The 'Good' In Goodbye

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul and you learn love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't always promises and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight. After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth and you learn and you learn with every good-bye you learn

The Longing That Exists Between Species

Once up on a time, a prince went on a quest to find the key to the castle. If he could find it, he'd become king, marry the princess he loved, and live happily ever after. So he sought high and low throughout the kingdom. He looked for large keys, small keys, brass keys, and golden keys, and none of them fit. He finally decided to win the heart of the princess anyway, so he gifted her with a locket that belonged to his mother. The princess instantly recognized that the locket was shaped like a key, and she opened the door. 

Trust someone you love for an answer you need.

Do you aim to build your kingdom and castle with your queen? Or build your kingdom before finding a queen? ...I think that says a lot about a person.

Woman Open the Door, Don't Let It Sting, I Wanna Breathe That Fire Again

Life is just one big game of bobbing for apples.

If I am asked by the occasional person of why I stopped writing, either I say that what I wrote wasn't any good, perhaps it was even terrible, or that it has the potential for perfection and this finally silenced me. Or sometimes I say I felt trapped in what I tried to write- which is like saying one feels trapped in the universe, or trapped by the inevitability of death, but why I truly stopped writing is not any of these, not nearly, not exactly. The truth is that if I could explain why I stopped writing then I may be able to write again.

The Things I Want To Say Get Stuck In My Mouth

You don't even sing my songs, you just hum along



When it's too good to be true, it probably is. But when it's reasonable and you want it more than anything, anxiety fills your lungs, your throat, your tear ducts, and most specifically, your mind. One organ at a time my body will fail me.

Sometimes in the middle of the night when I cannot sleep because of chaos running laps between my ears, I email long paragraphs to my mother and I reminisce about my life. Things from my life that I love, things that I miss, things that hurt and still hurt and change how I am today. I worry when something I want is dangled in front of me, in fear that it might be taken or turned on me, as similar situations have in the past. I believe very much in the body manifesting disease in areas where you hold emotions, so I try to rid my body of the negatives ones as soon as possible, mostly, through conversation with my mother.

My heart is weak and unreliable. When I go it will be my heart. I try to burden it as little as possible. If something is going to have impact I direct it elsewhere. My gut for example, or my lungs, which might seize up for a moment but have never yet failed to take another breath.


The pancreas I reserve for being struck by all that's been lost. It's true that there's so much, and the organ is so small. You would be surprised by how much it can take, all I feel is a quick sharp pain and then it's over.


Sometimes I imagine my own autopsy. Disappointment in myself: right kidney. Disappointment of others left in me: left kidney. Personal failures: kishkes. It's just that I notice certain patterns. When the clocks are turned back and the dark falls before I'm ready, this, for reasons I can't explain, I feel in my wrists. And when I wake up and my fingers are stiff, almost certainly I was dreaming of my childhood.


Yesterday I saw a man kick a dog and I felt it behind my eyes. I don't know what to call this, a place before tears. The pain of forgetting: spine. The pain of remembering: spine.


Loneliness: there's no organ that can take it all.

And She Would Say: "Today You Believe In God?", And He Would Say: "Today I Believe In Love"

What is being awake if not interpreting our dreams, or dreaming if not interpreting our wake?

Sometimes when I'm having a bad dream, I realize that it's just a dream and I immediately wake up.

My reality and my dreams are starting to have strange coincidences. Everyone has their own beliefs, and I myself am very open minded to this. If I do hold some power to analyze dreams I would very much welcome it. I was interested in dream interpretation from a very young age, and now more than ever, my dreams are getting bolder, stronger, and linger in my mind for days.

It is very rare that I wake up in the morning and forget my dreams. I've made a habit in the last few weeks to write them down in a notebook beside my bed, and then interpret them on the other side of the paper. I'm worried about getting to the point where I may fear my dreams.

A few months ago, I had a very vivid dream about my brother in which he fell, resulting in a head injury. I was so shaken by this that I wanted to call my parents-- who were on vacation at the time with my brother-- and tell them to cancel all of the activities they had planned. I was scared something might happen. After calming down I realized the likelihood of them cancelling their fun plans just because I had a bad dream were slim. A few days later my brother experienced a life-threatening complication with his diabetes in the middle of the night. It gives me chills to this day to think, "what if" no one had woken up to intercept.

A few days ago I had a dream about giving CPR. I remember feeling nervous. I had this "life-or-death" pressure on my shoulders and I felt desperate. I needed that heart to start beating. Today I found out that my grandmother's heart stopped. She's in the hospital and recovering, and so am I, from this new pain in my heart. Maybe the heart palpitations I've had lately were warning. Perking my heart up to let it know it's going to need to be strong. After hanging up the phone I got down on my knees and prayed through sobbing and tears. Never have I felt so helpless or prayed so hard. I never know what to say. Am I supposed to know how to say something that will pour this all out of me and fill me with peace?

Heavy boots today.

Nothing Lasts Forever, No Matter How It Feels Today

"love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get, it's what you are expected to give -- which is everything."

I've read quotes and poems and novels and short stories that all read something along the same lines of "don't make someone your everything, because if you lose them you have nothing". It's so easy to seek happiness in others when the initial meeting gives you butterflies and warmth, and of course we're human beings and we're selfish and needy and we want that feeling to last and last forever. But keep in mind, it won't. After a certain period of time it requires effort. I had a hard time understanding what people meant when they said "relationships take work". It was always an effort I wanted to make.

I was recently given the challenge to date myself. For the month of May -- or as he called it, the "Month of Marley", I'm going to take myself out on dates twice a week. Non-negotiable, quality time with myself. I'm looking forward to it.

Will I be nervous on the first date? Will I encounter awkward silences followed by nervous laughs? Perhaps I'll buy myself flowers. Is that too tacky? Do I offer to pay the bill? (obviously). How many dates till we get intimate?

These dates are going to be special. I spend quality time with myself every day, but these dates will be different. I'm going to do things for myself and take myself out with the intention of getting to know myself better and finding what truly makes me happy. I'm going to take myself out to special places, and it's going to be wonderful.

Everything that bespeaks a fabulous attitude comes from a sense of self-worth and self-admiration. It is the gravitational pull that moves interesting and exciting people into your life. Fabulous lovers are not born, they’re made. A fabulous lover must have a love of life, a joie de vivre, an exuberance, passion and intensity that sends rockets into the air. They care about everything because everything matters. Forget “whatever.” If your lover is still using that word, give him a heads up: “We’re not in Kansas anymore!”

Fabulous lovers are happy people. The reason they’re happy is because they are listening to the best radio station in the world (no, not Pandora). They’re listening to an endless loop of self-affirming commentary that makes them feel as though they can take on the world.

Change the inner radio and outer broadcast to Rapport Vs. Report. This means listening with a deep need to understand, to offer solace, compassion and warmth, rather than just hearing the news of the day. Try to communicate in a way that encourages rapport between yours and your lover’s dreams and aspirations.

Women on the fence: On being a fabulous lover.

Exactly what I needed to read today.

I Don't Need A Telescope To See That There's Hope. And That Makes Me Feel Brave

Sometimes I believe I am brave. I believe that what I want and what I deserve will align and I believe that the power of the universe will send me just what I need just when I need it- whether it is strength or a person or just a meaningful line in a song or a book.

I've been thinking long and hard lately about appreciation and gratefulness. I have no conclusions to report, just an announcement that I have been thinking. Sometimes I think so much I get dizzy. Sometimes I think so much that I experience this strange chemical reaction of a saline liquid from my brain leaking through my eyes. Its almost betraying how much power your mind has over the rest of your body. Tears, appetite, energy.

While on that topic, I have also been thinking about needing vs wanting. Again, no conclusions to report.

Maybe in the future they will make medication for a quick fix of emotions you don't want to feel. Or better yet, plug yourself in and download an update to make yourself feel better. Heartbroken? Anxiety? That's a nasty bug. This may take a few minutes, but after a quick installation and reboot you'll be good as new.

But where's the fun in that?

Extremely Loud.

I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made my life wonderful, its made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book" by peeling open my hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it

Wishes That You Knew When I Said Two Sugars, I Actually Meant Three.

I am inspired to write for all the wrong reasons. One should probably be taken more seriously when they are writing more and dreaming less.

We always wonder if the grass is greener on the other side. We can choose to pursue other lawns, or continue fertilizing our own, until we're so full of shit and it's stuck to our shoes.

“I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself”

Optimism

I figure if you were like,
walking along, and it was raining, and the wind was blowing in your face, and you stepped in a puddle, and your girlfriend dumped you, and you just got in a fight and lost, you'd probably be having a pretty bad day.

But then if like, the next day, you got up and it was sunny and bright and everything was looking up, but then you went outside and your legs got chopped off by a helicopter... that'd probably be a worse day,

Or you could be this guy:

Brevity Is The Stamp Of Beauty

I read this poem on the subway. I love the feeling of falling in love with words. It's like a summer romance that leaves warm memories but didn't end in heartbreak because you knew it wouldn't last and there would always be another...

I take my Anna everywhere.
She is so beautiful she can break
a man's heart with a look,
the proud thrust of her shoulder.

She tells me she will die young.
I tell her all beautiful women have the same
premonition. Brevity is the stamp
of beauty, sealing it in the mouths of men.

I take my Anna everywhere.
She has the unpitying gaze of a goddess.
All the men who see her
want to live their wrecked lives forever.

There's a Hole In My Pocket That's About Her Size... But I Think Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Sometimes when I can not write, I wait for the happy thoughts to pass. When the darkness returns, the words flow again and make their mark.

I've been spending the last few nights staying up late, writing stories about writing stories. I figure out the plot, and the main ideas, and then leave it open for weeks or months before I fill everything in between. Just like life, if you really want to go there.

I've been feeling inspired to write stories about broken hearted people. I think those are the most interesting of people. I think that when I am broken hearted myself, I am at my most interesting. Although, I don't wish it upon anyone. At the same time, I wish it on everyone. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus.

Anticipating a broken heart is similar to the feelings you experience before you jump out of a plane. You feel it all over. You're sick to your stomach. You can't think straight. You want to throw up and cry and scream and you pray to god that the parachute will open and save you. And although you're scared to death while you're falling, it's almost a thrill. And when the parachute has opened and you realize you're gonna be okay. You realize that this whole time, it has been a thrill. That's when you actually realize, that you really are going to be okay. You'll live.

It might not seem obvious that we know our dreams from our waking life. If someone asks you how you can be sure, really sure, that you do not every morning fall asleep from the reality of flying through clouds and speaking with animals and cascading through time, to the dream life of going to school and doing the dishes and always seeing the same people again and again, you don't really have to argue with them. Or so it might seem.

Snoopy Snoopy Poop Dog

Senator Alan Simpson describes our youth to a T! *Hilarious!!!!

There Are Many Ways Of Going Forward, But Only One Way Of Standing Still

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots. 

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.
[Thanks Lauren for sending this to me xoxo]