Standing, with the cool night air
all around,
I'll look at the street
the trees
the stars and
you will pass my mind.
And I'll blow kisses to the wind
send them sailing with the breeze
with some strange hope of reaching
you.
A Late Walk
"When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you."
- Robert Frost, "A Late Walk"
That last stanza -- beautiful. It makes me sad, in a melancholic way.
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you."
- Robert Frost, "A Late Walk"
That last stanza -- beautiful. It makes me sad, in a melancholic way.
Summer of Introspection
It seems that the general theme of this generation is feeling lost. Nobody knows what they are doing, or where they are going, or who they are. And there is nothing wrong with that. We're in our 20s and life just isn't as much of a straight shot as it was for our parents and we have endless possibilities, so many paths at our feet, but I guess this is where it becomes difficult. It's such a blessing, to have so many options, but it easily becomes a rut that we fall in to.We don't know what to choose or what to do so we do nothing and just go about our daily lives. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But personally, I'm getting sick of this rut.
I'm getting tired and fed up with myself for being at a standstill and not moving forward. I don't mean this in a sense that I should be more out in the world and doing some spectacular things, as I'm not even done with school yet, but that doesn't mean that I can't be making progress in other aspects of my life. I have been going through the motions for so long that I'm not quite sure what more there is to me.
My goal this summer is to spend intentional time looking into my mind and seeing what I find. I want to reassess my values, goals, and beliefs. It's been quite some time since I've thought about any of those things and I think it's time to start molding myself. I'm not expecting any tremendous epiphanies, I just hope I can catch a glimpse of who I am and I what I hope for out of life.
And I know that I just always need to remind myself that feeling lost does not necessarily mean being lost.
I'm getting tired and fed up with myself for being at a standstill and not moving forward. I don't mean this in a sense that I should be more out in the world and doing some spectacular things, as I'm not even done with school yet, but that doesn't mean that I can't be making progress in other aspects of my life. I have been going through the motions for so long that I'm not quite sure what more there is to me.
My goal this summer is to spend intentional time looking into my mind and seeing what I find. I want to reassess my values, goals, and beliefs. It's been quite some time since I've thought about any of those things and I think it's time to start molding myself. I'm not expecting any tremendous epiphanies, I just hope I can catch a glimpse of who I am and I what I hope for out of life.
And I know that I just always need to remind myself that feeling lost does not necessarily mean being lost.
Forgetting & Loving
Forget the ones that forgot you but never forget the love that you're capable of.
Andrew
I saw a stray photo of my little Andrew a few days ago and, well, he's not so little anymore. I was dumbfounded. Lexi was the one who posted it and although she's growing fast, it's just normal, and then especially Natalya, she's always been practically grown, but Andrew, my Andrew - I just, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know when this happened. I don't know how it came to being practically a year since I've seen him. I don't know how I could let my bitterness toward the community make me desert them, of all people. I don't know how I can bear him growing up without me.
A Midnight Conversation
"Do you ever think about just moving, getting away from that tied down feeling?"
"Yeah, that's actually something that has been on my mind for years, and is always crouching in the corners. Just leaving, starting somewhere new. It's very enticing."
(Jokingly) "We should move away together."
"No, you don't understand. For me, leaving means leaving everything -- and everyone. And just being alone."
There's a pause.
"Sounds lonely."
"Sounds free."
"Yeah, that's actually something that has been on my mind for years, and is always crouching in the corners. Just leaving, starting somewhere new. It's very enticing."
(Jokingly) "We should move away together."
"No, you don't understand. For me, leaving means leaving everything -- and everyone. And just being alone."
There's a pause.
"Sounds lonely."
"Sounds free."
22 February - Blurbs
I don't know where I am.
I'm taking risks, saying things I'd never say with a sober mind.
I haven't spoken to you in weeks, but know that I love you -- always.
I equally want you to remember me as much as I want you to forget me, as much as I want to forget and to remember you.
I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.
Find me. Forget me. Lose me.
I'm taking risks, saying things I'd never say with a sober mind.
I haven't spoken to you in weeks, but know that I love you -- always.
I equally want you to remember me as much as I want you to forget me, as much as I want to forget and to remember you.
I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.
Find me. Forget me. Lose me.
Will You Still Love Me On Sunday?
It’s so easy to be head-over-heels under the loud music and the overfull glasses of Saturday night. Everyone loves each other, everyone wants to be best friends. Everyone sees only the best in everyone else. And there is a certain magic in Saturday night, as though you’re so far inside the weekend — so buffered on each side from the unforgiving reality of the weekdays — that everything is possible and real if you want it to be. You say things you might not mean on Monday morning, because for the moment in between the sixth and seventh drink on Saturday, it’s all you can think about.
Will You Still Love Me On Sunday? | Thought Catalog
------
But when you wake up on Sunday morning, when your head hurts so badly you feel as though it will never return to normal, when everything that was beautiful and mysterious the night before has been rendered harsh and unflattering in the relentless daylight — will you still want to turn over to me? Will you still be interested in all of the things I have to say, all of the coincidences we took as divine intervention last night when we were only so happy to tell each other how we feel? If the facilitators of alcohol and dim lights and a group of laughing around us are no longer part of the equation, do you still want to hold my hand?
------
I will love you on Sunday. If I told you all of these beautiful things when we were standing under the red light of the bar, peeling the label off a beer bottle, it’s because I want you to remember them the next day. I want to pounce on my momentary lack of inhibitions to say all of the things I’ll later want to sweep under the rug, but which I truly mean. I am telling you these things on Saturday because I won’t be able to on Sunday, but I’ll want you to know that I mean them. And I hope you know me well enough to know that I never say anything I don’t mean — even if they’re a bit embarrassing to remember in the morning.
Will You Still Love Me On Sunday? | Thought Catalog
Deserving
You ask me how I'm doing and I say everything is fine and it is - nothing, nothing is wrong - and yet I keep finding it difficult to breathe. So filled with a gnawing desire for solitude, self-loathing, and gloom, reasons for which cannot be found but the feelings existing nonetheless. Existing and stifling and ever present. You look at me with eyes filled with love but when I see them all I want is to turn away and push you further because I could never feel deserving. I see in myself no redemption for I am neither considerate nor sympathetic nor benevolent, and yet you stay patient and supportive and kind. You, you who have been with me for near a decade and you, you who have been by my side for not even a year; you, the collective you who have been intertwined with me for whatever reason, for whatever duration, you, I don't deserve you.
I'm Leaving, I'm Gone
You're stuck in a chauvinistic, racist, homophobic state of mind and you don't even realize it. Or, rather, you do - you just don't care. To you it's all a joke. Rape, domestic violence, discrimination based on race, sexual orientation, and gender - it's all just a joke.
You go give God your time of day, wearing your Sunday best, but your very being is drenched with the stench of your hypocrisy; you disgust me. You physically revolt me. I get to thinking about the spiral that your mind is in, how indifferent you are to the culture you're a part of, the implications of your beliefs and your acceptances, and it churns my stomach and makes me sick.
And then you have the audacity to point your finger at me. You criticize and laugh at me for breaking away, you taunt and tease me for being offended and infuriated by your off hand remarks and "jokes." Fuck, are you kidding me? Thank whatever higher being there is that I am nothing like you. I don't know what caused my path to turn away from yours - they were parallel for so long. But fuck. I can't imagine being like you because then I'd hate myself just as much as I hate you.
Fuck you. You're 20, 21, 25 - where are your heads? Why can't you see how fucking fucked up you are? Goddamn. I don't need this in my life. I don't need you in my life. Any of you. You bring me nothing but anger, despair, and bitterness, infecting me, and only further causing me to be a cynical asshole.
Fuck you, I don't need you in my life. I don't need this.
I'm leaving.
I'm gone.
You go give God your time of day, wearing your Sunday best, but your very being is drenched with the stench of your hypocrisy; you disgust me. You physically revolt me. I get to thinking about the spiral that your mind is in, how indifferent you are to the culture you're a part of, the implications of your beliefs and your acceptances, and it churns my stomach and makes me sick.
And then you have the audacity to point your finger at me. You criticize and laugh at me for breaking away, you taunt and tease me for being offended and infuriated by your off hand remarks and "jokes." Fuck, are you kidding me? Thank whatever higher being there is that I am nothing like you. I don't know what caused my path to turn away from yours - they were parallel for so long. But fuck. I can't imagine being like you because then I'd hate myself just as much as I hate you.
Fuck you. You're 20, 21, 25 - where are your heads? Why can't you see how fucking fucked up you are? Goddamn. I don't need this in my life. I don't need you in my life. Any of you. You bring me nothing but anger, despair, and bitterness, infecting me, and only further causing me to be a cynical asshole.
Fuck you, I don't need you in my life. I don't need this.
I'm leaving.
I'm gone.
Kisses
"I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated time and time again, kissing her fists, her scars, her fingers, her wrists, her hands, her knuckles, her palms. Thoughts, feelings, words, hopes and fears swirled in her mind, and her mouth opened - silent. Instead of release, instead of letting her go, they grasped at her throat, clawing, and choked her from the inside out. Her head swayed slightly, side to side, and she tensed fleetingly, unable to bring her exhausted, diffident eyes to the eager, desperate ones that were fixed on her, a mere face-lengths away. Again, she opened her mouth; again, she closed it - silent. "But I love you."
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