Wrinkles and Scars

I've come to realize that all the effort and hard work in the world will not always get you what is wanted. Unfortunately, as many adults say, "That's life." The interesting thing though is that along this journey of dedication and utter focus there is a brief moment when the destination isn't the goal anymore. The travel becomes the goal. The travel makes the memories. Along the way the goal's appearance slowly turns vivid and the blur fades. The curtain is pulled and the effort no longer seems necessary, but we keep going. We keep up the work. Why? Because as the goal diminishes we begin to work purely for the reward of independence. The reward of a journey. Think about it. When we age and grow wiser we don't convey that our rewarded goals were achieved with the number we define ourself with. We convey that our rewarded goals were achieved with the wrinkles on our bodies and the scars on our hearts. We don't compare ages. We compare stories. 

A Single Streetlamp

Chances are a tricky thing. They symbolize hope, but the reason behind the doomed first chance is undeniable. Chances are like paper; crumbled once but usable. I think that hope can be an interesting concept. A single streetlamp in a stormy night. Lonely but strong. Unique and independent. No other lamp can reproduce the same streams of light or touch the same ground. Its wondrous in its beauty. And right there, waiting in that storm is the vehicle. Second chances are hard. Sometimes they aren't fair and usually we regret giving them, but there are the few who deserve them. Those people get into the car and drive it all the way home - determined and fearless. Thats how chances should be in my opinion. When Spring eventually occurs look around and be inspired by those chances. New birds' nests, blooming buds, and a greening grass. These are the chances worth the risk - these are the chances I hope to give.

Sex

Sex. Why are people so ashamed to be open about sex? Its just sex. Well sometimes its not, sometimes its about intimacy. If you really think about it, sex is awkward. All these buildings so close, right beside one another and within each structure are lives. Different lives. One house may have two people having sex and the next house is an old man watching. Sometimes, when you really think about it, sex is awkward. Its funny too. Sex is everywhere these days, so accepted by the media. But here we are being degraded by our actions. Funny. Maybe people should be more open to who they are and what they and everyone else does. Sex. Its not weird, its not unnatural, its just sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.... Sex.

Shattering Seconds

Sometimes being yourself is hard. Sometimes we don't even know who we are. Sometimes we just want to hide it. I'm tired of people always offering up opinions of who they think I am, especially when I don't know. For a shattering second, I know - then it disappears and I'm in a maze of frozen frost. I think the key is taking risks. Commit to something, connect with someone, or even conquer your dreams. Taking baby steps may seem like basic advice, but maybe its the only way to find ourself. Maybe its the only way we can take these risks. Hopefully as we continue along this path we can make our way to an abundance of shattering seconds. An abundance of knowing. Knowing who we are. Sometimes I watch paint drip down my canvas and just wait for it to create itself, but sometimes I pick up my paint brush and create my imagination.

Stained

We celebrate birth. We celebrate death. Do we ever really celebrate whats in between or do we let it pass us by? Each day another domino filled with worry and stress, tumbling down. We work for money. We work for friendship. We work, but do we ever live? The tense faces and still-humored jokes only bring more curiosity. Another day will go by, tired and weary eyed and I'll be left another year older. Aged with dripping beauty. Is this life? Pushing through the challenges life offers? Perhaps. Sometimes it feels like this. Other times, for a brief second I smile, without intention and hope washes over my stained body. I wish I knew how to live.

Understand

His chattering mouth moves but no words come out. Sometimes words breeze through me and I'm at a loss of understanding. I used to be a good listener. I used to listen to everyone. I knew their pains, their heartaches, their wild tales, and some things that better be left unspoken. But now I sit here thinking about how words have become a wind. They've shifted from an abstract unity to nothing at all. Maybe I've spent too much time listening and not enough speaking. Maybe I've become accustomed to dealing with others' problems and mishandling my own. Maybe I'm just not me anymore. Maybe. Perhaps thats why writing works efficiently for me. No speaking, just thinking. Each word, every phrase, all the sounds combine to create a thought - a thought that must have been thought of. Too much thinking. Maybe the answer is simple. Maybe his words have turned to a deathly gust because I don't care anymore. Because he's boring. Because he complains too much. Because he doesn't understand me.

Red and Falling

What does growing up feel like? What does it look like? Is it maturing from a child to an adult or is it a physical development? People always tell me I'm not a grown up but what is it? How do we identify this maturity? I have a job, budget my lifestyle, hold solid relationships (sometimes), and put up with immature people. Sounds pretty grown up. But I'm not. I'm somewhere in the middle, finding my way like a fallen leaf in the stage between green and brown - a bold red. Prehaps growing up is like a colour spectrum; bright and vivid. You begin with green, flourishing under your parents' foundation and as you pull away from your roots the journey begins. Orange and yellow; the awkward teenage years. Red; the transition from leaving your past, supported life and finding your own. Ember; againg from a youthful being to a worn and wise individual. And finally brown; the wrinkles and tired fingers set in, a life has been lived. Maybe my life isn't about the objective terms of immature or mature, its about the shift from one colour to the next. We're all just falling leaves, twirling to a brittle fate.

Drowning

Life has thrown me some pretty unpleasant challenges. Every time I fall, I get back up again to fall. i recently found someone I want to be with, maybe a long time. Once I start to warm up to him, my past catches up and pulls me down. Trust issues and lies drown me from seeing who he really is. My past is a sea and I'm drowning. Sometimes I hope he could be my life boat, a handsome man to the rescue, but unfortunately life doesn't work like that. Once we're stuck in a deserted sea or trapped in thick molasses we remain the same. I dream of him lifting all my pain from my worn shoulders, but I know it isn't possible. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I do every time. Every time I see him pick me up in his car or standing there waiting, a glimmer of hope passes through me that this could be it. It all feels perfect until reality sets in and my logical side takes over. I want to stare into his brown eyes all night and I want to lie beside him until I fall asleep. I just want to feel something more than doubts. But if I do, what would I feel?

Puzzles

People always tell me, "There's time for that later," as though everyone lives to one hundred. But, I think the living that many kids experience is mundane and expected. We live the life we're told and follow the trail made for us by either our parents or society. Both suck. Behave. Focus. Study. In reality is just suppressing our chaos, ignoring distractions, and plowing away at our week. Not as exciting as most people plan. Sometimes I want to stand up in a lecture hall and just leave. Sometimes I want to turn the car around and just drive. Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes I want to jump off that cliff (in a none suicidal way). I've never felt like I belong anywhere. Sometimes I belong with certain people, but there is never a place for me. Maybe no one feels as though they fit in, even if they never say it. I'm saying it now. I might not have a place because where we are is usually mundane and expected. Perhaps if I get into the car and discover a place, maybe I'll fit in. Because that would be unexpected and to me, breaking out of this frozen shut shell is important. Its important because you're going to be the missing puzzle until you're found. So where do I go?

Invisible String

Parting is simply put, a part of life. We part from our parents as we come into our own. We part from childhood friends. We part from milestone moments moving to the next. And unfortunately, but eventually we part from our lives swiftly fleeing to a deep sleep. Although parting may appear discouraging, with every loss theres always a gain. When we leave our parents we find the guidance within ourselves. When we depart from childhood friends more relationships bud. When a milestone comes to an end, theres always another waiting. I like to think of life as a series of departures and arrivals - like a journey that somewhat never ends. We never truly belong to anything and that is what makes life so vivid. Theres a chance of losing everything and with that knowledge we appreciate what we have. If the chance exists of departure the more you realize how much something or someone means to you. I'd never acknowledge the meaning that people play in my life unless there was the opportunity they would no longer be there. Similar to immortality I suppose. If life became endless, what is it worth? Eternal love? No. Because love can't be love without the possibility of it ending - without it being lost. And that is exactly how life functions; without departure it becomes a repetitive motion of a single soul hanging limply on an invisible string.

Spontaneous

Sometimes I wonder what the highest level of commitment is. Marriage? Love? Rings? How does it all evolve? Does dating escalate to love than marriage? Is it a step-by-step process like paint by numbers? Maybe our society puts so much emphasis on marriage being the next step, but in reality its a christian religion that people pursue for the wrong reasons. When I first fell in love I thought it was the highest level of emotional commitment and I just wanted to be happy. I think over time you realize that sometimes love isn't enough. As the Beatles say, 'Love is all you need,' but maybe theres more. Sorry guys. Similar values, interests, and even agreeing on movies to watch comes into account. Hoe does it even happen? Love just happens. Thats the problem. One day you're liking one another, the other you fall in love. People always says its a process but for me it just happens. Why? Maybe marriage will be the same? Maybe it'll just happen? One day I'll just decide to get married. On the spot. Spontaneous. Totally NOT me. Who am I anyways? A romantic? Boring? Book-smart? Award-oriented? Awkward? Maybe. But not spontaneous. And maybe thats a good thing.