"That which you manifest is before you."

value-to-survival:

I think one of the most important things you can have in life is a thorough sense of self-understanding. Knowing yourself and being in check with your emotions does a lot. It’s the kind of knowledge that is liberating; you are more independent this way. You won’t need others to define yourself, because you will recognize that you already have your own unique definition. Memorize it. Your thoughts, words, actions and reactions spell out your personality. Uncovering what influences you to think, feel, and act as you do will allow you a greater level of self-awareness. Know your vices, your insecurities. Know the nasty things - the things you’d never dare say aloud, and can all but whisper to yourself. Find the secrets you forgot you had, the ones you hid even from yourself, neatly tucked away in some neglected corner of your mind. Find them, and then face them. Accept that certain things are going to make you hurt, make you happy, make you vulnerable. You are human. You have flaws.
Do all of this and you will discover that the more you understand, the less things hurt. The less you blame yourself. The better you can predict how certain situations, emotions, people, and words are going to strike you. The better you can understand why they strike you.

Everyone is their own intricate piece of machinery. Every moment of your life, you experience your body as it moves, works, lives. You can feel yourself in every heartbeat, every breath, and every rush of adrenaline. It is the most intimate of relationships, for no one will ever know your mind, your body, or your spirit more fully than you - and this is special. This is important. It means you have a greater ability than anyone else to shape your mind. Cultivate a relationship with yourself. Question your thoughts. Challenge your emotions. 

The last thing we have an excuse to be ignorant of is ourselves. 

for-you-whoever-you-may-be:

I may or may not have met you yet, but I want to take this moment to thank you. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for helping me find things when I lose them. Thank you for understanding that although I’m impulsive, it’s always on my own terms. Thank you for taking care of me on the nights I am sure to drink much more than I can handle. Thank you for holding me when I cry, on the days when I have no reason why and on those I do. Thank you for putting up with me when I act like a 6 year old, which is most of the time if we’re being honest here. Thank you for spending days in bed with me, either because my thoughts are too crushing to want to face the day or because I just want to spend the day in bed with you. Thank you for kissing my wounds better, whether they be physical or emotional. Thank you for taking me seriously when I ask you things like “If you could either breathe underwater or fly, which would you pick?” Thank you for not making fun of me (too much) when I have one of my blonder moments. Thank you for understanding that there are those few days a year that are guaranteed to be bad days. Thank you for pushing me on the swings. Thank you for holding my hand. Thank you for making me tea. Thank you for letting me read poetry to you, even if I am terrible at it. Thank you for doing all those little things you do that made me fall in love with you. Thank you for loving me back.

Yours forever,

Your Future Wife

Future Husband? Matthew

There are two ways strong feelings manifest themselves: one, they hit you like a freight train, zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds; or two, they come on slowly and unexpectedly.

I like slowly. I like when I look at you and a thought tickles the edge of my conscious, but I can’t quite grasp it. I like when I daydream about you and it gives me that free falling feeling in my stomach. I like watching the way you move, tracing the contours of your spine, feeling the warmth radiate from your body. I like feeling the stability of your arms, and experiencing the passion they can wrap me in. I like the way that every second of my life is better than any before simply because you exist in it.

So many different moments with you that all have a unifying theme, and that fleeting thought finally convalesces into a single, tangible thought, one that is undeniable in it’s existence:

I am yours.

It’s funny how we’ve spent more hours than I can count in this one place, and yet the walls show no traces; the ceiling has observed it all but gives away no secrets; the windows continue to appear transparent in their knowledge. But I know within the atoms of each of these, every sound is still resounding, every sentence is still being written and rewritten.

Then suddenly those accused atoms condense into the tangible thing that choses the open seat across from me: Nostalgia.

Apparently we have a lunch date.

She stays for what feels like forever, talking about herself and not once noticing the way I slowly fall into an audible silence. The world moves around her, the way galaxies move around black holes; she is the center of these moments and I am stardust, completely, and unfortunately, caught up in the gravity of her existence.

I am wondering what I could have done differently. I am wondering what words would have changed this future. I am wondering if, out of all the lives we could live, if this is the one that will bring us the most happiness. Did we make all the right decisions those four or five years ago? Did the conversations, the feelings, the looks, all shared here, did they make any difference in the organized mess that is our lives?

I am looking down unseeingly at the table, wondering how stardust can think these things when I realize the air is empty, my brain is numb, and she has gone.

I am thinking that I should be happy with her departure.

I had a teeny, tiny break down.

I was kind of feeling all anxious and stuff, and I had a bad day at work. Then at Matt’s I found out we can’t hang out tomorrow like we’d planned (he’s got some school stuff to take care of), and although it wasn’t at all his fault I was disappointed and possibly a little overly upset. But I didn’t say anything really (my own fault) and then he was playing video games, which is usually fine, but I just couldn’t do it last night. And I got mad and upset, and pretty much left without saying anything. But I got to my car and I didn’t want to go home to an empty house, I didn’t want to be upset alone; I wanted to trust he could handle me like that. I want to know that he would put down the damned game and hold me and let me cry and kiss my head and then talk to me. And he did. He did that exactly. I walked into his room and I (embarrassingly) burst into tears and said “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” because I really can’t say why everything got to me so much, it just did. So he jumped right up and grabbed me and sat me on the couch. You know how when the crying hits you, it just hits you and for 10 minutes there isn’t a thing you can do? That happened. And he just held me. I was all curled up into him, tears soaking into his shirt, blowing my nose, shivering; the whole embarrassing bit. And he took it. All of it. He shh-ed and it’s okay-ed and kissed and held and proved to me all over again that he is better than I ever imagined one single man could be. 

And finally when I managed to chill out, he was being cute and funny and made me laugh. We talked and I said why I was upset and he didn’t even let me pretend it was silly, he said it was all valid and that I shouldn’t apologize for being a girl. He apologized for not noticing I was so upset and for gaming. It all felt so good. It was kind of scary I’ll admit, I’ve never willingly opened myself up like that to any one other than Amy. I just keep it inside. I surprised myself.. wanting to trust him to take care of me. I could have been throughly disappointed. But I wasn’t.

Last night reminded me why I have so much faith in him. He is undoubtedly my forever.

baby—squirrel:

The tide washed over her feet and rippled past her ankles. She stood in silent contemplation as the ocean buried her feet in the sand. It felt wonderful. Not a day went by without these dark, longing thoughts crashing through her mind like towering waves in the mist of a storm hurling themselves into the rocks.
For the longest time she enjoyed the idea of being a mystery to the world. An endless mine full of secrets, puzzles, and mazes- The girl people were mystified by. But she had grown weak and tired. Her struggles had taken so much from her and she so desperately needed someone to understand.
Everything she had protected and built up lost its grip. She was no longer brave enough. Her strength was diminishing and she held it up as a Burdon. The girl who ALWAYS smiled through the storm was dying. And she hated what she was becoming with a crippling passion. her life was racing in the wrong direction- and no matter how her heart endeavored to find its way back, it was hopelessly on a winding road of confusion, frustration and dead ends.
She began walking along the shore, following the sketchy edge of the tide like a circus tightrope. The bottom of her strapless dress rippled with the sea scented air. it was a very plain dress. Pure and white. Its simplicity clashed with the whirling chaos she felt. she spotted a white shell with swirls of blue and purple on its smooth bottom and slipped it into her hand crafted satchel where it chimed softly as it hit the others. She reached for her necklace and held it tightly. It was a key.
Wouldn’t it be wondrous if it were that simple? Just hand someone the key to you’re thoughts and feelings. Her heart cried for someone to see her, see what she felt. And she hated it. How could one be so helpless and ignorant to drive them to the point of longing for their soul too stand bare and naked before someone, and trust them so whole-heartedly? She was disgusted with herself. Suppose she COULD express her impossible heart- once people had cracked her mystery, would they get bored with her? Leave her and walk away satisfied?
The sun was setting, becoming one with the water. She gripped the faded wood railing of the pier and hoisted herself up. Why was she so.. different? Why her? She threw one of her shells into the freedom of the sea, angry and puzzled with herself.
Everyone thinks she is so special, so strong. They look at her and say ” She will do something spectacular with life. Her mind works in ways I cant even imagine. She is so creative! An unending supply of wonder.” But she isn’t any of those things. maybe she used too be… but not anymore. now her mind and heart are faded and numb.
She reached the end of the boardwalk and sat at the very edge, dangling her feet, feeling the mist of the ocean. The sky sparkled with purples, pinks, and blues. The red sun glowed bright and warm on the horizon. She turned too see someone sit quietly next too her. Sandy hair, blue eyes, and a quizzical smile. Its not that they don’t want too understand, she thought. they just don’t know how. and i cant figure out how too show them. They both turned to the water, and together they watched the sun disappear into the sea.

My little one, this was beautiful.

for-you-whoever-you-may-be:

I hear your voice and smile. Although it doesn’t take more than a second for your biochemical signature to dance across my neurons and elicit that smile, I linger in chemical the idea of you. I remember how your hand felt on my back the very first night I slept in your bed, I remember how I felt the night we sat on my front porch and got drunk, I remember the way your voice sounded when you said “I love you” back to me on September 25th. Every thought, every memory is pleasantly twisted with the biochemical signature my brain has assigned you, but I can’t figure out how this feeling can occur from that simple, yet terribly complicated mechanism. This love is so much more than your chemical signature flowing form axon to neuron across my brain. 

If anything could convince me that God exists, it would be this love.

He makes me feel safe.  

Safe: not exposed to danger.
Safe: unlikely to be harmed.
Safe: protected.
Safe: home.

So ignorant, so uneducated, and so proud of it. Your opinion is not an argument. It is an opinion. Back it with reason; I’ll listen and take you seriously. But they don’t. It is such an integral problem with my generation.

They say:
“Obama is full of shit.”
“Obama suckz”
“I hate politics their all liars”
“this speech is stupid” 

What are you people even saying. That isn’t actually true, and more importantly, it isn’t an argument. When someone confronts you about it, you have nothing to say. So please, educate yourself, or save your breath. 

I always fold the corners of my pages in books. To keep my place, to save the page of my new favorite quote, or to remind me that that passage struck a chord within me.

I wish I could fold down corners of your pages. To keep the way you look at me, to save the perfect green of your eyes, to remind me that out of the infinite other lives you could live, you chose the one that fits me perfectly between your arms.

I want to fold the corner of the page that says the space between your neck and your collarbone fits me perfectly. The one that says the feeling of your arms around me is safety. I’d fold the pages where you encourage me to exercise my intelligence and maintain my wit, if only to compete (in the best way) with your very capable mind. I want to memorize the pages that say your touch has the potential to light me on fire, to slowly put me to sleep, and, I’m sure if the situation ever arose, to calm me down. I would fold the corner of every page that describes the way you move; every muscle in your body works in perfect harmony, whether its playing the game that you love, or just dancing your fingers across a keyboard. I want to fold the corners of the nights we’ve spent wrapped up in each other, so I can reread them again, and again. I’d mark the pages that hold all the times you’ve made me laugh (which is all too often), and all the times you’ve proven to me that I have the most wonderful man in the world.

If I had a book of you, every corner would be folded.

There is nothing I want more than to continue knowing you.