Thank you, my love.

Endless words have been written on this…what we call love.

Many lives lost and reborn in the search for what I know to be true with you.

Great pains have been suffered before here so that where I stand now has indeed been fought for; and earned; and truthful.

I cannot help but bask in the notion that what we hold between us is the Genesis self-discovery, though I know others share my sentiment.

For when I stand within your reach, I feel such an overwhelming sense of true worth and honesty, which I know cannot be fake; cannot be mass produced; cannot be rehearsed.

You are every bit as naive as I and every bit as intolerable as I, for which I can both apologize for and forgive.

For we are merely souls, drowning in a sea of self-doubt, only to be saved by a hand to pull us through and pick us up and cleanse our damped hearts with the warm and glorious sun.

Recoiling into a state of self harming thoughts may have been part of our own arsenal of slings and arrows, but outrageous fortune has found a way to bring together two volatile souls…yours being mine to treasure.

Your hand in mine is washing away my fear, and my past transgressions are finally being laid to rest because for the first time in these weary days have I truly come to understand the meaning of real, honest love.

So often must we make our past our ever-present examples as to why. Why anything. Because everything. We see ourselves as we have lived, not as our potential to live greatly.

I have changed for me. I have changed because of you. I will thrive for us.

Thank you, my love.

I & Me

Fingers rest upon crystalline glass and in their image is reflected an
equal counterpart. Only heat, radiating from a single point, separates
the two planes of creation. On one side, I. On the other, me.

I am the knower and the creator of my ever changing thoughts. A
single breath is the orchestration of I, myself, and the act to move
forward, push, bend, laugh, rethink is all the doing of I.
Me is the devil who spins conditions for the I. I am not anything without
me, and me means nothing without I. Me opens a page of the past and
tells I what can and cannot be though, based on what is written down
on that unholy page of mine own history.

Who do we see when we look in the mirror? Me or I? Two planes of
existence, separated in equal duality by the body of self and the
promise that both will be recognized for its admirable service to the
mind, the soul, the body.

For we are simply skins which rest upon the hum of our own spirit and
ambitious mind. I and me inhabit the same tangible being without
making way for the other. Simple gestures of propriety and grace are
not considered when fighting for center stage of the mind. Will I or me
be the forefront on my mind this day?

Same Love

Since when do we let other dictate who we love without reason and without discrimination? Since when do we watch ourselves oppress others who just want to embrace love and embrace the feeling of being loved in return? Since when do we get to choose who gets to live happily and who gets to suffer in silence.

Mackelmore, you’re amazing.

(Reblogged) Why I Write

Why I Write is a wordpress entry written by a friend of mine named Gabe. He’s a wicked talented writer (he’s going to school for screenwriting so let’s hope he’s good) I thoroughly enjoyed this short entry about writing because I feel it is exactly how I identify with the art of writing…putting things on the paper (or on the internet…whatever) and because it hit home for me I thought I’d share it with you. Enjoy. Way to go Gabe.

 

Poison & Wine (Part I)

I wake up slowly to the aroma of coffee that wafts above my head and through the small gap in the open window. The sheets rustle as I turn to my side to look out the window, evaluating the time, of course. It’s mid-morning (about 8am judging by the heavy grey clouds that loom above my apartment) and the air is cool and crisp. Methodically, I stretch my legs and ballerina-point my toes to wake up my still-tired legs. Running my fingers though my hair, I lift my head from the pillow to see Katniss, my restless feline companion, fully awake and ready to pounce for her overdue affection. Curiosity is what caught my eye at the shelter when I first saw her and immediately (without any thought to what Randy, the landlord, might say) I swept her up in my arms and we’ve been pals ever since. I’ve jolted out of my sleepy fog and warm memories of that day back the shelter by Katniss, who is now audibly impatient. She circles the light-blue down comforter and wines…my cue that it’s time to for breakfast.

The automatic coffee pot is a blessing in so many ways. An alarm clock by osmosis, the day begins with an aroma that makes my nerves vibrate and foreshadows (what could be) another exhilarating day. And just like that I’m up, feet hitting the wood paneled floor and Katniss is already leaps and bounds ahead of me, cantering toward the small kitchenette in hopes of snagging some ‘people’ food before I serve up the Fancy Feast.

The metal panelling of the house has always made the place seem colder than it really is so I bundle up tighter in my soft ivory sweater. Though massively inconvenient as it was to be pulling sweaters out of the closet daily, I had insisted on an boho-chic motif for my new apartment in my new city…and thus, my new lifestyle.

The kitchenette is, again, small (the understatement of the century) but still has everything I need. I instinctively pull my hair out of my face and manage to put together the messy bun I’ve been perfecting over the past 25 years. I grab for more essentials: a pan, a kettle, a spatula, salt & pepper, eggs. It’s the first weekend after my new job in the city and I’m determined to make it my own…a brief moment in time I could really enjoy looking back on and thinking “I finally did it.” I turn to set the table as oil begins to sizzle in the pan. Table for…one apparently. Being new to a break up, I instinctively reach for two forks in the drawer and slowly put one back. I keep forgetting how to be a party of one.

Katniss, on the other hand, hasn’t forgotten her Fancy Feast that has yet to be prepped to her liking. Her soft purr turns turns back to a shrill cry for attention. Soft paws bat my feet and I remember my place: Fancy Feast first.

As soon as her food is spooned out onto a thrifted ceramic plate depicting a variety of colorful fish, I bring my record player to life, letting the sound of The Civil Wars fill the kitchen. I glide over to the eggs as Poison & Wine begins to play and I feel like humming. I couldn’t win a Grammy, but I do believe that my voice had the potential to soothe a fussy child in the right circumstances. I sway with the harmonies of the folk-singing duo and I am taken back to the time Kay and I used to dance together in our even-smaller L.A. apartment. He loved catching me off-guard with a swift dip and we would sway to the music together for what seemed like hours. His warm hands would reach for my neck, his stubble would brush against my warm cheek. He leaned in for a passionate kiss……when Katniss once again jolts me out of my hazy daydream. I had forgotten to refresh her water…thanks Katniss.

Daydreaming like this hasn’t lead to much good so I quickly draw a new bowl of water for her and get back to the task at hand: eggs-over-easy.