Oh how he lingers,
There so far away.
But it is as if I could reach out and touch him.
He seems so real.
Yet softly he stands there
Illuminating the place with laughter and light
Beaconing to all that see him
To come closer,
To be touched.
Oh, how I wish I was brave enough
To surpass my greater judgement,
And run to him as if he was my safe haven.
Haven, that in which he lays his cheek
So softly on the shoulder of the stars behind him,
The stars in which I will never be.
Beautiful, is the life he lives.
But why he comes out, only and night
Those who see him will never know.
Yes, I see the truth behind the stars
And the glimmer that he leaves beneath him when he walks.
I know he is afraid.
Afraid of meeting someone he knows he can never love.
Or maybe it is remembering.
Remembering a love from many years too long ago.
To ghastly cry out in passionate professions of my own desire
Would only result in a failing grand gesture for all to see.
So I sit,
What it was like to fall in love the man on the moon.
I am sitting in near darkness between early and late evening on a Wednesday. My body aches from being still for so long and this couch suddenly feels like a slab of stone beneath my hips. I pick up a paperback that I’ve read a hundred times, read only a paragraph, then close the yellowed pages. Not tonight. At least, not this book. I rise to choose another book - a worn hardback that creaks when I open it. I love this one; the pages have that soft worn tear on the side instead of the harsh cut. Part of the spine is separated, and it feels delicate and fragile in my hands. I smile at its olive green cover and my fingers circle a small oddly-shaped stain whose founder is long forgotten.
I open the page to begin reading and I think of how many times I’ve been here before. I think of how many different stages of my life have seen this novel. High school, when I was the center of the universe. College, where I longed to belong more than anything. Graduation, when it was the only thing that felt the same. A year into an internship, where I’d never felt more alone. And now. Now.
I close the book to touch it’s linen green cover. I lift it to my face, putting the top end near the bottom of my nose. This movement, a sign of respect to the art inside, always comes at least twice when I am reading this book: at the beginning and the end. I close my eyes, breathe in the scent, and tap my fingers on the cover.
“I am ready for you again,” I think to myself.
This novel has been one of the constants in my life. Admitting that might be sad to say, but most all is lost from high school until now. It gives me hope to think that the things we love on a level deeper than affection will remain. That they will not shake out like everything else. That we can have joy found in moments alone with fictional old friends. So as I prepare to once again meet Henry and Clare, goosebumps cover my body, and I am thankful that I am graced with this tiny bit of peace, this proof of love.
We’re still the perfect “hug height”.
We fit perfectly together
You make me laugh, and feel so much better about myself.
You talk to me as your equal.
I feel comfortable around you.
Almost more comfortable around you, than around my best friend.
Oh, don’t get me wrong,
I am in no way saying you’re perfect.
But, I’m glad you’re not.
I wouldn’t trade your flaws, or the ones we went through for anything in the world.
I learned so much about myself through you.
And for that, I’ll forever be thankful.
I will always, always care about you.
After two years, how could I not?
I am so glad I got to see you tonight.
So, beyond, glad.
Momma’s and Daughters
Damn I love my mom.
We bond so well. I love when my dad goes out of town, and my mom and I just talk and bond. We laugh about everything, and just get a long.
“You see, it’s a very red neck thing…” haha just starting off like that, there’s no end to what my mom and I can talk about. Today she openly let me bitch to her about what she does that bothers me. Like who does that?! I cannot wait till I can go out and drink with my mom. Holy shit that’s going to be so funny. I mean my mom said ‘fuck’ like three times today! haha I am very blessed to have the mother that I do. We fight a lot, but we love each other so much.
guys..my mom said bitch, shit, and fuck today…what is this…I love it hahaha
Momma’s and Daughters <3
Sentimental Birthday Post
Well, it’s my last night to screw shit up, because my birthday is tomorrow. Tomorrow is February 9th. Tomorrow, I will be eighteen years old.
Life is changing so quickly for me. Eighteen. Senior year is almost done. Life is changing so quickly.
I had the best day today. I had good classes, but the best part was, when I was in one room, for three hours, with my five closest friends.
All of these things are just numbers. Twelfth grade. Eighteen. But the most important part of these numbers was the time spend with my best friends. It could have been three seconds, and I would have loved it just as much!
So, tomorrow I not only celebrate my birthday, but I celebrate the moments that I have had with my friends. Those that are thousands of miles away, and those that are thirty seconds from my home. I have the best friends that anyone could ask for. They have been there with me through trials, troubles, and triumphs. So, here’s to birthday’s and memories.
May there be many more, and many sweeter.
Some time, Some days, Some moments.
Some streets lead to nowhere. Some windows lead to walls. Some stories lead to endings. Some love ends in heartbreak.
Some songs leave you wishing. Some movies lead to upset. Some books lead to wonder. Some sunsets lead so slumber.
Some mornings come with headache. Some friendships lead to fights. Some fights lead to fixing things. While some fights lead to finished.
Some moments lead to memories. Some lead to regret. Some action leads to reaction. Some fire leads to flames.
Some rain leads to rainbows. Some clouds lead to shade. Some swards are double edged, like some people’s face.
But, some stars lead to wishes. Some songs lead to smiles. Some people lead to laughs. Some days, some days end in promise.