i remember

I remember, that essentially, I started to believe in God because of you. 

When we were little, I would have tears streaming down my face when they would yell.
You would clasp your hands and clench your eyes. 

Then you would look up.

you pitched me three steps

The other day, for the first time in a long time, I want you to know that I actually listened to you. Not that I normally ignore you, but I do. Just every once in a while. Because sometimes, you say things I just can't stand to hear. Like, "stop being so forgiving" and "I know you're not really an optimist, so stop acting so damn happy." 

But this time, I listened. You were pretty convincing, I must say.  You told me to stop worrying. That those panic attacks I  keep having are avoidable. You pitched me three simple steps.
One: Let go. 
Two: The ones who care, will love you regardless of your mistakes.

Three: A hike in the mountains can cure most un-diagnosable mental traumas. 

I wish it were as easy as that. But who am I to argue?

You're the one who has your life together. 

Maybe it's time to take a leaf out of your book.

we must not forget

I think it is most important for us to remember that there is no way

 all hope could be lost.

There are so many people for us to meet, that have not had the

 opportunity to change us.

 So many gestures of kindness we have not recieved.

 So many disguised miracles that we have not yet had the chance to witness.

To say all hope is lost is to say that nothing will change. 

That everything we have now will stay the same.

And to believe that, is to believe that nothing will ever get better. 

To believe that, is to condemn yourself to a life of regret. 

Hope is in the cracks under the door frame. 

Hope is in the green eyed six year old. 

Hope is the belief in something greater than yourself.

this is why I believe in heaven.

Her six year old eyes look at me, and I press my lips to her cheek."I love you, baby girl. I'll miss you so much. I'll see you again one day."

She doesn't fully understand what's happening, but she wraps her arms around my neck as I hold her."I love you too."

the scars on my back

Every once in a while, you'll hold me like you never want to let go.

Its that kind where my ribs mold together,

      and my chin remembers just how nicely it fits into the niche of your collarbone.     

           Your fingers become hooks, and as they slide into the skin on my back,

                 I tell myself that love is pain.

I entwine my body with yours even more.
And then you leave. But you always come back.
I'm dreading the day you don't.
I know a part of you wishes you could stay forever.

The scars on my back tell me so.

To thrive is to act.

The concept of forever.

                                                                                                  It's a wreck of a beautiful night.  

Not one thought about you.

This feeling is...elating.

I've been wading in the warm water for so long. My hands have pruned and my mind is cloudy from the steam that rises up off the water.

My mind clears for just a few seconds as a soft breeze passes over my head, and I know I have to get out. I need the cleansing feeling of change. I climb out of the water, although my body tries to stay in the comfort and warmth, and I stand over the lake. I stare into its ripples, and without too much thought, I jump. My body seizes up from the cold and as my head goes under, my senses clear.

For the first time in a long time, my mind is without the influence of you.

words

"And everyone, somewhere, is someone, if we only give them a chance."

"Now you've gone too fast. Now, you've made me leave me behind."

"The least you could do is uncross your heart. Unhope to die."

"Maybe it's because you're one of those people who believes that sometimes, the the most reckless thing you can do with your heart, is not being reckless with it."

"And the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. 

And that's the tragedy of living."

Sad Chairs

 

  Back in my day....

 The world's on fire. I think I'll sit here and watch it burn.

just say it

I want to fight with you, I want to laugh with you.

I want to be holding your hand in sixty years on an old park bench.

I want you and me to share memories no one else will understand. 

Six words.

All the days start the same.

This was waiting just for you.

I  guess that things are over...

She said you cry every night.

And ill see you really soon.

I guess you wanna know why...

Lets see how things play out.

I wont stop thinking about you.

Please understand. It's not your fault.

I do it all for you.

In another life.

I swear I've met you before.

It's impossible, believe me I know, but you're so familiar.
Its not your face that I recognize, but you.
Its in your eyes and in the way you say my name.
I think its pretty amazing that I came to love you in such a short time.
Maybe in another life we were best friends. You could've been the one who saved my life, or maybe you were the child that changed me.
All I know is that I've met you before.

When I had to leave you, know that I cried because I knew I would never see you again. It was like leaving a part of my soul.
I left a part of me with you.
And I carry your heart with me.*

I'm thinking maybe God intended for us to only meet briefly. Maybe he knows something we don't. Maybe he knows it would only change my life it I had to leave you.
Maybe you miss me as much as I miss you.
Regardless, I hope you know that you have changed me forever.

*Line from "I carry your heart with me" by E.E. Cummings

I just think this is pretty great.

you are exactly that.

You are beautifully confusing.

Not in a, "that painting is gorgeous, but it shouldnt be because it's just a whole bunch of splatters on a page" kind of way, but in a, "this fire on the mountain is surreal...its destroys everything and yet the destruction is mesmerizing" kind of way.

And I find that everyone is like this. Beautifully confusing, I mean.

She is sunshine when its snowing, and hes the only person clad in black in a colorful parade.
She's a lamppost in the middle of nowhere.
He's the only word written on a page and shes not quite sure who she is. Shes like a butterfly turned back into a caterpillar.

But being this complicated, yet amazing mess of emotions and feeling is exactly what makes you, well, you.

Thanks for that, by the way.

For being you.

Because without you, nothing would be the same.

Three Things

If I could tell you three things before I die, it would be this:

  1. Do what you can to change someone's life.

  2. Music is the best medicine.

  3. If they're wrong about you, tell them to shut up.

Answer: Unknown.

This is blackness. This is blackness and darkness and nothing more.
I was told there should be stars, or maybe gray clouds to brighten up my surroundings...but I guess it was all pretend.
They told me it would be dark in the beginning, and that I wouldn't be able to see any hope for a little while.
They told me this would pass.
But as I look down at my hands that have turned dull from the lack of light, and at my fingernails that should exist more than they do, I think maybe they were all lies.
This space around me is stifling and although I have several paths that lie in front of me, they all look the same.
They all look worn and rocky and maybe just a little bit too treacherous for my battered body.
So I sit here and send one uncomplicated thought out into the universe:
Where do I go from here?

"To achieve something you've never achieved before, you must become someone you've never been before."

-Brian Tracy

Peace Is Not Found In The End, But In The Emptiness.

I wish I didn't think about Death.
Correction: I wish I  were younger,  so I wouldn't have to think about Death.
But since I do think about it...I wonder.
Do you think Death knows what God's like?
I assume they work hand in hand.
Do you think God always calls the shots, or does Death choose when to take a life, too?           Do you think Death ever disagrees when God orders it to take a soul?

Mostly, when I think of Death, I wonder what it's afraid of.
Is it afraid of razors, pills, and guns? Is Death scared of taking those lives that have been cut short?
Or is Death scared of nothing, and does it just have a black, pitiless heart like most of us seem to believe?

I prefer to think of Death as the kinder version.
I want to believe that Death cries a little bit when he takes a premature soul.
I like to imagine that Death takes because it has to, not because it can.
When Death takes a spirit that is torn apart and bitter from the experiences Life has given it, I like to think that Death soothes the mind and puts band aids on their sores.

I think Death is truly happy when it takes a spirit that is not hateful or overjoyed, but content.

i present you with a platter full of tantalizing inhibitions.

I don't want to tell you my fears.
But I will anyway. Maybe it will end up being good for me.
It's not because I think you'll take advantage, it's because I'm terrified you wont think I'm strong.
And I need to be the soldier.
I need to be that foundation that everyone can lean up on.
I'm scared that if you knew this rock was crumbling from the inside out, you'd go find a stronger one.
A different rock.
And I need you.

That's one of my fears. Needing you.

Since I just threw that one out there, I may as well tell you I'm also scared of people being taken from me.
I'm scared  because you've already left me once.

I guess I'll tell you that I'm scared of the ocean.
Not of drowning, but of the actual ocean.
I'm scared of the abyss of nothingness that goes down and down and down...

I'm terrified of what I cant see.

Waking up on an even number? Forget it. 6:59 sounds just about perfect to me.
Don't even get me started on centipedes.
I'm scared of that little window of time, because then I recall the memories of you.
Maybe I'm just a little scared of you.
I'm terrified of when I actually let myself think, because my thought process quickly goes on a long downward spiral...
These are thoughts no one should have. I'm scared of the deepest part of my mind.
Every once and a while I'm scared that I missed that one moment.
I'm afraid of what I said, because I know I can never take it back.
Yesterday, I was afraid of today.
I'm scared that God dosent hear me pray. Maybe I'm scared that one day I'll just give up and throw this all away.

I'm mostly scared of myself.
I'm afraid that I'll never have the strength to get over that one thing holding me back.
But oddly enough, I've never been afraid of death.
Sometimes I'm afraid of what you'll do to yourself.
I'm afraid I wont be able to help.
I'm terrified that the one day I'll forget to say I love you will be the day your life is stolen.

But almost always, I think I'm scared of this life that keeps going on and on.
I'm scared that my words will be forgotten.

I think I'm scared that when I finally leave this earth, nothing good will be left of my memory. I'm scared that you'll burn whats left of me , and never take a second glance back.

Numb.

She realized, just a little too late, that they were gone.
The feelings...they had disappeared.
With her head in her hands, she felt the numbness that comes only with being completely empty.
She felt cold.
The snow drifted down and stuck to her marble body.
She was a box.
An empty box with no emotion or empathy.
The pain...the fear...the anger.
It was all gone.
The peace, the wonder.
Gone.

And she realized what she had truly wished for.

Its Not Simple, But Thanks Anyway.

Simplicity.

Apparently, everything is supposed to be simple.

It's either do, or do not.   
Lead, or follow.                
Be, or don't be.
Love, or hate.

If only.

Every small emotion, feeling, or action, has a detailed background.

Don't tell me its simple. Its not.

Simplicity.
Or the lack thereof.

I'm Always Thinking of You.

I'm thinking.

I'm thinking about the first time I knew I loved you.

It was summertime and the rain was falling down lightly.

I came over to your house after a long hard day, and you took me by the hand.

We went to your room and we crawled into your bed. 

You wrapped your arms around me.

You told me to sleep.

So I laid my head on your chest and I curled up against your body.

I don't think I ever remember feeling more at home.

I'm thinking about when I woke up, because that's when I knew. 

I opened my eyes and looked up at your face, and I felt it.

I felt that moment of realization. I knew that even if I wanted to change my mind now, I couldn't.

 I remember thinking to myself that I loved you.

I remember being terrified. 

I'm thinking about how that was so long ago.

I'm thinking about how so many things have changed.

I'm thinking about how I still love you, if only more strongly.
I'm thinking about how my favorite sound is your heartbeat.

I'm thinking about how every fight and every unsure moment was, and will be, worth it.

Because you're my best friend. 

I'm thinking that I'm happy.

This is nothing.

I really want to write about absolutely nothing.
Is that bad?
Maybe it is. But I think I'll just write about nothing anyway.
I want to write about the black screen after a movie ends, right before the credits.
I want to talk about the blank page in a book between the introduction and the first page.

I want to acknowledge the silence in between two songs on a CD.
Because those vacant pauses mean nothing.
They are simple, undeniable, nothings.  And sometimes it feels so good, for something to be nothing.
Because sometimes, nothing is peace.
Because nothing, cannot be, and will not be, touched by you.
Even you cannot turn nothing into something.
And I love that.
I love that when I see or hear or think of nothing, it can't remind me of you.
Nothing is freedom from you.
So I guess technically, nothing is sometimes everything.

L'amore va avanti.

I found Love in northeastern Italy. 

It was a small town with churches and mosaics.

Love was sitting there, at a humble table with two chairs.
Only one was filled.

I walked over with this one thought: when will I ever have the opportunity to question Love again?

I asked, politely, if I could please take a seat. 

Love, with one hand under its chin, gestured at me to sit.

Damn.

Love was exhausted.

The circles under its eyes and the hunched shoulders said it all.

It was devastating to see something so real, so beautiful, and so powerful, 

look so beaten.

Choosing my words carefully, I wondered to Love if I could maybe ask a few questions.

I quickly explained that I just wanted to know a few who's, and whys, and how's.

Love responded by saying,

"I will answer what I can."

So I started with a simple why. 

"Why, Love, can you be so painful?"

Love said it cannot grow to it's full potential without a little misery.

So then I asked,
"Do you always have good intentions?"

Love told me, "Always."

I asked who had made Love so sad.

This brought a small smile to Love's face. 

Love looked me in the eyes and said,

"I am not sad. I am worn.

 I have been used, broken, abused, mended, and manipulated. 

I have been rekindled. 

I have felt the most magnificent joys and the most crushing heartbreaks.

 I have helped bring about miracles, and I have also caused destruction and death. 

I have no limits and there is no scale to embody me. 

Some hate me. Some obsess over me. Some are scared of me. 

Almost everyone, at one point or another, wishes I did not exist. 

I am selfish and selfless.

 I am indescribable. 

I am imperfect.

I am tired."

We sat in silence.

The time ticked by while I pondered what I had been told.

As dusk approached, Love stood.

 It looked at me with knowing eyes. 

I asked Love what it was going to do now. 

Love told me it would continue on, as it always had.

Love told me it understood the consequence of its absence.

Know.

I know.

I know what  you're going to say to me.

I know you're going to tell me this is my fault. And it is, so I'll let you say it.

I know I have absolutely no right.

But here I am.

You know I still need you in some form in my life. You know that.

You know I can't do anything right the first time.

You know that when I actually realize what I've done, it's usually too late.

I know you're just following my orders.

You know I've begged you to never listen to a word I say.

You know I didn't really want this.

I know you didn't want this either.

You and I both know it was a mistake.

So what now?

To be alive.

The purpose of being alive, is to live.

     You cannot live without knowing who you are.

          You cannot know who you are, without knowing your roots.

               To live, you must explore. You must love. You must fail. 

The first time I felt alive was the first time I felt true sadness.

     The second time was when I realized I didn't have control of my own heart.

          The third time was lucid. I was standing on top of the world.

               To live, we must acknowledge simple truths.    

    

To be alive is to welcome pain with open arms.

     To be alive is to be let love in, and not turn away from it when it lets us down.

          To be alive is to feel.

                                        

                

It's nice to meet you, my names Cora.

This will be my safe place. This will become my grandmother's backyard.
This will be snickers bars, swing sets, and rainy days. It will be the peace that comes only with being completely submerged by water.
But I hope, too, that it will become inspiring. I hope for it to be real and to truly reflect my wandering soul. My spirit never rests and my mind never stops striving for what it does not know.
I am uneasy and paranoid and a little confused with why things are the way they are. Thankfully I'm still naive enough to make a habit of faith.
I want to run away and explore the world. I believe most nights should be spent in small cafes with dim lighting, a book, and the smell of coffee overwhelming the senses.
If I didn't love people so much, I would hide myself away. I would hide in a big city where everyone is too busy to notice the individuality that surrounds them.
But people are what make this life worth living. Relationships, whether good or bad, invite us to learn of a part of life they cannot teach in school. We can find true joy and unbound hate intertwined with the relationships we willingly or unwillingly develop.
Joy and hate; both dangerous emotions that we need to truly get the most out of life.
I believe that every moment happens for a reason and the punches life throws at us are meant to be taken.
The greatest people come from several broken hearts. Once the heart has been mended, it has the wisdom to be cautious and the ignorance to trust again, regardless of past experience. I wish that people could see the blessing of a broken heart. If they're bitter and cynical from a former wound, then their heart may still be fractured.
I warn you that I'm scatter brained and unsure of what i really am. I know little, but learn from every mistake.
I will travel until I find the place I truly belong. Which I fear will be a long time...maybe never.

These are the tales of a wanderer.

Join me.