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.