Not Another Post on 'Life'

Life is made of short lived tales of beauty, unspoken flatteries and half-hearted smiles. Sometimes we fail to appreciate the big things, the things we all need that are necessary for daily survival and instead focus on the tiny, insignificant things that succeed in altering our moods - either drastically or ever so lightly. We fail to realise that we are so fortunate in this world - so fortunate to be breathing with ease, to be held in place by gravity, to be able to fill ourselves up physically and figuratively with things that are important, things that are crucial to our survival and most importantly, our happiness.

We have spent a lifetime trying to figure out what it means to be alive, happy, free and fleeting in the very steep, dark woods of this place we've been placed. Choices don't exist sometimes, we didn't choose to enter this specific world and we didn't choose to get our hearts broken over what we possess and what others don't. We aren't lucky, we were chosen to be. Even during the moments where we want to end our choices and our breathing, we are reminded of these things. Sometimes they preside over the poison, acting as the driving force that keeps us intact - keeps us from melting to the very core of our being; melting into nothing but sweet melodies that are bound to fade eventually. We all fade away, we are all forgotten - although we are all remembered somehow.

I feel too much most of the time. My heart breaks every day over words that linger in the air unspoken, over faceless strangers that fail to curve the corners of their lips, over exhausted mothers yelling at their magical children, over lonely animals searching the streets for crumbs and over unappreciated greenery that never fails to stain us with an inkling of hope. We are all alone, but we are together. My heart is constantly divided between the lonely company that accompanies us and the clarity we feel when we lace our fingers together with souls that seem to match our own.

We are constantly searching for ways to feel alive and by doing so, we forget to breathe. The air that surrounds us is paradoxically pure and tainted - but it's there. We so often forget to inhale the good things and exhale the bad. But we exist, and we should never forget to remember that.

Musings of a Hopeless Romantic

Being stuck in between not knowing where you're heading towards is one of the worst possible things that could happen. Especially when the other person is so, so fine. And you're not.

I over think on a whole new level and I'm not sure why. I actually try hard to stop but it just doesn't work out for me. Almost every time I'm stuck here with the same thought "why me?"

You said we've seen each other ten times only, but darling why is that not enough to know that I love the smile on your face each time I say something stupid? How can two people know their hands were made to be held by each other during the first time they laid eyes on one another, but ten times is too little for you?

Let me tell you something. This is a letter I'll write to you outlining all the things I would never admit to, all the things you'll never know. But it will at least be out of my system and on the face of this page once I've let it out. 

The first time I saw you, I couldn't stop smiling. You kissed me on a dark street corner and I moved away all too quickly, not because I wanted to but because I didn't want to ruin the start of something new. Sometimes physical affection comes later - I knew we were more than that the first time I ever saw you. 

I don't remember how it was after that - but I remember snippets of every little thing that I knew I'd write about some day. Like the time I spread honey and sugar all over your face and caught you by surprise to kiss you whilst your eyes were closed. You pulled me towards you and said "that was beautiful, come here". I don't think I'll ever forget that moment. Or the time you told me I make you smile, that I make you happy and all those times I didn't say it back because I was too afraid of placing my happiness in your hands for you to do as you wish.

The fourth or fifth time I saw you was also magical. We kissed for two hours underneath a broken umbrella, in the pouring rain to old school jazz music that seemed to go on for hours. 

The sixth time we threw caramel popcorn at each other like five year old kids in the cinema. You chased me down the stairs and kissed me on the escalator and then we walked past the strangers on the street and laughed at how silly they looked in comparison to how happy we were. I like the way you kissed my scars and rarely told me I'm beautiful. I like the way you've memorised how I like to crack my fingers and the way we compare the volume of the noises we make when we crack our bones.

I like the way you sing so terribly and pay attention to me singing only to mock me later. I like the way you frustrate me so much at times, but I'm glad because it makes me feel alive. I don't like comfortable, I don't like conformity. I like the way there's something playful behind your eyes, a sense of mystery that I'm still trying to unravel. I like the way you squint when you're trying to understand me too. 

So, darling, tell me why ten times isn't enough?
Because to me it very well is. So gently let me go now before I fall into this well of nothingness once again, deeper and deeper. If not, cling on to me because I'm slipping away from this inconsistency. This tendency you often have.

I like the good things about you. I like the bad things about you. You ask me what I want from you - and the answer is nothing. I don't want anything but you. Wholly, completely, wrapped in a box with a warning sign on one side and a white oleander on the other. You're a flawed, beautifully ugly being and I could fall for you if you let me.

Why do you take me down this road, when you don't wanna walk with me?
- Tegan and Sara

Handle it.

A few days ago I had a conversation with one of my close friends. After going through a really crazy battle with my head lately, he tried to give me a really nice piece of advice. It was so simple yet so earth shattering to my nineteen-year-old self. 

"No matter how hard it gets, you gotta stick your chest out. You gotta handle it. Nothing is going to make you feel better for a while and that's okay, you just gotta handle it."

It really hit home to me because I have trouble finding my own buried advice sometimes. I give really good advice (and let's be honest, like most people) I don't follow it. Ever.
So it was nice to have a friend I can truly open up to. I hate being vulnerable but to deny the fact that I can be very vulnerable would mean I have to deny the truth. And it's no way to live your life if you're living a lie. Self inflicted delusion is never okay. It's so difficult to organise my thoughts therapeutically because I'm trying really hard to avoid thinking about it. I couldn't even write about the good times at the time they were happening because I didn't want to breathe in case I ruined anything. And now I don't want to write about them because they'll make me cry. 
And crying sucks sometimes.
Especially at three in the morning, when it's cold and your cats are asleep and there are no other beating hearts around to wipe your tears and tell you that you're handling this in your own way and that is more than okay.

Handle it. That's all I need to do.