Wander The Sky

Sometimes I watch the moon and its veil of clouds. Riding in and out of vision, like a thought surfacing in a foggy mind. I wonder what it would be like to wander the sky, shifting from sight. The stark, still moon contrasts the hazy, hovering clouds. I suppose the two simulate morals versus thoughts; we try to keep our ethics in order, while our minds whizz with hopes. The wind whispers possibilities and the ground restores balance. The trees ache outwards and the rain pushes inward. The constant strain and tension fill the natural world as it does our minds. Our external bodies expand outwards and our minds expand inwards, perhaps infinitely. Perhaps the rain is infinite. Each tear-shaped drop, another memory, hope, or will. Each shatters into the rough ground, insuring balance, insuring we don't lose ourselves and float towards the moon. Because no one can know what it is like to wander the sky, shifting from sight.

Brush Strokes

How we feel can be hidden by the mask we offer the world. An illusion portrays to others our emotions, like a reflection in stirred water, our mask flexes and bends. Despite the lack of connectivity within ourselves, our feelings can be mirrored onto the world around us. When we're upset we focus on the pattering rain or the whistling wind. When we're pissed we focus on the backlash or facial expressions of others. We exaggerate our world to fit how we feel. Someone may have appeared to shoot you a dirty look, when they could have been trying to sneeze or were in pain. We make our surroundings reflect our emotions, whether we realize it or not. When we're overly happy, we notice couples laughing and kids smiling. Although sometimes people feel as though they are disconnected from this realm, we are actually creating it. A subjective version, but none the less shaping it. It's sort of beautiful when you think about it. Like an artist painting to music, the outcome echos their mental state. A rough dry stroke for anger and a light, water-downed stroke for tranquility. We are literally painting our world. Paint it right.

Dissolving Snowflakes

Recently I've found it hard to write and I think that's because I want to write the truth. I don't want to put something into the world that isn't real, honest, and pure. But, in reality, we're all unpure to a certain extent; the white lies, makeup, the clothes, those smiles we pull our lips into. Still, I've always wanted my writing to feel honest to me and to you. I think that's just what all new writers want, but I've written about things I don't believe in, like true love. Maybe that's a lie, maybe I do believe in it but I'm trying to convince myself that I don't, because I haven't found it yet. This is where the line of honesty blurs. The once calm shoreline begins to wash in and out, following the tide. But what's the tide? Is it who we are? Who we think we are? What we want to be? It's like trying to grasp a snowflake; it dissolves before you can capture it's uniqueness, before you can see what it really is. Besides the degree of purity in my writing, I've been wondering what to write about. I have so many thoughts and ideas that it becomes so overwhelming, other days, not so much. All of this aside, I'm going to keep up with this site and embrace the words. However they come.

Storms

I think one of the most beautiful treasures in the world is the calm before the storm. The look in someone's eye before the battling words are spoken. The excited, pounded hearts before a treacherous journey. The warm breeze drifting softly over your skin before the sharp downpour. It's truly beautiful. A moment of hope, a softened state in which time idles and the future disintegrates, like ashes blowing in the wind. I suppose the storm may be substituted, used as a metaphor. Before you're boyfriend opens his mouth and reveals his betrayal, you become soft, vulnerable, hopeful, warm, but once the words hit you, it all sinks. The moment before everything is blown to pieces is beautiful, the distraught of tension. We force it upon ourselves. We hope he says everything is fine. We hope the adventure will follow according to plan. We hope the rain will wait until we reach the door. We hope. The calm before the storm is simply a state of hopefulness, a state in which we ponder the possibilities.

Next Steps; Wash, Push, Clean

I think people try to "find" love. We search and search and force it to come about. Unfortunately, I've learnt when we force these things the results are less than desirable. Relationships break down and the perfect glass bond that once held two people together shatters. Love cannot be searched for. It cannot be sought after. Love cannot be found. It just happens. Recently, I gave up on love and was going to test myself with a 12 month abstinence period - no romantic relationships whatsoever. To my surprise someone "came along." Out of thin air the perfect guy, literally from my dreams, appeared. I think the trouble now is opening up and letting him see me. Its hard to do so when you can't even show yourself who you've grown to become. I used to long for this moment - for stumbling upon prince charming - and now I don't know what the next step is. Yes, I'm aware of handholding and other physical interactions, but emotionally I feel stunted, and he's well, not stunted. I'm stuck and I feel like I'm going to shatter this bond, although not glass, its a fragile flower blossoming in the spring air. Maybe he thinks I'm different than what I am. Maybe he expects different from what I can give him. Maybe he just wants me. Maybe. As for now, I suppose following the waves will suffice. I'll let the water wash over me, push me, clean me, until I take my next step. I'm sliding into a dreamy abyss with a loss for a next step. I'm sliding into a dreamy abyss and I'm scared. I'm scared.

Just Another "Friday"?

Time doesn't exist to me. Seconds are not seconds, they last as long as we want. When you spend your time pursuing something you love, time flies. When you spend your time pursuing something you hate, time ticks by slowly. Why does this happen? I'm sure science has come to a perfectly intelligible answer, but there is another reason for me. Time simply exists in the our mind. The only solid empirical evidence of time we have is the 24-hour time shift of each morning transitioning to the next. Some days pass by in an instant because we choose to enjoy every moment so fully that we lose track of this concept we implement on reality: time. The days that slowly slug away are perceived this way because we focus on time as opposed to the interaction at hand. In order to enjoy everything and forget this forced ideal, we must realize that each new second we are given is a second no-one will every experience, but you. And it all starts now. And now. And now. Each second that ticks away is only drained because we take fore-granted this new second, a new chance, and a new life. Wake up tomorrow and don't view it as another "Friday" or another "April morning," its another day you will only experience once and never again. Be so enthralled by this moment that you simply forget time.

Words

Words are tricky. There are used for so many things but I like to think they work best as descriptors. We all have a word to describe ourselves. Some are passionate, others are caring, and possibly thoughtful. I think its hard to narrow down the options to find just one, but I believe everyone has a word. I'm in search for mine. The complexity behind a personality is difficult to navigate, but it always comes down to one point. One point starts it all and we grow from there, we develop further. I think the reason why people lose themselves is because they don't know where this point is or what it is. They transform themselves off the beliefs that they are something different, they become lost. I suppose the best part is that the only way to grow is from ruin, the only way to come home is when you're lost. We all have a word, its buried within our souls, pushing outwards. If you have yours, covet it. As for right now, I'm in search of mine.