I was dreaming when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray
streams of consciousness
and cliches cliches cliches are all I can think in it seems. Am I doomed to repeat what has already been said? Are my thoughts poisoned corralled by the constant stream of posts, notes, and etc. I read online? A book or daily poem does not seem to be the remedy, maybe it’s a matter of proportion. For every classic I read there are a hundred screenshots. Two hundred notes. I regurgitate, in the name of what? Expressing myself? Connecting? Perhaps I’m just being dramatic. We’re living in a society, but society lives in us too. If I had a truly original idea, would anyone understand it? Would I understand it?
I like to ask people what it is that they wish they could adequately express to other people. If you were to ask me in return, my answer would be along the lines of:
I want people to believe me when I try to explain how deeply I care about them. I want to somehow communicate that unrelenting feeling of gentleness that grips my chest (is this an oxymoron? aren’t most feelings?). I would cut my heart out of my chest to prove it, but that would prevent me from continuing to love them.
We were supposed to be helping our friend move into her apartment (and we did help for a time), when she fell asleep on my shoulder on the couch. Unexpected. Only the second time we’d seen each other since five months long distance. I long for that feeling. Being comfortable enough to fall asleep next to each other midday. The joy of reunion with someone who just might stay in your life forever despite all of the odds. The assumption that you’ll do things together but asking anyway.
Yet far stronger than any nostalgia for the past is the ache (that word feels so washed out, forgive me) to build that kind of comfort again. Next time I will know how to cherish it properly. Next time I will have more to give. Next time I will know how to better care for a heart, and let mine be cared for.
Warm, hopeful, terrifying, imperfect. Maybe it won’t work out, or maybe it will. Maybe death will in fact do us part—but only for a time.
I used to be terrified that I’d given all the love I had to others in the past. Now I recognize that I have a far deeper and more mature love to give to someone in the future.
Why is it so hard for me to fathom how much longer eternity is than this life?
please let me be this cool
I love sunsets. I love sharing sunsets. If you do not like sunsets that is a MASSIVE red flag. If you do not like sunset photos, that is also a red flag. Yes, I know, a photo cannot adequately capture it. But unless you want to watch every sunset together, what’s the alternative? In the meantime, I will settle for the photos and the sweet anticipation of finally sharing one.
I had a vision a few months ago. She turned the corner near my garden as I was walking along the path next to it. Few of her features were revealed, and the whole thing lasted only a few seconds. I fell backwards, at least my soul and mind did; it remains unclear if anything caught it. But there was some instant recognition. This is it. The prayers have been answered. Am I insane for hoping that dream will manifest?
Why do I expect every new friend or anyone I date to up and leave at a moment’s notice (or lack thereof)? Do they not believe me when I say they can always come back into my life no matter how long it’s been? In therapy once it was explained that this is often because I tend to attract and care deeply for people who are hurting or in the middle of a particularly difficult moment. But if the price of caring for someone in pain is the possibility of being deserted, I will choose to anyway; people can leave either way.
To quote the James Brown song:
We don’t need another mountain
There are mountains and hillsides enough to climb
There are oceans, rivers enough to cross
And last ‘til the end of time
Oh, what the world needs now is love, sweet love
That’s the only thing
We don’t have
enough of
I am learning to accept gifts with open hands, but that doesn’t stop me from remembering their imprint on my palm from time to time.
And, now and again, I have been blessed with exceptions.
So what if I want that late night text. Sue me!
If romcom plots were truly impossible, then writers would have been able to dream them up in the first place.
I want to be in love in central park. I want to watch romcoms together. I want to sit on a rooftop and admire the view. I want to catch your eyes glimmering as you take in that view, and smile as you turn towards me when you notice me staring. And in even greater portion, I want to visit the places you want to take me.
I am laying on the floor of my closet and I do not even
No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends
recognize my eyes tearing up until drops begin trickling down my face
When I was a child, everything made sense. You could say “that’s because you didn’t know anything.” But do we know anything now, as adults? If anything, the only thing I know is that there is much I don’t know about.
My wax feathers melt into a molten spring
Nothing like Icarus
no freedom
no father’s warning
Only acknowledgement of my fate ten thousand feet below
Is there any way to brace for such a fall?
“My dad won’t stop singing prince to my mom in the kitchen”
ummmm HELLO best post of yours yet
i too hold this philosophy thank you for writing!