Revitalization's Weblog

For the curious, questioning, and wandering soul

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You thought

You thought he was going to be the next great love, another great chapter in the love story of your life. Another man, another great love, perhaps the great love. You saw so much potential in him, he was handsome, he was charming, his smile just melted you, his laugh…. his openness, his bluntness, the way he was raw with you. Even the way he was hesitant, unsure…. this was new for you, not another man trying to get you, you… you had to work for him, show him, encourage him… it was novel indeed.

Gosh, I thought he felt the same way. Maybe he didn’t know it yet. Maybe he was unsure. Maybe he was still stuck on his ex. He didn’t imagine it could be this good, that he could meet someone like me, beautiful, ambitious, smart, successful, funny, talented, caring, open, and honest. He didn’t know what to do with what was sitting right in front of him… why didn’t he know what to do? Why didn’t he try to chase me, capture me, hold on to me because of all that I am…. Did he not see the potential in us that I saw, that I deeply knew. Why was he not being honest with himself. We could be so great.

Gosh. Goddamn. I wanted it to be him. I wanted him to give me what I’ve had before and even more. You’re always told the next love isn’t better, it’s different, but it also fits just a little bit more. I thought he was going to fit a little bit more. I thought he would eventually choose me. But he didn’t. Why didn’t he choose me…

He told me he had reservations. He had doubts. Fucking emotional baggage. I don’t blame him or his exes. It is what it is, but why couldn’t he be more mature and overcome those things. It the saying really true, it’s not only the right person, but it’s also the right time. I would hope, so deeply hope, that if I met the right person that they would choose me, no matter the time, day, night, heartache, or jubilee, the would want me to be there, they would try, they would hold onto me.

He didn’t hold onto me. He told me he wasn’t sure of what he wanted. He told me I was amazing. He told me it was unfair of him to make me wait. Well that’s goddamn for fucking sure. Goddamit. What an idiot. A beautiful, handsome, lovely idiot.

I just go over it in my head. Over and over and over and over. I try to look at every moment. Every conversation. And scrutinize and figure out. All in all, I did fucking awesome, I was honest, I was open, I told him exactly how I felt, I held my standards, and… he still didn’t choose me, he still didn’t want me. Is that what’s driving me? The want of something I cannot have? I don’t think so. I really, truly, deeply think that I am still… still…. I still question why he didn’t choose me because I had high hopes, I saw the potential, but I also felt the connection. As I dwell on it, dwelllllllll, well I start to question it, it starts to grow and distort in my mind, it looses it’s original shape, it’s original dimensions. It starts becoming art, a creation, a fiction of my imagination… It starts to become something that it’s not. I wish my head could lead my heart. I wish to believe that I met a great guy last year, in the winter, and we went on a few dates, and we kissed, and I was excited, but we were in different places, he didn’t know what he wanted and I knew and I still know. He told me I was amazing, he said I wouldn’t be single long. Well that’s the shittiest of them all, isn’t it. Like he is trying to comfort me that some other guy will scoop me up because I’m so great. Fuck you. Fuck you man. Shit. I don’t want to hear that from you, of all people. I wanted that man to be you. You let me go, and you told me to move on. Double whammy. Wha-pow. Damn.

I look at you, and it’s starting to be from a distant. I think time allows us to let things go. Dissociation. The natural forgetting. The forgetting of your face, your glasses, your hair, your hugs, and your smile. The forgetting of the way you radiated when I made you laugh. The forgetting of how awkward and deep your voice was on the phone.

Mixed emotions is an understatement. Because I am glad I met you. You, you reminded me of the things I value, of the qualities I look for in someone. I could list off a hundred, but let’s not blow up your ego while I’m the one feeling down, okay? You’re great, I know it and you know it because I was so persistent with you. But I also want to forget you. I think about you and the missed potential often. I guess there was no potential, there was no reality, no future. You weren’t there. Everything I imagine, it wouldn’t have happened. I want to ease my mind and my heart. I want to slow down and take a breath. I want to remind myself that there are great, wonderful guys who will love me back, who will want me. It’s rare. Maybe I’m saddened by spotting something rare and having to let it whisp by, willingly. I have to encourage myself to let you go. Because you let me go, willingly, you saw me, you knew me, you knew how I felt about you, and you let me go. You told me to move on.

Attachment is suffering, the Buddhists got it right. But attachment is human. And suffering is human. And even with the suffering, I am glad to have known you but more importantly known the potential. Just like my ex, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, because it was such a huge experience and part of my life. I want to be able to admire the beauty in our situation and apply it to the future, without the heartache or sorrow of missing something with you.

I want to tell myself that you were’t right for me. That the right person would have chosen me, every single fucking time. I want to tell myself that you’re an idiot, you’re a shitless coward, you live within your fear. Who the fuck am I to say these things? I will say, it wasn’t black and white. You left us in a gray zone. You left me in a gray zone. And you left me to make my way through the fog, squinting, trying to find my way to the light.

Look. I guess all I’m trying to say is. I am sorrowful for my mind and for my heart. I want to ease them both, comfort them, and reassure them. You let me go. You did that. I had no power, no control. All things considered, I think I handled that situation like a boss. You let me go, and I have to let you let me go. I have to be okay with that. I want to be okay with that. I want you to become a distant memory now. Something of my past. Something I can fondly remember as a distant memory that would take 3.5 seconds to recall and to mull over and to brush past. Like men of my past… I want your details, our interactions, our conversations, I want them to fade away. I want to find someone who wants me, who wants to hold onto me and never let me go, someone who will fight fucking hard to be with me and will show me every damn day that they care about me.  I want a great love. It’s difficulty to find.

I acknowledge that I miss you, that I wish you gave us a chance, that you told me to move on and that you didn’t want to date me. I acknowledge my sorrow and sadness about the situation. I acknowledge that for what ever reason the timing and maybe definitely the person wasn’t right. I acknowledge that my eyes start to water when I feel my heart starting to break. And I acknowledge my desire to move on, to find someone great and for it to be different, even better for me.

A, I wish you the best. I wish that you find your peace with your exes and your past. I wish that you do everything you want in life. And most of all, I wish that you find a beautiful, wonderful, smart, loving woman who will fulfill everything that you want, make you feel wanted and safe, and who will push you, challenge you and grow with you. I want only good things for you. I hope you find great love and I hope when you find her that you hold onto her and don’t let her go. I hope that you know that you’re deserving, that others shouldn’t ever question your worth, that you’re  a catch. I wish you only the best in your future and just… stay open, don’t be jaded, let her in, she means well. I hope you find her when you’re open and ready and supposed to find her.

Mindful

The music starts to play, lightly, the piano sings a soft lullaby, lulling your mind, sweeping your thoughts into currents and eddies, floating effortlessly, moving with the air, with the wind. You watch the keys dance, ivory white leaping and diving in a choreographed ballet with their jet black partners following in suit. It’s as if that’s all they know, because it is all they know and all they will ever know. Their purpose and their intention being to follow their bony puppeteers, the true orchestrators, and translate thought into harmonious cadence, inviting unsuspecting listeners to be swept up in sweet serenity.

the earth may not blink, not even pause for a moment

let the politicians figure it out. let them fight the fights. let the soldiers go to battle.

sometimes, I think it’s all overwhelming. I think all that is here, on this earth, it’s too much–all the people, all the suffering, all the fighting, all the arguments, all the killing, all the sadness, all the joy, all the beauty, all the births and all the deaths, all the life changes, all the milestones, all the relationships, all the animals, all the diversity, all the open spaces, all the deep oceans, all the stars in the sky, all the vastness, all the evolution, all the religion, all the politics, all the thoughts, all the beliefs, all the misunderstandings, all the relationships, all the marriages, all the families, all the childhoods, all the nightmares, all the fears, all the faith, all the rivers, all the trees, all the woods, all the shorelines, all the specs of sand, all the cars, all the planes, all the trains, all the poverty, all the disease, all the hunger, all the hopelessness, all the damaged, all the injustice, all the talk, all the noise, all of it. All of it, constant and real.

how does one wrap one’s mind around all of it, constantly changing, morphing, evolving? how does one keep track? how does one make any sense out of everything? It’s terrifying, and amazing, sad and joyous, earth-shattering and awesome. It everything. And, when were in the middle of it, in the thick of this madness, in the center of the storm, in between foresight and hindsight, I can only find indescribable fear that one day, it will all be gone.

All of it, gone from memory, gone from conciousness. And the earth may not blink, not even pause for a moment, not even flinch. Time will go on, people will keep moving, talking, and the noise will only get louder.

I don’t understand. I cannot comprehend why there is such cruelty, such disregard. To experience something so awesome, so tantalizing, so inspiring, only to have to leave it, leaving not a trace and taking… nothing.

Where’s my mind at?

this is where my mind lingers:

The aqua blue water whirled, bubbles rising towards the surface. The water is clear, with little specs glimmering as they sink to the sand. There’s no life here, only brown-white sand, that stretches for miles. Somehow I can stay below, eyes open and no breath needed. I look all around, but there’s only soft sand and the movement of the soft waves.

I push off the ground, my toes dig into the sand. As my head breaks the water, I peer up at cloudy skies. White billowing clouds stream across the sky. As I face the horizon, there’s nothing but water in every direction. It’s perfectly calm.

I blink, and it changed. From light to dark. From day to night- but it is not night, not really. Dark chaotic clouds rise, rumbling. The atmosphere is electric, the darkness romantic. These heavenly beings surging with power. I feel it coming: the first strike. With a loud crack, light fills every inch of space and mind.

Snatching the Unattainable, Only for You

Fuck this shit. FUCK this. These expectations are too high. You put them there, on the highest shelf. Out of reach. Criticize and criticize, until you’re blue in the face. Fuck this shit. I hate it. I cannot handle it. I’m supposed to be hard and tough, build a hard, plastic shell around myself to protect my fragile innards from the verbal wasteland known as your mouth. Well, I don’t. I don’t have a shell, perhaps I tried to build one, make one…. but it has cracks, deep cracks and go straight to the core. and every time you poke, every time you comment, it sticks that dagger a little deeper, it widens the crack a little more, revealing a swirl of vulnerabilities.

Ok, so I’m not good enough. Is that what you’re getting at? That I’m not worthy of this time and this money, these resources and all that you’ve given me? Is that it? Because I cannot achieve the best, be the best, be the one and only BEST, that I am not worthy. This may have been a bad investment. I may have been a bad investment, because I certainly am not what you want, what you desire in your heart.

You, you want perfection. You want this from me. How cruel and undeserved. You tell me I’m wasting time, I’m wasting money, I am wrong, I only do things wrong wrong wrong. I can hardly take anymore. It is hurting my heart. And I’m afraid that there may be some permanent damage.

Oh sure, you’re blind with a vision. You’re blind with ego. But, you don’t see what you’re doing to me. Breaking me down, with every small comment, telling me oh so very indirectly that I am imperfect and wrong. Never right. I can never be right or good.

Disappointment, that’s all I ever feel. Well, perhaps that’s a bit extreme, but that’s what I feel right now. Disappointment because I cannot attain the unattainable. Because I am not good enough, and you expected more. You set the bar too high. And while I have tried for years and years to reach that bar, standing on the tippiest toes, I always stumbled, I always bumbled in your eyes. You don’t see me, you only see my faults. You only see what could be, what should be. You don’t see what I am, and what I have achieved, what I have managed to accomplished in the endless pursuit of trying to appease you and your thirst for perfection from me.

Oh it’s tiring, oh I am tired. This has been an arduous journey and I feel myself breaking down. I try to shield my fragile beating heart from those words, I try to persevere. But, there comes a time when you get through to me. You cut right into me, break me down and tell me to stand up to take some more.

How am I supposed to be a confident young woman, outgoing and smart? How am I supposed to tackle this world and believe that anything is possible, when, you have undoubtedly shoved straight into my face that hardly anything is possible, because I have achieved almost nothing.

You break me down, but I still come whimpering back, trying to please and appease, trying to gain your approval and praise, trying, desperately trying to snatch the unattainable-only for you. I try, I try, and I keep trying.

Where You Stand

“You, from where you are, you cannot see the naked boy

The naked boy holds the camera

You are the naked boy before the camera

Or you are here and you are imagining the naked boy

This is not a dream and this is not a dream relationship

The boy wants to touch you

You are the other boy

The city is far away up in flames.

We’ve come a long way to be here

We said we wanted to get away from it all, but when we arrived in this place, it was all still here

It traveled with us

The histories, the bookmarks are part of your body

So all that you are is where you stand

Naked and getting more naked

A weight without weapons, a body of work

You stand at the edge of the rest of your life. This is what you stand for.

The boy stands with you, beside you, before you. The boy is the life you stand before and you are the boy standing at the edge

Stand by me. Stand by me.”

-Chris Goode

my mind forgets, like a sepia photograph slowly turning white

Memory: intangibly forever. It’s really all we have in this life. When time speeds up and our lives slow down, all we are left with is a shallow collection of memories—it’s all we have, it’s the only proof of a life lived that counts. While the ability to trap time and space within our minds is utterly glorious, it is undeniably frustrating.

As I grow, as I age, I find that my memories from yesteryear are riddled with gaping holes, leaving shreds of random recollections. While they may not be random, while there may be some subconscious grave importance to the memories I still keep, I cannot help feeling disappointed in the inability to remember every single solitary moment.

My memories are sliced into pieces, spliced together, and strung along a string. Like a kindergarten art project, my memories are hole-punched. Euphoric memories are salvaged, while dull and negative memories are excised. They are snipped from the stream of remembrance, and discarded so carelessly. They fade away, like a sepia photograph slowly turning white.

My mind buries the bad. My mind forgets, consciously concealing.

I find myself remembering only certain things; I tie these recollections down with double knots, and think about them for weeks, months, and years. I never fatigue from grasping onto these memories with clenched fists, constantly dissecting them, mulling them over, trying to dive deeper, searching for… something true.

I hold on tightly, perhaps TOO tightly. And while I desperately cling to certain events, others are forgotten. They are shoved out, dumped like trash in a gutter. I find myself disappointed in the limitations of my mind. It is devastating to know that those memories are gone—those first memories of light and sound as a newborn, the memories of walking and talking for the first time, memories of a childhood—they are all slipping away. WHY! I want to hold onto my humanity. I want to remember and reflect and ponder and know EACH day of my life. Each and every single day that I lived, that I was in existence. WHY should I have to forget.

I don’t want to forget this life. I don’t want to forget what it meant to live, what it meant to grow and evolve. I don’t want to forget the progression. I don’t want to forget myself.



his heart heavy, his head hangs…

A broken man sits at the bar, drink in one hand. His other hand sits clenched and white, full of fury. Darkness drops from his eyes. Wrinkles etched into his brow, etched with regret. His heart heavy, his head hangs.

His weathered eyelids close for a moment, as if hoping to escape, for only a moment

He opens his eyes. Takes a quiet sip. Puts his glass down and stares ahead. Gray eyes lost in a muddled past.

Dark. Black. Possibility.

Sometimes I wrap my hands across my eyes and peer into the black. I see abyss. Dark. Black. Possibility.

I see what I could be. I envision something… different.

I see a little girl, frolicking on the dusty street in her faded dress and bare feet. I see a newborn baby, with soft pink eyes shut tight, dreaming of light and sound. I see a young man dropped to the ground with his head in his palms, broken. I see a child peeking around the corner, only to catch a glimpse of golden light pouring through glass windows. I see a woman running along the tides, thunder rumbles behind as her hair whips back in the wind.

I envision something… desperate, something forgotten

And what do I want?

I think I’m more hopeful. I think this summer has been great. Some flirtations, some adventures, some great conversations. I think there’s a lot that the future holds. I think that I’m beginning to know not only who I am, but what I can do. What I can achieve. What I want.

And what do I want?

I’ve said this before. I’ll say it again. I want love, I want life, I want a pure and sincere happiness that runs deep. I want adventure and surprise, I want to be better. I want to be STRONG, confident, powerful, and able. Able to choose, able to believe, able to aspire, able to achieve, able to reach, and able to grab.

I think I’ll get there. I think I’m getting there. To that point where I can finally be the best version of me, and offer that person to a world where acceptance is abundant and ambition flows.

I think I’m getting there. And while my road has had bumps, grooves, obstacles and u-turns, I’m getting somewhere. There are two directions, there has always been two directions: up and down.

I choose up.

For a moment the earth has slowed down, the mind settles, and all that matters are deep breaths of pure, cold air.

I imagine I’m sitting at a cafe, under an awning. It’s raining. It’s night. I’m just sitting there, breathing in that clean, crisp smell. The water falls on cobblestone roads, as the yellow streetlights reflect across the pavement.

It’s a quiet rain. A heavy mist.

It seems like everything is calm, for a moment. For a moment the earth has slowed down, the mind settles, and all that matters are deep breaths of pure, cold air.

blind yourself

life is about distracting yourself. Blinding yourself. Making yourself look away from the harsh truth that death is.

Death is

harsh

blunt

lonely

cold

finding love isn’t easy, you have to be ready for it

Some people are open to love. Some people live with open hearts and those kinds of people find each other- at the supermarket, book store, coffee shop, or what have you. Those kinds of people will love often, and grow frequently.

I’m not sure if I’m like that- for some reason, maybe life experience or maybe genetics, I’m not someone who is open and free with love. I hate that. I wish I was open, honest, and forward.

hmm… some people have it…. some people know what love is, how to attract it, how to find it… some people are in touch with that… that innate human intuition…

dusty footprints are swept away

I think about those common people, who have been swept away with the wind. Those who have died, those who have loved, those who have lived greatly, those who were. I think about those people who used to be living, and now exist only in the wind. While they tried, desperately, to put their footprints on early terrain, while they tried to create lasting impressions, to make differences, to be remembered.. they were forgotten. And to no one’s fault… they were forgotten because that’s what happens…….and that’s what always will happen… people forget, memories fade fast, and dusty footprints are swept away by the breeze.

I wonder if that’ll happen to me. I know inevitably it will. I know that everyone I know and everyone I will ever know will fade away with me, when I’m gone. I know it will happen. It’s an eerie feeling, and a spooky thought. While I have lived, and while I am trying to do good and great things…I will fade… along with all that I know, and all that I’ve done. In some sense, one must ponder, then what’s the point. Why even try? Because in the end, everything breaks, and people forget… but I think it matters. If not to anyone else, actually… to no one else, it still matters. To you. You will remember, and you will have lived, and loved, and done grand things… you will remember… even after being swept away… I hope………. I hope I will remember

I am not alone. and I love that.

I feel BRIGHT and WARM. Inside my smile, inside my chest. I love this feeling of closeness, of connection, of relating. I feel like this, right HERE, this is reaching out.. what we do here is reaching out.. trying to grapple and grasp onto anything that we can relate to. WordPress- it allows us to attempt… attempt to find someone who we can relate to, people who we can feel with and feel close to. It’s about trying to reach out, and see how similar humanity truly is. And while we’re going through our own lives, and it may seem near impossible that there are others who are experiencing the same thing, I think this helps us see that it is near possible that there are. There are people just like me, just like you, just like them, who are having the same thoughts, same feelings, same emotions, same ideas, and while, in this ever-lonely world where human contact is dwindling, we are still reaching out- across oceans, trying to grapple and grasp someone who is the same. I love that.

You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself.

you know… it’s about a lot. and this might just be bullshit, but hey who knows, it might be true…

today, i just feel like writing, and i just feel like there might be someone listening. I feel like, if anything, I could be listening! I will listen. listen up self.

it’s about a lot. life, i mean. life’s about a lot, and it’s about realizing that life’s not short. LIFE IS LONG. Life is long, and hard, and beautiful, and tough, and crazy, and at the end, we may want more. I mean, quenching a thirst for life, I don’t think that even exists- you gotta want more and more, and at the end, you feel like wow, it’s done. life’s done? i mean…. really? how can that be? And i hope that once i get to that point, when I’m saying Wow, life’s done, and this is done, i hope that… well i hope that i had a great one. One that i can be happy with, and feel fulfilled. Not financially, or professionally, or superficially… but internally, and simply happy. content with what i’ve become. content with what has happened.

Life is long. and… while i fear a lot… i fear that everything won’t happen for me… i fear that i made mistakes.. i fear that i won’t have enough time… i have to believe that it will happen for me, and that while i have made mistakes, there is time and it will happen. it will come.

It will come. Will it come? I think we have to believe that it will. I think there is no other way to live. Because to live in fear, doubt, and frustration… well that’s no way to live. Oh sure, fleeting doubt and fear, it comes, but it should go. let it go.

Let it go. And hold onto hope, and believe that it will come. Because, if anything, trust in the fact that you have yourself, if nothing else, and if no one else, you have yourself. And that’s special. That’s unique, and undeniable. That’s remarkable, and no one can take that away from you, even after it’s all over. Even after death, you have yourself.

You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself. Be honest with yourself. Because in the  end, things break, people leave, and the world turns- and if there is nothing left, nothing at all, you have you. You have you, and that’s remarkable. So trust in yourself, trust in life, trust in promise, trust in the human condition, trust in you that: it’s about a lot, and while life is long, it will come. So let it go because you have yourself. Undeniably.

Why do we get to be?

Fragments. Fragmented, cut up, broken. It’s what we know. These sharp shards of all that we know sit in our minds, and somehow we cope. I mean I don’t really get it… I don’t get how I can live in this world, and accept that I don’t, and will never understand everything. I don’t get how I can live in this world, and walk the same paths, and do the same things, and see the same people, and not understand everything. Honestly.

We come into this world, a screaming pink ball, so angry that we had to come out of that comfort place, that beautiful warm womb. We come into this world, and are expected to adapt. And grow. And accept. Accept all that we see, and all that is, we must accept it because it is here, and it is real, as real as we know. And because it is here and because we can see it, touch it, feel it, it is real, and that’s all that matters. So we live in this world.

We live with these fragments. Fragments of what life is. Fragments of what “human” means. Fragments of a higher power that is all knowning. Fragments of an eternalness of it all. Fragments of the universe that we somehow, somehow are a part of, without even acknowledging it, we are, we are a part of it. Fundamentally, and essentially. It is unquestioning. Right? Maybe.

I just don’t get it. I mean, I get that there is life, and there is us, because I am here, at least in this moment I think I am, and I think that’s good enough to acknowledge that this is true. Right now is happening, at least we think it is. But, in essence, what does it matter if it truly is or isn’t. Because thought, and agreement that what is, IS, well that makes things real. And so I am sitting here, real. I am real, and you are real, and we are living in this world together, as we imagine it and percieve it, and how we see it makes it how it is, because that is all we know. And so we sit here, together, in this world, seeing, living, breathing, and nothing.

No questions. No demands for answers! NOTHING! I don’t get it! I don’t get how people are just “OK” with this. This reality- people accept it, undeniably. As if this is real, because it is what we know. There is no questioning. None. There is no question about why! There are no questions about us, and the universe, and where we come from- where these personalities, and thoughts, these complex and unique thoughts come from. Sure, from DNA, from genes, from biology, but why? Why do we have capabilities to be? To be freely thinking and moving? Why do we get to be?

Why do we get to be?

I guess that’s the question right there. And, if we get to be, and I think most would agree, at least those who are, that we are, right now, right here, we are. And if we are, and we get to be, and maybe it’s this wonderful gift, maybe it’s a mistake, maybe it just is, then why do we get to die? Why do we have to die? Why do we get to live and get to die- it should be really one or the other. But then again, who I am to say what things “should” be like. Haha, it’s comical really, to think that we can suggest how things “should” be, when we have no control over how things are. We are just thrown into this reality, and are expected to accept it, and to just be “ok” with the fact that we get to live and we get to die.

So why do we get to be? And why do we get to die?

That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood

And you stand with hair pulled back, and your hands are pressing against your ears, and all you can hear is the pattering sound of water on your skull, your cranium, your mind. And then the water rushes in, and fills all voids, swishes around and around in your mind, warm and fuzzy. Warm lights. Yellows and orange, it’s so peaceful, as if in back in the womb, when there was absolutely nothing, where there was just warmth, and light, and dim echoes of sounds, and the comforting sound of a mother’s heartbeat, of a mother’s voice. And your eyes are closed, and a slight smile sits on your lips, and you are cared for, and loved, and all is wondrful and beautiful because you are here, surrounded by warmth.

And then you open your eyes, and you see where you are, and  you see you. You see you and what you have become and you wonder what the hell you are doing right here, right now. If you have made ANY difference in this fucking world that you have been living in, so blindly. As if you haven’t started living, as if you are waiting for something good or great, something to change, some major life change  after which you will start living as the person you want to be, and you feel you need that fuckng push. That SHOVE. And it doesn’t come, and so you wait, and you slump, and your shoulders hunch, and your eyes lower, and your spirit withers, and all you have, all you hang onto is that little glimmering hope that ONE DAY that change will come. It will bring you up, lift you high and take you across, where all is good and wonderful, where life begins, and where you so desperately belong. And as you wait, and wait, and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait, you see the fucking damage that this time, this torturous time has had on your rocky heart, and your wrinkled brow. And then self-pity sets in.

And all you want to do is crawl back into that warm place. That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood and flushes your cheeks. That place that you know was the one place where you were sure, and all you had to do was close your eyes, rest your mind, and feel soft pulses, plush sounds, calm breaths. Just be still.

Diaries of a Vagabond

I sit here, listening to some sad music, putting me in the mood, urging me to write pitiful words. Hah. The hairs stand on my arms, my eyes ache. I love the violins, the sad sad violins.

Just BREAK me down! I am starting to crave it—just an earth-shattering blow to my world. Break it into one trillion pieces, break crack rip smash. Oh what I would give to…. To move, to start again and again and again. It gets so boring. One life, one way of  life, I’m tired. Turn it upside down, shake my shoulders. Am I seriously the only one? The only one who is bored, bored of this, of doing this, again and again. Eat, sleep, gym, study, work, play. How utterly dull, such monotony.

I don’t know how to do it, I don’t think I’m big enough to take the step. I don’t think I could do it to myself- change it all, just leave it all behind. Really, if I just picked up and left. Stepped onto a bus, and went. Got onto a plane, and left. Just left. I mean I don’t know if…. Hmm……vagabond

                                 

My shine is wearing off. Like an old penny, covered in age. The glisten in my eye is dimming, the light in my pulsing heart flickers. Maybe reality is setting in, and I am hearing. I am seeing what ‘to be human’ really means. I’m seeing agony, I’m seeing heartbreak……………I’m seeing fear….. helplessness.

 

I can see it in strangers’ eyes. I see how much it hurts.

 

But we get by, because that’s all we know. And so we shuffle along, and keep treading water and we make a little life, surround ourselves with material comforts, and try to forget, plug our ears and close our eyes shut tight, and just block out what we don’t want to hear, what we don’t want to realize is so true.

 

And I see myself… I can see myself on this path, on this specific road, going down the ignorant road. Is it so wrong that I want something different for myself, for me, is it so wrong that I want something great? So just give me an earth-shattering blow and break me down into one trillion pieces so I can wake up and start again, so I can try again………. I just need to try again….let me try again

a random 15

I like the smell of hot milk.

I love sleeping in soft beds.

I think I’m a sincere person.

I like to sit in the front of the bus so I can see the road.

I try to read books that will open my eyes.

I love getting hand-written notes.

I like listening to songs over and over again.

I prefer rainy days.

I think there are people that weave in and out of my life, and I in theirs, where we have never met and may never meet, but somehow we are undeniably connected.

I want an amazing romance.

I like to make eye contact with strangers.

I save random objects and notes I find in a little hidden box.

I write things on money in hopes that they will return to me in years and years.

I look forward to really honest moments.

I sometimes forget to look up at the stars and realize how infinitesimal life is.

 

 

a stomach-churning crunch

It’s haunting really. Those fleeting thoughts, that come so quickly they stop your heart. Like suddenly falling flat, with your nose crashing into the ground in a stomach-churning crunch, blood flowing ruby red and tears well so quick you can’t hold back. And you turn over and just lay there, hands scrapped and cheeks flushed. Sprawled, feeling like shit, and peering up into the dull gray fog.

You get angry, with a furrowed brow, and you wonder why the world is so fucking black. Why the hell you got these cards. What the hell did you do wrong? And you wonder when! You wonder when the hell things will change, when things will be better on this barren earth. God, there is so much corruption, so much violence, so many men that die. How can I not help but to look at all that is bad, it stares me in the eye, clouds my vision. Men die for words, for WORDS. But, what’s more disturbing, men kill because of words. Men kill because of disputes about whose God is right, whose God is good. Oh god, people die, millions of people die.

Understand that I’m not utterly devestated that people die because of violence, because of unjustice, because of wars, but I’m am utterly broken because people die. That simple, simple fact. People die, prematurely and without satisfaction, without achieving passions, without loving, without knowing, without accepting a fate.

This fleeting thought, it hits me so hard some days. It hits me so fucking hard, that I can’t help but to buckle and cry and scream and clench my fists and pound my hands on the hard ground until they are red, until my spirit breaks. Death represents such an end, such a permanent end to my life. Not in a biological sense, but an end to me. An end. An end to the my thoughts, to my world, to my universe. At my end, the universe stops, it simply stops and that is so inconcievable. It might as well have not existed, it might as well have not been. I don’t know when I’ll be able to accept this, I don’t know if I ever will- it scares the shit out of me, and I can’t face it without feeling such honest terror. Where will I be when there world stops, the sun never rises again, the moon never shines once more, the heart putters to a stand still and all that’s left is silence, deafening silence. When will I take my last breath, take my last step, feel my last inch perish. oh god.