The days are always different.  You have days where you love every single solitary word that drips off your pen and other days you hate every word that comes to mind.  Its emotionally exhausting.  You're constantly at war with yourself, changing and editing and deleting and rewriting.  But for all the bad days, I wouldn't trade it for anything.  It honestly has to be more than a hobby, more than a pastime, it has to be a passion if you want to make it a career.  Its terrifying and difficult and emotional but this is who I am. 
I've written several times on how im seeing life differently and this area is no exception.  I feel more confident than ever.  I still have bad days but even in the bad days I have a little voice in my head saying "it gets better, you can do this."  I have no interest in people who think writing isn't a valid career.  Tell that to C.S. Lewis or Chaucer or Shakespeare or Alexander Pope.  Writing may be unusual, but it is in no way invalid.  So watch me climb to the top while you stare with disbelief.  I live to blow your mind.

The Feeling

When the feeling hits, its like a freight train. Its instantaneous. Painful. Blinding. Overwhelming. Breath taking. It hurts like hell. It rocks your world in a second. You stop what you're doing. You cant think. You cant breathe.

The charcoal color sweatshirt, a tale-tale sign of trouble, slips over long, messy, blonde hair.
Tears build behind tired blue eyes, forbidden to fall.
The air that was just so comfortable has a biting, inescapable chill.
Goosebumps raise on pale skin.
The feeling stops the heart that's been so carefully guarded for so long.
Alone.
The word is incapacitating.
The lights are suddenly too bright.
And its all I can do not to cry out in anguish. I lock myself in my room. I turn up the music to drown out the voices in my head. The ones that tell me I'll  be alone forever. The ones that need someone...anyone... The ones that confirm every fear and solidify every doubt. The ones I can never truly shut down.

I am so alone. So lonely. And I'm trying so hard not to be needy, not to settle for less than I deserve but my resolve is crumbling fast. In the tumult of life, I need someone to be my life line and pull me back in. I'm spiraling out into space all alone. I need someone, anyone, to help me.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, I knew what it felt like to have a zoo stampeding though my stomach instead of just butterflies. Once upon a time, I fell in love, hard and fast and without looking back. Once upon a time I knew what all the romance books and tragedies and movies were about, because I felt it every single day. And then I was left, utterly and completely alone to pick up the pieces of my recently shattered life all by myself.
Once upon a time I felt that feeling when your heart breaks, when it literally feels like your heart has stopped beating. Like all the butterflies or whatever you felt, they all just fell dead. Like life wasn't worth it and like nothing could ever hurt that bad again. Sophomore year in high school, a naïve sixteen years of life under my belt, I had my heart irreparably broken.
But when he came back, it was like he never broke my heart in the first place. I felt that passion, that need, that love just as fiercely as before. Nothing ever felt as intense as the feeling he gave me. He was my drug and I was a hopeless addict with no desire to be sober. My world revolved around him and only him and I was intoxicated with the thought of him and nothing else ever crossed my mind.

Once upon a time, but much more recent, I had an epiphany. My whole perspective changed on the world. Everything was different, my friends, my choices, my desires, my goals. And my view of him. When my perspective changed, I realized I was a game for him, an easy pastime when he wasn't feeling needed enough. For the second time in my life, every animal stampeding through my chest fell dead. And I grieved my lost love for the second time.
Fast forward to the present and I am at a loss. Im afraid no one will ever make my heart race like he did. Im afraid I'll never fall that deeply in love with someone again. Im afraid I wasted my feelings on someone who ended up being a joke. I have someone in front of my that I really thought I cared for. I have no idea how he feels about me, though everyone in my life is rooting for him. But I don't feel the zoo. I don't feel the storm. I feel birds sitting patiently in trees, but only fluttering from time to time, never fully bursting forth in flight.

My fairytale has turned into a nightmare, and no matter how badly I wish to wake, this is my reality. My knight in shining armor turned out to be the villain and there are no knights around. Only squires and palace guards, but no one riding in on a white horse. I cant wake up from this nightmare. I can not escape this feeling, like empty air caught in my chest.

Lover of Paper

I have always been drawn to blank paper. I could spend hundreds of dollars buying empty spirals and reams of blank paper. I love seeing it transform from a barren, crisp sheet into a mess of words and thoughts and pictures before my eyes and at my hand. You don't understand my love for paper. I literally salivate at the thought of fresh notebooks, untainted by expression. I live to destroy the pristine whiteness and create. Part of me hates to ruin the perfection but part of me relishes the chance to demolish and blemish and stain the snowy whiteness. I live for that moment when the pen hits paper for the first time. The first line. The first scar. I love how paper softens and tears and bends with use so in the end its limp and greyed and fragile. I love marking up printed sheets and doodling to fill in every corner. There is something beautiful to be found in the ravaging of new paper. The carnage of eraser bits and pencil tips is stunning. The way a new spiral can be demolished from stiff to malleable, immaculate to disheveled, bland to enthralling, is just astonishingly appealing to me. I am of a lover of paper and of pen and of the marrying of the two.

A Bravery in Artistry

It takes bravery to be an artist. Or an artisan at all. To create art is a brave thing. Art is meant to be felt not just read or seen or touched or looked at it. It should elicit some emotion, it should make you feel something. In order to create something that beautiful, you have to be willing to break down every last one of your walls. You have to be willing to tell your story, to tell of your loses and your losses and your heartaches and your joys. It’s like having an emotional break down while being locked in a glass case in the middle of a crowd. People will look and judge and know everything about you, but it’s beautiful in a way. To be able to bare your soul and spill out all your secrets is an incredible feat. Whether you’re a writer or a painter or a sculptor or a photographer or an artist, you’re creating art. And it’s terrifying. Terrifying and somehow totally perfect. But you have to be secure enough in yourself that you can dare to show all of you to the world. You have to be confident enough to be willing to just open your suitcase in the middle of the street so to speak. Because once you create from that raw, honest place in your soul, how could people only look at your work? That much emotion, that much storytelling, it demands to be felt. It has to be. So yeah, I think that any profession where you create something from nothing but emotion and idea and creativity is brave. It’s brave and beautiful to be that broken for the rest of the world to observe.

The Briefest, Rarest Season

The sweet, stifling air of summer is swept away by cooler, stronger winds.
Here in Texas, where leaves don't change color, only die and fall, leaves begin to  brown.
Pleasant coolness washes over our tiny slice of earth giving sweet relief from the heat.
Mowing is more of a pleasure and less of a punishment.
The buzzing of mosquitos is less deafening now, though still audible.
Tank tops are traded in for t-shirts, maybe even a few long-sleeved.
Flip Flops turn to tennis shoes and socks come back into fashion.
It'll be gone in a day or two, this deliciously refreshing whether.
But while it lasts, we'll enjoy our bit of the rarest season.
Our tiny scrap of Fall.

Views on Friendship

Friendship is not something to manipulate and guilt trip. Friendship should be genuine and honest from both parties at all times. I have had my fair share of failed friendships so I take friendship very seriously. And that tends to spark a fire in me when people I call my "friends" try to manipulate me.

Don't feign interest in my problems if you don't care. Don't pretend to care about me just to hear my issues so you have dinner conversation. I refuse to be guilt tripped into explaining my frustrations. If I say I need you and then change my mind, be respectful of the fact that at the moment I'm not prepared, for whatever reason, to talk it out. Don't you dare say "its on me" if I don't talk. Don't you dare say you "gave me the chance" to talk it out. If that's how you view friendship, then I say very kindly, screw you and screw your repugnant ideology. I don't need you in my life. I've done well all by myself. You are a luxury, not a necessity. Buzz off.

Random Music Review

In light of today's whopping 30 views and my growing list of "newly found artists", I feel compelled to share a few of my new favorite bands with you all.

1. This Century 
 I am loving their light, breezy, yet still pumped vibe. Their lyrics are amazing and I can listen to them no matter what mood Im in. A few of my favorite songs are "Sound of Fire" and "Do It To Me" but you really cant go wrong with any of their songs.

2. Rixton
 I am unashamed to say I LOVE One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer. Rixton has a similar vibe but the vocals are slightly more mature depending on which song you pick. Im currently putting "Appreciated" and "Hotel Ceiling" on repeat back to back and have yet to be tired of them.

3. The Vamps
This band is gaining traction with their newer song "Somebody To You" featuring Demi Lovato. Again they follow the 1D/ 5SOS vibe which is something I enjoy but not everyone is a fan. Their song "Wild Heart" is definitely a pump up song.

4. We The Union
Oh. My. Gosh. Talk about saving the best for last. So, this band is a Christian worship band, I had the pleasure of seeing them every day for a week straight at Bogg Springs Baptist Camp this summer and they are INCREDIBLE. Their music is uplifting, powerful, modern, and full of heartfelt worship lyrics. I cant help but raise a hand in praise every single time I listen to them. My personal favorite song is "Found" which is the second track on their brand new EP that released on ITunes just over a week ago. Seriously, they don't have a bad song. They're going to go far in the worship world and I will back them 100%

Well I'll stop babbling on about bands but if you're bored and have spare iTunes credit, at least go preview some of these groups. They may not be your style but you never know what you'll like unless you give it a fighting chance.

Messy

Music fills my ears and my foot mindlessly taps out the beat.
My mind sings lyrics and tries to conjure up the words you're reading right now.
I write and delete and write and delete again, knowing I want to say something but unsure of what it is.
Part of me wants to be poetic and abstract and find beauty in the way the air dances across my skin in the quiet isolation of my room. Part of me wants to tell you all how silly I looked this morning, with my nice Sunday dress and converse sneakers. Part of me wants to talk about a certain someone that's got my attention at the moment.
I guess, for the time being I'll start with this;
Im a mess, and people are just going to have to be okay with that. My hair is always in a state of tangled disarray, no matter how many times I brush it or comb my fingers through it. Im always going to be flying in at the last minute,  praying not to be late. Never in my life have I been able to sit still, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon. My laugh...my laugh is ridiculous and embarrassing and loud but its like my personality in sound. Im awkward and nervous when I talk to people but I never have been very outgoing. Overall, im a mess. But I like it. I feel like there's beauty in chaos, you just have to be willing to see it. The people who can find the beauty in the hurricane of me are the people I want to know. And if they can't see past the mess and the chaos, then maybe they weren't meant to stay very long. I might be a mess of tangles and dresses and sneakers and laughs, but im me, and that's all that matters.

Strong? Not Even Close.

People think I'm strong. I don't like to cry in front of other. I don't like to seem upset at all. In fact, the other day my mom told me she was glad I was "strong enough to see her upset and not think the whole world is falling apart". But I'll let you in on a little secret, I'm not strong at all.

While I sit typing the truth, my hands shake and the screen is blurry from tears I cant keep in.
I'm not strong. I feel like my world is falling apart on the inside but I rarely show it. But sometimes you get to a point where strong isn't an option anymore. I feel like everything around me is falling to pieces. Things I was so sure of are making my head spin. Grief I thought had dissipated is coming in waves like its brand new. The people around me are screaming at each other and I've resorted to locking myself in my room and crying and pouring my soul out to you people kind enough to read the madness I write.

I'm not strong. I'm broken. I'm scared. I'm hurt. I'm confused. And I'm faking a smile so hard it feels like plaster.  I'm faking so many things. Faking having a plan. Faking confidence. Faking a laugh when all I want to do is cry. Faking independence.

I need help. I need someone to know. So, im telling you. And I think that's all I need. I just need someone out there to know, whether they care or not, whether they can do anything about it or not. I just need someone to know that im not strong, and that I break down sometimes.

Silence and Stillness

Silence is my enemy.
It rages around me and drives into my ears like a knife.
It makes the pounding in my skull unbearable.
It feeds my doubts and fears and uncertainty.
It gives me too much room to think.
To overthink.
And overthink again.
Silence is not a refuge for me as it is for so many others.
I dread silence.
I dread the overwhelming feelings that come with it.
I need noise constantly.
Ear buds connect me to my surplus of music on my IPod, giving me sanctuary.
It doesn't distract me, but lulls me to focus.
I have to listen to music while I write and while I sleep.
Silence is detrimental to my mental capabilities.

Likewise, stillness creates panic in me.
I have to move or do or be involved in something.
My leg is always bouncing or my fingertips tapping.
I cant sit still for anything.
I move and twist and turn in my sleep.

Silence and stillness rip the sanctuary from my life and cause chaos.
So, do not expect some quiet, calm girl from me.
I am a hurricane of noise and motion and thoughts that I can't keep inside.
If you find me silent or still, be afraid, for its only the calm before the storm.

Soapbox Talk

Very few things in this world get me riled up enough to need a soapbox. But animals are one of those few things. I think, as an entire race, human beings are arrogant. We think we know so much. We think we can fix everything. And that irritates the living daylights out of me.
I was watching Nemo the other day (like the mature young adult I am), and it really got me thinking.
Assuming we're all familiar with the movie, lets get to the Dentist who takes Nemo from his home. This guy really gets on my nerves. One of his lines is "caught this little guy struggling by the reef" and I think the guy genuinely believes he's helping the fish. But he isn't. He was just fine. He wasn't struggling at all. He panicked because the diver got in his face and freaked him out, but he was perfectly fine in the habitat God placed him in.
Humans like to think we're being helpful when we "rescue" animals but can we call Nemo "safe"? He was going to be given to that demented little girl for goodness sake! Nemo was in no way safer in the aquarium than in the ocean. Speaking of the aquarium, have we noticed that every fish in that tank had an issue? One actually believed her reflection to be another fish that was just always in her way. That isn't natural. That cute yellow one was obsessed with bubbles, probably because they were the only thing that changed or moved freely. The one with the scar, the mentor fish, the best one ever, had given up. He was depressed. He was content to just live, unmoving until he finally died. That's the saddest thing of all.
These fish spent the entire movie trying to get AWAY for the man that had so valiantly "rescued" them. How can we even call that a life?
The fact of the matter is, animals we find in the wild are meant to stay there. They are meant to thrive and fight and survive in their own habitat. Not in a cage or an enclosure. (Don't even get me started on Zoos). If you want to study them, study them in the wild, watch and observe but for Pete's sake, leave them be!
What you might see as "saving" or "rescuing" could be detrimental mentally and emotionally for these poor creatures. Tigers aren't house cats. Lions aren't meant to be in an 80X80 square with a screen for a roof. Sea creatures are SEA creatures, not tiny glass box full of stale water creatures. We have to leave them alone and stop trying to assume we know what's best for them.
Im all for rescuing the sick or hurt and healing them but RELEASE is the next step. Don't catch them and lock them up. Animals don't have a voice but we do, we can be their voice.

Excuse and Forgive

Please excuse my inability to create full sentences around you. Please excuse my nervous giggles and awkward glances when you walk up. Please excuse that face that you suddenly make me nervous in a way I didn't know you would.
Please forgive me if I seem distant or unsure. It's merely a side effect of silently hoping you like me as much as I like you and not wanting to embarrass myself. Forgive the fact that I'm terrible at admitting my feelings.
Most of all forgive me if I'm reading too much into your kind words and actions. I'm just not used to someone making time for me that way. I'm not used to someone like you at all.
You're gentle and sweet and patient where I am a tornado of loud and abrasive and emotional.
Forgive me if I doubt that you could ever feel the same way about me, it's only because I never expected to want you like this.
But you make me want to be better than I am. You make me want to be something you would be proud of. You make me want to change for the better.
So please excuse my uncertainty and my awkwardness and my quirks. I just like you an awful lot.

A Guy Like This

"He broke down her walls without her even noticing. And when he rebuilt the walls, he added windows to let in the sunshine."

This has instantly become one of my favorite quotations. Other the fact that it's beautifully written and something about it is just perfect, it makes me love this guy. He knew exactly what she needed. He broke down the walls but not in an intrusive way. In a gentle, patient way to where she didn't even realize it was happening. But he didn't leave them down, no he knew she needed to be protected. But he built them differently. He built them in a way that didn't close her in so much. The windows let in the sunshine but also make it easier for her to see out. That one detail can change her entire perspective and make her world brighter. The one thing that isn't written directly, the thing my imagination conjures up, is that when he was tearing down the walls, he was on the outside trying to get through to her. But when he built them again, Id like to think he stayed inside with her to keep her company.
That's the kind of guy im waiting for. The kind of guy that can see what I need and help me get there without pushing. A gentle, loving, patient guy that can help me change the way I see things. Someone who can let the light in when I want to shut it out. Someone who can break down these walls I've built through years of cynicism and bitterness, but not with a jackhammer. Someone who can pull them brick by brick and still want me when he finally sees me completely vulnerable and broken. I need this guy to exist because anything less wont make it into forever.

Surprised by Vastness

I thought I could get a fix of you and let you go. Like one last time for memory sake would be enough. How foolish was I to believe you could be temporary. It was like jumping off a diving board expecting a kiddie pool and landing in the ocean. I am drowning in the all encompassing feeling of you and I have yet to catch my breath. The overwhelming need to have you beside me makes my breath catch in my throat at the sound of your name. I have no idea what makes you so enticing or what makes it so impossible to separate myself from you. Words that typically come so easily to mind are all but lost when your name is rattling around in my head. Loving you is easy and disorienting. Like I have nothing better to do than flail and drown and gasp for breath. Like my body wants to be in such a constant upheaval. Its miserable and perfect and completely insane but I wouldn't trade it for anything else. Because loving you is unreal; its like nothing I've ever experienced or heard of. Its the opposite of all the fairy tales. Opposite of everything I've ever dreamed of having. Its perfect. Its mind-boggling and stunning and devastating. I am helpless when it comes to you, completely at a loss. I have tried so many times to remove myself from your spell but its impossible, plain and simple. I cannot and never will be able to let you go. I doubt I will ever want to. You are this awe-inspiring, breath taking, intimidating, incredible creature and I'm hopeless. I'm yours. Completely and entirely. All you have to do is say the word.

For Her

A year ago today, God called you home. It's hard to believe an entire years has gone by without you. I can honestly say I miss you everyday. You were so much more than an aunt. You were a friend and a sister and a mom. There are so many things I wish you could've been here to experience. So many things I want to talk to you about. So many days where it still isn't real. I hope you'd be proud of who I've become. I hope you would look and me and smile and say "that's my girl". I miss you like you could never imagine. I love you.

Changing Love

We have a hard time correctly identifying love. Love in the sense of undying, unconditional, forever and always, life completing love. It's an overused word in the first place so it's lost meaning. We "love" pizza or we "love" a TV show or even "love" a celebrity. But im not talking about temporary, superficial like or even infatuation. Im talking LOVE. The kind you marry for. The kind in story books and Disney movies. I think we have this picture perfect idea of what "true love" should feel like. Like it always has to be at first sight, earth shaking, breath taking love. And maybe it is. But then again maybe its not. Part of the problem is that we expect every love to feel the same so when it's different, we don't always recognize it. I believe it's absolutely possible to love more than one person. Maybe you fall in love and then fall out then some time later, you fall angina forever. The thing is, you have to understand that those loves aren't going to feel the same. At the same time, even if you only ever love one person in your life, your love isn't going to be the same as someone else's. Your falling in love experience is exactly that, its YOURS. No one can tell you how its supposed to work or what time frame it should fit or the words you need to say. One might be fairy tale, princess and castles and birds singing and helping you with housework. But the other could be butterflies 24/7 and confusion but stone cold devotion through every trial. Love isn't a cookie cutter. It's not the same. We have to be open to letting it change and feel different in the wake of heartbreak if we are to have hope of loving again.

What Hides The Chipping Paint

Sitting on the floor, I stare up at the chipped tan paint. Maybe it used to be white, but years of abuse and over use have tainted it to its current tan color. Its been years since I saw this paint last. Years since I began the effort to cover it up. Littering the floor around me are the dozens of pictures that used to be taped there. Taped to that door. To the door I see every time I enter my room. Every time I leave. Every time I pass by. It felt surreal to take the pictures down. Snapshots of memories of laughter and friendship and love and joy. Snapshots of people who no longer have time for me. People I never see. People I'm adding to the long list of people I knew. Somehow I felt like a liar every time my eyes caught those happy faces, frozen in time and stuck on my door. Like a child holding on to a teddy bear long past the age at which I should have given it up. Relief flooded me when the first one came off with a satisfying pop. Then regret with the next. And nostalgia. And hurt. And then came the strength. With every memory off the door, I got stronger. Surrounded by the faces that haunt my memories and my dreams, I realize I no longer have time for people that have no time for me. I realize I am worth more than the occasional phone call or text. I am worth more than a few likes on Facebook. I will no longer feel hurt when I'm not tagged in a "best friend" post on Instagram. I will no longer be repulsed by the Snapchats I'm not included in. Because I am a young woman with a life and a goal and a mindset in which I have no time for trivial problems like abandonment. I am not one to throw away old photos simply because the people in them have changed. So for now, I'll stick them in a different place. Perhaps the pages of an overflowing smashbook or the clear plastic of a scrapbook, but no longer will they riddle my everyday life with questions and what ifs.

Glad For The Company

As much as I love the endless stream of dialogue and plot that flows constantly through my head, it has a tendency to exhaust me. I am never truly alone, constantly attended by the characters I've created and new ones forming in the blink of an eye. I am never truly bored, unceasingly besieged by their emotions, their words, and their situations. In the dead of night, as sleep closes around my consciousness, one of them will speak up and I lay for hours helping them out of imaginary snares and finding new paths for my manuscripts to take. They never blend together, their personalities so distinct but their faces are blurs and changes made with every second as I wonder weather adding a scar and a story will help develop my imaginary companion in a better way. I do not regret having them in my head. I don't care if people think I'm crazy. I don't care at all that talking this way makes me sound completely insane. But in moments when reality and pretend collide, and I am overwhelmed with things that need taking care of, their voices serve only to increase my anxiety. They are my friends and in recent days I have become overwhelmingly grateful for their companionship but sometimes I wish the voices would silence. I wish their plots would stop mid frame and let me breathe. I wish their imagined emotions couldn't so easily affect my own. I wish I had a breath of time all to myself with absolutely no one else around. And then, in the instant I wish for their eradication, I don't. I remember that their existence is the reason I've found a career path that I love. They are the reason I write. They are part of me. Their fears are my own, their dreams from my head, and their entire existence because of me. Because of them, I have come to know myself better and I have become a more complex person. And in that moment I no longer take them for granted, but sigh a sigh of relief, glad for the company.