I want to move. It happens (pretty much like clockwork) every year and a half. Which actually means I’ve made it a full 30 days longer than I normally do.
My heart was super set on moving to LA or Long Beach for a second, but now that just doesn’t seem NEW enough. I already have all these friends and shit in LA and Long Beach. I want to be more out of my element. I want to go places where I don’t know anybody. I want every person I meet to be a new person.
I wonder if one day I will outgrow this trait.
Things I wanted to do today:
1. Grocery shop.
2. Spanish homework.
5. Make butternut squash mashed potatoes for friendsgiving.
Things I did: ALL OF THE THINGS.
This rarely happens. I guess I really am turning 25 on January 27th. 2014, I’m ready (I think)
Beauty. I’ve been so naive to assume I can know what beauty is, to recognize it immediately. Beauty is the most broken down and pain filled person, the one who is still standing there facing the sad facts of what life has done. What you’ve been given to take on. What do you look like when your skin has been stripped. Your bones are exposed. You have nowhere left to hide. Vulnerable and alone. You’re center stage. You’re left completely naked. Are you beautiful in the most difficult moments of your life? You’ve been stripped of every part of who you are, and what you know. Are you still beautiful? When I look at you I see true beauty. It’s real and it’s shining through your flushed face and your tear filled eyes. In the moment of absolute weakness I can only see the beauty and pain of being so fucking human. You’re alive, you’re living and it hurts. It hurts so much to be breathing, to be moving forward, to be fucking sitting up after what you’ve been presented with. You’re alive and they’re gone. It’s so easy to die. You’re the one who’s going to have a hard time living. There’s a mess to clean up. Dying is easy. It’s hard to be alive, it’s so fucking hard for you to think about continuing to be alive. It comes back, though. The beauty is nestled deeply underneath all the life that’s decided to happen. Are you beautiful when you’re naked and exposed and alone? When your skeleton peeks it’s way through your layers? Where does that leave you because as much as it hurts right now, I’m in awe. I’m in shock because watching the most painful experience of a human life has taught me to see the most insanely simple and beautiful thing a person can posses. I’m staring it in the face.
Crushed, or crushing. I was never sure why the word “crush” was used to express those bizarre feelings of infatuation. The air escapes from my lips, a soft almost moan-like breath collecting itself at the back of my throat before pushing it’s way past my tongue and announcing it’s presence to any one person who is close enough to hear. If you’re close enough to hear the sound, it’s probably you who caused it. Maybe your face is next to my ear. Maybe my head is leaning on your shoulder. Maybe beneath it all, your fingers are slowly tickling my rib cage. Searching for those nervous feelings of anticipation. Just wondering and almost begging for a person who can make me feel light headed and dizzy just by brushing past me in the hall, just by stealing a small glance in my direction and letting me know that it’s me they’re looking at. To steal my own glance, to let them know my eyes are set on them. I’m stuck trying to remember what it’s like to be in a room full of people where life is happening. I’m just trying to remember what it’s like to not give a shit about the life going on around you. I’m just trying to remember what it’s like to only be able to see one single thing. Honestly, to be devoid of those feelings is more crushing than the inevitable crash and burn produced after your crush has come to fruition. It’s come full circle and you’re both left standing on opposite ends of the same room, searching for a second, and a third.
Sometimes I feel like I might be a genius. “Cry Times”, coming to a news stand near year.