November Archives

N O V E M B E R

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2012

27 November 2012

Sometimes I stay up late just because I like the way darkness feels around me -- all encompassing and devout in nature, but permeable at the same time.

I'm listening to Clair de Lune on repeat, and I wonder if anybody has ever looked at me in the same way that I look at darkness and the bashing of someone’s fingers across the keys of a piano -- unabashedly beautiful and reckless.

29 November 2012

We’re all dealing with a lot of the same stuff which I find funny, because we all feel so alone.

2013 

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08 November 2013

I’m not really sure who I am right now. I’m a whole lot more lost than ever before, but I can’t seem to care. And I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. And I don’t want people to worry about me.

I want to melt

like the wax on a candle from the heat of the flame

into the background or the pattern in the sky.

How does the part of me that wants to disappear exist simultaneously with this sick desire to be someone? Anyone at all.

Do well, be better, be known. 

I want all the good things.

I don’t want to hurt anyone and I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want to go away for the weekend and come home even more empty than when I left.

I want the beautiful boy to want me, and I want to laugh.

But ah, the eternal truth: life is hard -- moms get brain tumors and junior college sucks even though you don’t want it to.

You turn down the adventure because you're scared of what you'll find and you lay in your bathtub until the heat makes you

sick.

2014 

12 November 2014

Loving you, always. 

2015 

22 November 2015

I want to bury myself in pillows and cry for days.

October Archives

These are so late, but I want them on here because I promised myself I'd get through all of the months, so here they are. 

ps - it's REALLY difficult for me not to want to edit these and make myself sound better, but the whole point of doing this was to show growth over time. Hard as it is not to self edit, I am leaving them be. Okay, continue... 

O C T O B E R

2012

28 October 2012

We all believe in something. I believe in sentences structures, and words on paper. I believe in the sound that my cameras shutter makes every time I hold down the button to capture something new. I believe in somedays and tomorrows. 

Some days, like today, aren’t very good at all. But you study with one of your best friends at Starbucks, and laugh at your old PE teacher or that boy you used to like as they orders their drinks. And it isn’t until 6 o’clock when your eyes start getting that burning sensation (the kind that you get after a good cry) that you realize today was even bad at all.

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29 October 2012

Sometimes you wake up, and life is hard.

Other times you wake up, and life is impossible. 

This is one of those days. 

 

31 October 2012

Isn’t it weird to think that someday (hopefully) you will meet someone, and things will go your way?

2013

07 October 2013

There’s this thing I do where I go out and I try to forget where I am. In the past five weeks I’ve put 1,600 miles on my car just driving in circles.

Some people have it better than other people and they know it, so they stay quiet.

Some people have it better than other people, but they continually find a reason to complain.

I just want to wake up one morning and know that it’s all going to be okay.

2015 

16 October 2015

Sometimes I care so much and other times I care so little, and I'm still trying to figure out how to fix that. 

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On twenty-two

Over the course of the past twelve months I filled up at least five journals with words words words words words, fell in love with jazz, cut bangs into my hair, started school at a real life university, ate my weight in ice-cream (several times), wrote a short story, got a passport, kept four houseplants alive, and never denied myself the love of a burrito.  

My car got stolen and my heart cracked open more times than I can count, but I learned how to position myself so that all of the light could leak in. 

On August 01 I wrote,  

"I'm twenty-two years of stories and experiences squashed into one human body.  Sometimes, I think about what a miracle it is that all of this life fits into my small frame. I'm learning how to be honest with myself about everything that I am and all that I am feeling. I'm learning how to let myself exist in full capacity without fear of being too much. "

22 will forever be the year that bravery made its home inside of my bones. 

I'm finally on the other side of things. The grass is greener, and I get to wear a gold crown. 

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"Listen. I don’t know how or when my grieving will end, but I’m always
relearning how to be human again."

— Sherman Alexie, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me: A Memoir”

What was the first song that made you fall in love with music? Tell me about your mom and your dad and the dog that you grew up with who you loved more than jumping in a pile of warm fresh laundry on a cold foggy day. 

I want to hear about what it feels like for you to exist and what you think about when you hear the word alive.

I'm scared, too. 

Something about learning to re-navigate this scene reminds me of the the floorboards in the house that I grew up in. Familiarity with the creaks only makes me more cautious of where I'll step.

I'm ready and I'm not ready to let the cards fall away from my chest. 

And, as always, the only one who will ever feel any of this happening to me, is me.