Coming Back.

     This is my nicotine patch for Tumblr. I haven't deleted my account there - not yet - but I haven't been on for a week. It's difficult, letting that go, simply because I don't know what to do with myself now on the internet. Perhaps that is a good thing. 

     Writing down all my thoughts on the papers hanging on my wall is more difficult that I imagined. It's hard not to make them prettier. It's hard not to edit. 

"Never apologize for how you feel; that's like saying sorry for being real." 

I must keep that in mind as I go through this week. Internship will begin, and things will go about happening. Filling out this application, thinking about my strengths - that is also difficult.  Weaknesses are easy - I'm well-acquainted with my weaknesses.

 

Well This Was Fun.

Total hours put into the Nationals Fine Arts painting: fourteen.

Designation of medium: "But Jesus, again crying out loudly, breathed His last. At that moment, the Temple curtain was ripped in two, top to bottom." Matthew 27:50-51.

Explanation of medium: I based the hands and general shape of the veil from a photo shoot I conducted for this picture. After sketching it in pencil, I drew the line art with a calligraphy pen. I painted with acrylics, and repainted the lines. Finally, I sewed yellow thread into the painting.

That's what I did. And, you know what? I had fun. I'm proud, mostly, of how it turned out. I thank God for somehow not wanting to drop me as I continue to fall, for continuing to carry me.

More Valley Songs

Last night, the deluge.

This morning, burning eyes.

Tonight, the heaviness of not having any more tears.

I read Psalm 55 this morning and I've read many quotes. Words about hurting and how it makes one stronger. I've collected pictures and walked around in my shoes, the world still fresh but now stretched.

Discomfort does not mean danger. Pain is what forces us to grow. But as for me, I will trust in the Lord.

Tonight I pray for cohesiveness. I pray for forgiveness and a lack of bitterness. I don't want to grow hard and old. The sense of wonder and resilience that comes with youth is precious to me, and to lose it would be heavier to bear than even this.

Peace.

In the middle of insanity, I find myself returning to and yearning for the presence of God. It struck me the other day just how much I've managed to push him away...and it shocked me. It's been a gradual, every day "It-doesn't-matter-this-one-time" thing, and oh how effective it's been in completely shifting my focus, my way of going about life.

I don't like it. I feel like if I would just succumb, my life would become a whirlwind of courageous lampstanding for God. I feel it in my guts that I've been called to a life lived with purpose. Whether that involved great and marvelous things, I don't know. I suppose I feel that, too. But more than that, I am not satisfied with a dry, 9-to-5 fifty years, followed by ten more in the nursing home or whatever equivalent there is of that.

How do I see myself in ten years? As a totally devoted follower of Christ, completely focused on him. It's what I've always wanted to be, whatever "career" comes along with that. It doesn't matter to me. I adapt.

More than anything, I want to entrench myself in the bowels of God's grace and love. I want to understand him. I want to love him. I want to completely die to myself. I want to kill my ego and my pride, and become his slave. I want to say and do whatever he leads me to, and not even give one thought to what those around me think, because the only thing that I see is Christ, seated at the right hand of God the Father. I want to be consumed.

There is a great peace to be found, I think, in the middle of the fiery furnace. In the middle of knowing you're in God's will, however horrifying your external circumstances are. There is a verse in Matthew that has clung to my heart ever since I began to think about it: "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." I tremble, and I can't control how my teeth grind against each other, how fast my heart is racing. I want this so badly. I hate that I'm not already here. I hate being passive one night and feeling like this the next.

I want to be the burning bush that never turns to ash. I want to stand in the Holy of Holies, the veil lying around me, ripped apart by the mighty hand of God. I want. someone to reach out. and gather me into a greater purpose.

Remember: It's Almost Over.

Up again, still writing. It shouldn't be difficult - it's something I love to do, and even better when I must write about things I love. Craft stores, The English Patient, history and news.

Pretzels and a cup of water beside me; no lights on except the glare of the laptop - it hides the mess of the room around me. I hate that mess. I'm going to rip through it with a vacuum and a trash can as soon as the 20th rolls around.

A List of Frustrations.

-the return of the headaches

-people's fast friendship changes

-pointless drama from shallow people

-the random aching of nearly all my teeth

Yes.

So here we go, future. I see you on the horizon, and although apprehensive, I am pleased.

The Sun, Again.

Blogging because I refuse to fall asleep even though I desperately need to - it's becoming something of a habit. I fall asleep right after, though, so it could be good thing.

I'm burning candles this weekend like never before - right now there's cinnamon apple scent wafting through my room, combining with the sweetly damp smell of outside - it's just rained, and that eastern breeze that always follows summer rains is flowing into my room, causing the candle to flicker in magical shadows over my stacks of books, my warm wooden shelves.

A perfect setting. A perfect weekend.

I hosted a tea party for some good, good friends - a full house of them. Rapped with my little junior high friends later. Choir sang so well this morning at church, and I wore heels and a loose lacy skirt and a elegant top. A friend came over for lunch. Rehearsal brought a new opportunity, one that I feel is more serious than anything ever in the history of choir. And the comraderie pervading these past two days - it's been incredible. Talking to people is coming so easily to me now.

I talked - in Russian - for a good ten minutes with full sentences and real thoughts to my neighbor's niece, and ran around the playground with my baby brother and some other children while their parents looked on; I baked all morning Saturday and it turned out so well - one neighbor asked for a recipe, a few others gave compliments galore! Oh how amazing it's been.

And the carnival is this week. I might have a small weekend job lined up. I'm in charge of the face painting booth this year. Oh my Lord... I am so content. Even the absence of someone to hold, which I've been feeling more strongly lately, fades in the glow of gentle acceptance and simple love. Simple words, really, and not being judged for what I'm finally feeling free enough to let slip through.

I'm getting that feeling of youth back again. Please yes.

Half-Lidded Stylish Eyeing

There's a bullet-like rainstorm going on, and it's past 1 in the morning. Why am I still awake, after spending this entire week cleaning and tomorrow being pretty busy in the morning? My mouth is full of that thick, thirsty suction, and my eyes burn to close, but my being - I suppose that link between my mind, my heart, and my soul - strains against slumber.

So many emotions; so little patience for analyzing. Why can't I just float? Why must I think so much for every decision, and yet I blink and realize that I've actually under-thought it? When will I start falling asleep as I need to, and not when I drift to it?

My skin feels so dry and soft. The skin of my hands, stretched and sensitive. Too much talk. Where is my clarity? Where is my strength; my drive.

Be Cool, Bret.

I find myself categorizing my Tumblr.. I have a food blog, a colorful blog, a personal blog, a blog dedicated to the Commander. I'm thinking I now need a soft, pastel blog. That softness makes me happy.

But right now I'm full from Chik-Fil-A (the first time we've had it for dinner! Probably a bad thing), and have a cup of too-sweet lemonade in one hand, and iced coffee in the other. I'm set to write all night, and volunteering at the luncheon in the morning..it's going to be a good weekend.

We went for a college consultation with my evaluator today, and I have peace within me now. It feels great. Whatever happens, wherever my life takes me, I'll relish it. That is all.

In the meantime, this swing jazz and this cool, sunshiny weather is putting cloud-like emotions into appendages. Even as I wash dishes, I float.

Manifestos.

Feels weird to like someone again. Of course it's someone I can't be with - but at least he's not ridiculously older than me this time. haha. It feels nice though.. the small clenching of the heart upon sight of him, the smiles that he brings about with everything he does.

I'm enjoying this, even as it goes nowhere. I'm enjoying liking someone and not being ashamed about it. It's the realization that love is nothing to be ashamed about, that the investment of our hearts in someone is a good and noble thing.

I will never again be ashamed to tell someone I love them.

Weepies

Woke up and wished that I was dead

With an aching in my head

I lay motionless in bed

I thought of you and where you'd gone

And let the world spin madly on

Everything that I said I'd do
Like make the world brand new

And take the time for you

I just got lost and slept right through the dawn

And the world spins madly on

I let the day go by

I always say goodbye

I watch the stars from my window sill

The whole world is moving and I am standing still

Woke up and wished that I was dead

With an aching in my head

I lay motionless in bed

The night is here and the day is gone

And the world spins madly on

I thought of you and where you'd gone..

And the world spins madly on.

Processes

Last year at Convention there were many moments of loneliness; the year before, too. I simply didn't know what to do with myself when no one was near me - in fact, I don't think I knew what to do when people were around me, either. Many good memories during those years, but also moments of distinct loneliness.

But not this year. This past year I grew into the process of finding myself, of finding peace in being alone and in the confidence of my personality and my relationships. So, confidence. Assurance. Peace. All good traits that helped me this year to grow closer than ever to people, traits that helped me focus on the things I needed to focus on when I needed to. A little bit of rest in the middle of hectic activity.

And even in my insecurities, I find things to be secure in (not because of any of my talents, although there are some things that I know are in my hand, but because of the people God's blessed my life with. Their steady love and support keep the edges of my mind happy, even as my heart goes through expansions).

A Dog Returning to Its Vomit.

I've been keeping up with NaPoWriMo. Around this time last year is when I started to falter, but it's been going well. Last night it was hard to force the words to come out like I wanted them to, and free-writing just wasn't working, so I pretty much vomited on the page and shrugged it off.

But I like the result.

a foaming mouth

a raging soul

spastic teeth chewing at my stomach

phlegm and synonyms

ripping through my clenched mouth

I'll make this personal,

I'll make

a pile of steam and raw meat

pre-rolled in grey matter

hand-carved, half-digested

holy mother of God,

I hate poetry.

I'm growing my nails out, since there hasn't been any music lessons for a couple weeks, and nail polish makes me happy. It may be the fumes. I'll enjoy this while I can. Next week is Fine Arts and that means they have to go; next week is convention and Hershey Park and midnight ice cream parties. I'm excited; I'm ready.

And then Easter, and a new dress to wear. Is it wicked to love the new dress every Easter?

Black Cherry Tea and a Cold Night

Sometimes I need the compliments. I like them all the time, but sometimes I just need them. But I realized today that people need to be loved all the time. We can't take breaks or holidays from loving each other, because then everyone suffers.

It should be a constant thing in this ever-changing world, and if I had realized this sooner, I might have saved myself much speculation. The people who love me don't stop once they don't see me. Love continues; the kind of love I know, anyway.

As I get ready to burn that midnight oil again, I remember this and remember that I am loved for more than my abilities and usefulness - I am loved for who I am. That, perhaps, makes me happier than nearly anything, even more than the lovely new watercolors I have.

Good night, my friend. It was good to see you again today, even if only for a second or two. I loved sitting next to you Sunday, and laughing together. I hope you're holding up in the situations of your life, and know that I'm still here, and still thinking and praying for you.

Would you like some songs?

Here Comes the Sun Again - M. Ward

Everybody's Changing - Lilly Allen (or Keane).

Washed Away - Joe Purdy

California Stars - Wilco

Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin

asdfghjkl

Yesterday the family and I went to a craft store as a field trip. I bought a palette, new watercolors, and a few different ribbons for the ideas floating around in my mind.

I came home with another headache, and fell asleep before music school. After not practicing all week because of schoolwork and extreme distractedness, I was almost happy for the headache.

As I lay on the couch half an hour before we had to leave, I debated whether or not to go. I decided to, based on wanting to live a life outside of staying inside all the time. Small steps.

My teacher was very understanding; I was grateful. The notes were swimming as I played, and I had to scramble for nearly every note, but I got through it. Then music theory class - always fun, and I am a little bit adept at that sort of thing. Syncopation and scales and melodic dictation...I'm getting better.

Then we went to the library. I dropped off a movie that I never watched. Then Giant where we ran into the youth pastor and his wife.

There are so many thoughts in my head that don't really make sense, or that I don't trust to anyone else. Thoughts I'm too ashamed and unsure to share.

But I am keeping up with NaPoWriMo. Ups and downs, but there are still some things that I can do. Tumblr is keeping me distracted. Not doing as much reading this school year. Wanting to puke every time I think about college and having to decided and move on with my life.

Here is the honest truth: my wish would be to go and become involved with food. But that would be like cheating on this journalism thing that I'm called to.

But maybe I should stop justifying why exactly this is where I should be and just go after it.

Courtesy of Tumblr:

Breathe by Anna Nalick

Dark Blue by Jack's Mannequin

Helplessness Blues

"Gold hair in the sunlight

My light in the dawn

If I had an orchard

I'd work till I'm sore

If I had an orchard

I'd work till I'm sore"

The Valley Song

A new beginning that's sticking to me. The difference now is I am not relying on myself. Pssh. I can't do anything worthwhile alone. I want to do something that lasts, but more than that, I really and truly desire to be so close to God that just the thought of Him brings whiffs of His presence.

That's all.

So here I go: Day 1, and I'm nowhere near where I was or where I want to be - but there is hope, and that hasn't been there for a while. I will fail. I will fall. But I will try, and try, and keep trying. Isn't that life, anyway?

I will sing of Your mercy

That leads me through valleys of sorrow

To rivers of joy

Though the pain is an ocean

Tossing us around, around, around

You have calmed greater waters

Higher mountains have come down

So Take My Hand.

I hate succumbing to this teenage angst. Blowing my headphones at full volume helps. Facebook doesn't, and neither does Tumblr anymore. Going outside might. Drawing things doesn't, really, not in the course of a day. Perhaps for a moment.

This past week has been one of much movement, every day spent doing something. Now, it's not exhaustion pulling at my mind, and it's not quite a headache. I want some fruit, and a sunny day in which I can wear a breezy dress and not worry about anything. I want reality to match how I look in my mind.

I wish I could put on blinders to the world and let it all fade away..forget everything but the music, Ingrid Michaelson's voice and the sweet visions of his approval, of a happy day spent creating and smiling. Walking around in nature, in a yellow dress. Sandals.

I read something the other day, on Tumblr, that said missing someone has nothing to do with how long you've been apart, and everything to do with the moments you think how much you'd like them to be there with you.

I've been sighing a lot, and there's been some kind of strange tint in my eyes. The commercial for the depression medication, of the wind-up girl having to wind herself up every few moments. I realized I was re-enacting it during choir practice earlier.

We're sounding better - more unified, stronger.

Oh Lord. There are so many thoughts, and that could be why my head is pounding. I can't wait until Fine Arts, for that first Thursday morning of utter peace and silence. I am going to wake up as early as I can - five, if possible - and go outside. Go to that ledge, hopefully, and just soak in the silence. That is what I am living for right now.

Oh, Lord. I know which direction I'm going but I just can't make myself move toward it.

The Result.

Then onto Districts. I had a week to write the new poem (as I said, I didn't like the sonnet that much). In that week I wrote a few random poems out of sheer frustrations, a few crappy drafts that aren't worth posting even on here, and finally, after much thought and re-working, came up with this. I even titled it (as crappy as that title is. lol).

"Ruminations on the Romantic"

Brought into this wide and wild garden,

Walled and secret, no one knocking,

I found and felt the openness of loneliness

And it was good; it meant righteousness

Because You, God, were found

Digging fingers deep into the ground.

Planting every bloom and flinging color,

Exploding perfectly each day in plots of clover:

Creations as magnificent as Your supernovan space.

I'm pure in heart; I know I've seen Your face.

Glorified and glowing, love itself alight,

You caught and carried me, a firefly at night,

Down to this grove. I see your curling hand

At work because of innocence. Land

And loam, all churned and plowed for spring,

Waiting for the sowing to begin.

A garden grown into a million rows,

Ready for those cleaving vows -

Oh Father, You know best. One blink

And futures fall. A dawn once pink

Lies black and blue at daybreak's drift;

I cringe and see the quickness of the shift,

And am afraid. The garden ages. Drought - rain -

Seasons change - but this remains:

Your love has kept me well, and ever will.

One of those random poems:

souls, clammy as cold,

one when love meets

in points unmatched

brought to teeth-and-

marked with God, suck

all this life through your

green straw and fling

all your will to the wind.

on this side of that

rainbow, I've found your

pot. you're old and gummy,

speech too runny to find

any sense. well, old Midas,

meet your granddaughter.

The Ups and Downs.

After that rough draft, I went down another track until an idea to do a sonnet hit me.

So, the second draft:

Compelled by love

is a river of gold,

alive and moving of its own accord

carrying us, pushing us to shores

we would never have gone by

by ourselves.

Imagine -

in arms that breathe and speak,

a million stars in one droplet,

drawn in by something we crave

something we spend all our lives looking for

only to give it away.

And the final Sectionals draft. I forgot to title it. I think I did a sonnet because writing free verse for Fine Arts is pretty much suicidal, in a literary sense.

Before me lies a fork within the road

Follow your heart became my childhood theme

Enforced by Big Bird, Blue's Clues, Frog and Toad.

Follow the money: family who seem

To care wish for me everything they lacked,

But I have seen no joy for all their years

Of wringing dollars from each day. They stacked

Their principles on poverty and tears.

I have a greater purpose than success

My eyes can see a higher road that leads

Into a kingdom girded by duress

And, promising no leisure, fills my needs.

All I've ever looked for I have found

Following God's love to higher ground.

Rough Drafts

I've defined myself as a writer for the majority of my life, but it is one of my biggest insecurities. For Fine Arts this year I drafted and redrafted, entering a poem that I was largely unhappy with for Sectionals, and another one for Districts that I worked on, more than I do for 95% of my poems. Here are some drafts.

This is the first and roughest one:

I've grown inside coccoons of theology.

My meat and my milk have often been

combined into one shake, energizing me.

My days smelled of parchment, of myrrh,

and of the dankness of caves and Galilean

seasides. Sometimes the scent of incense

curled around my closed eyes. I would

feel it drift into high heaven.

I drank from many communion cups.

When the flavors clashed with each other I

began to brew my own: formulating

mixed drinks of feeling and faith that

were heady and disorienting. I forgot

about the bread - the taste that always

stayed the same - while holding it in my hand.

I pounded my knees into the altar

ground, circles of worship rippling

out around them. I knew what I believed.

I was persuaded. I knew that I was

made for God and for God I would

remain.

But I turned focusing on God

into focusing on myself. I turned

the Scriptures into a galaxy, and I

was on fire in the middle of it.

God didn't cut me down.

I didn't burn out.

I fell in love.

I found that in trying to

be so spiritual, I became so human.

I fell out of love after two years,

realizing a million things.

I sucked in God's love, as much

as I could get, for years. Seventy

times seven, He said to forgive,

and that always frightened me because

I had used that up and more, trying

to deserve His love.

I have picked up my cross, and

I feel a new splinter every day

dig into my shoulders. But it's not

about me this time. This time

my cross isn't holiness. The most

human thing ever - to love others

as He has loved me.

Because it is about me, for Him.

Because it is about them, for Him.

Because it is about Him, for me.

Because it is about them, for me.

It's a different way of those

ripples of worship I sent out

with my knees, except this time

with my hands - helping. and with

my heart - loving. and with my

mouth - preaching. This is my cross.

Pick one,

In the circles of worship that rippled out from my knees when I hit

the altar, I staked everything I believed.

The Sense of Accomplishment.

I've finished. It's beautiful. 3 o'clock in the morning, my hands are shaking but my mind is in that state of seeing the words open behind my eyelids. For me, emotions translate well in the early morning, when sleep is the norm.

Meh

I'm rewriting my fine arts poem for the second round. Hopefully, now that it's crunch time and just about midnight, the words will come easier. I have so many things to say, and none of them rhyme. Sadly, that's the only sort of poem I'm 100% certain will appeal to the adjudicators of Fine Arts.

I have a bone to pick with whoever chooses these adjudicators. I've done this long enough to predict what an outcome will be, and free verse is the only iffy thing. If it's done with plenty of inner rhyming of words put close together, it has a chance. Big words seem to do the trick, too.

Gosh, all this angst. I don't like it. Especially since the theme is Compelled by Love, and angst doesn't count for anything in Fine Arts.

I Love Love

So many things I hoped for are happening, along with many things that I never thought I'd deal with. The most beautiful and happiest thing is the smile I'm constantly getting from him. It feels good. I can talk to easily to him now, most of the time. I wave and smile and laugh and ask things I never would have thought to, months ago.

The funniest thing is that I'm not in love. In fact, letting go of that infatuation has given me a freedom of awesome proportions, in looking with interest in another direction. It's not a serious interest, but it's there. I don't deny it. And the most awesome thing of all is that I am confident and secure in his and her confidence, in their love.

I acknowledge what it used to be and let my heart be illuminated by this love and open pride.

In the midst of strange and troubling circumstances, there are a billion bright lights. That's what I see. I see a future that remains hopeful, in spite of all my shortcomings. I see a family that is not perfect, not by far, but is as close to me as my blood family. We have grown together; it's not something that is easily thrown aside.

Emotional.

Even the gentlest roller-coasters can make you sick if you stay on them long enough.

Starting Small

I've, uh - I've a lot to do. Or rather, a lot to undo, to set right. Pretty much my Fine Arts stuff, my independent stuff, is just about done. I finished my poem today, after much brain-wracking, and a final edit to my short story and it's through. Still debating on the 2D art. Still not certain of the concept. Perhaps a baptism, in that style I love to do, with a lot of lineart.

I'm working on my human video solo; I'm afraid of performing it but I can't back down.

So in typical procrastinating style, I am going to a challenge I ripped from Tumblr, the site that I suppose I'll never post personal things on again. Lame.

Exceptional. or not.

Now I must choose. Tumblr or Blogger? Originally I started my Tumblr to vent on those confusion emotions concerning a man or just things I didn't want anyone to really know. Just to have them out there...then I started following people, and they started following back, and the whole point of "no one reading this" was lost. Now I don't know what to do with that other than just look at the pretty pictures, because all my thoughts fouf away as soon as I hit the dashboard.

Here however, it's still quiet, and I like it like that.

My laptop has 30 minutes left on its battery, and it's time to go to sleep, anyway. I don't know why I stayed up past midnight. What do I know, anyway. I know for a second, and then half an hour or so later, it's all gone, replaced by images of high heels, Dior, balloons, Jason Statham. Stratham. I can never remember his last name. The guy from Transporter who's been on tv all day.

Three days until two deadlines and I am so behind it's not funny. I sing this song a lot but I can't get it out of my system. It's my earworm, my cross, my fatal flaw.

Anyway. "My Love" by The Bird and the Bee is my happy song right now. That, I know. I know also another reason Tumble is losing its status as my go-to venting spot: I'm done with the whole thing that took my about two years to get over. About time, says I. I wasted a lot of energy on stupidity, but then, I couldn't help it. That's what makes it worse.

Now, this fatal flaw - this I can help. I think I can, anyway. Sometimes; like now. Tomorrow I'll probably be dying of either apathy or desperation and helplessness. Also Valentine's Day is coming up and I have never wanted to be with someone on that date. This year is no different because no one is good enough for me.

That's what I believe. Maybe not "good enough," but "on my patience level." It seems dumb, but I am afraid of losing patience gradually until I am ready to kick my significant other. Ha. I have a sneaking suspicion that I shall be forever alone. And, you know, I'm kind of becoming okay with that. Whatever will come.

I don't even know what I want, for real. A friend posted some things that would capture her heart.. for me it would be these:

1) Please. Don't care too much about sports. Or better yet, let's not have cable at all.

I will continue later. My battery is at 7% and my energy level is lower, and I feel that late-night loopiness coming on.

Good night, non-existent readers. I'm glad you haven't been replaced by people with faces and names. (The Fish is always the exception.)

Roses.

For my birthday a few weeks ago I got a bouquet of English tea roses. They were beautiful, but are even more beautiful now...the two weeks of neglect caused them to dry out as they were: plump and colorfully tinged. I cut them off their stems, and, along with some dried baby's breath and fallen petals, stored them in a metal contained labelled Choc Twist.

Perhaps I'll take some pictures and post them, someday. Until that day, I leave you with this photo and the realization that I really, really love roses and tulips.

It Feels Like Redemption.

Last night I fell asleep trying to tell myself that everything would work out all right in the morning. I woke up in the morning after a tumultuous dream and felt that everything most certainly would not be all right. In fact I wanted to spit on Fine Arts, on church, on everyone and everything.

But I started right, for once in a few months. I read a good chunk of Nehemiah, and amid the crowd of names and barely-started stories (the man who built a portion of the city walls with the help of his daughters. The man who built the portion of the wall directly across from his house), I found something resembling peace.

I'm so glad I helped down in kid's church today. There is something soothing about the simplicity of worship songs that started in super church that I can find nowhere else. We sang Shout to the Lord and the one chorus from Psalm 139... I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful - I know that full well. That chorus kept me going from one thing to another in the next few hours of meetings and ideas and stressful moments. My utter failure at ad-libbing during choir.

If that sounds bitter, it wasn't meant to be. In fact I would say that today was nice. I liked the fast pace. I liked the luxury of relaxing and talking with a friend after everything. I liked making people laugh.

There are many things I would've done differently - there always are. I am not regretting anything, though. That's why I am so content right now, I believe: no regrets. Just remembrances of the many good things sprinkled throughout.

I am not perfect, but I am loved. That, too, is why I can sit now and be content. Nothing more to do for the moment. I can take a few hours of rest and it can be healing, sitting alone in my living room, listening to a winter playlist and letting my thoughts roll around in my head. Perhaps I'll make some popcorn.

Hold on to what You Believe.

After all that's been happening - nothing monumental, just events and a more hectic schedule - you'd think I would have many thoughts surging out of my fingers...but no. I am just tired. Not overwhelmingly tired; just in need of a quiet moment of complete contentedness.

What would that look like nowadays, I wonder. Now that I shall turn eighteen in two days, a legal adult with legal responsibilities and no more excuses for procrastinating adult-like things (such as my driver's license and college). Now that I feel so torn in every direction, every emotion vital and life changing one moment and the next flat and stupid. Now that what I know in my heart to be true is battered about in my head.

It would look like this:

My favorite songs playing one after the other on the radio.

My favorite people sitting around me, all of us in harmony, in that comfortable place people who've known each other inside and out get into when they are all together.

Not a thought of the future to be found.

Or, if the thoughts are there, then there is peace to be found along with them.

Where is this moment? I was looking for it all night tonight and the thought of perhaps missing it because of my spacing out took me a good two hours to get over.

Oh man. One thought after another. Really, this does not do me any good. Good night.

I

I can't promise you that I won't let you down

And I

I can't promise you that I will be the only one around

When your hope falls down

But we're young

Open flowers in the windy fields of this war-torn world

And love

This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creators

I ran away
I could not take the burden of both me and you
It was too fast
Casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break

When it was a promise I could not make

But what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light

When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

And now this land

Means less and less to me without you breathing through its trees

At every turn

The water runs away from me and the halo disappears

And the hole when you're not near

So what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light

When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

But hold on to what you believed in the light.