breathless, lost and too alive to stop

this weather brings me such peace and joy. i end up with the windows down, giving my city the gift of buddy holly as loud as i can stand it. it feels like a bird inside my ribcage that finally settles after banging itself against the gates too long. i really do look forward to spring and summer. i want to do so so many things, like catch up on my reading and cut pictures out of magazines... if these things sound boring to you, then i feel sorry for you!

it also brings such a smile to my face to see the spring love-fever hit all those around me. nothing makes me happier than seeing the ones i love meeting ones they really love. although for me, this season is a touch bittersweet. most of the time, i'm accepting of where i've been placed in the world, but i can't help get a little wistful when i hear my friends talk so excitedly and lovingly about another person. truly, i know that one day (one day of a day!) i'll be talked about like that by someone someday.. i'm looking forward to it. this is all well and good, but i've found myself too focused on the reverse. i must remember that i have been placed on this exact spot, each toe, for a purpose, and it is not not not because there is something within that is lacking. this is a hard concept to remember, and i struggle with writing it on my heart every time it aches a little bit. someone will see a girl striving to become the woman God has intended, and will fall in love with her, despite her strange ways of eating m&ms and her love of charming movies (to name a few things)

until then, i hope to bury myself under art and music and small joys daily. i'll stitch these things together like a patchwork quilt and hibernate until the time is ready (i'm percolating, not obsolete). i want to lose myself in the comforting smells of old books and rubber cement, the fulfilling act of making something out of smaller pieces. i'm done with pursuing and chasing. i have tired myself to no end seeking roads that end up dead ends, and i've finally decided to wait until someone tries to find me. i'm done with sticking my fingers in the batter before it's baked. i need to learn to wait for the finished product and remember not to grasp and attempt to control.

this will be a summer of renewal, of release from debt, of remembering the things that make me happiest. i will have my little garden plot and learn about the soil and learn to be self-sufficient.

subsistence livingbreathinghopinggrowing. bring your umbrella and let it rain.

i hope i die in the arms of a child in a meadow where the thistles grow wild

I gave a gift to a boy I can never get back. It was one that he didn't earn or deserve, one for which he could lay no claim. At first, the absence was inconsequential-- a hole in your pocket and you barely notice the .47 cents missing. Now, this false fulfillment of a promise long-ago made feels as though I have given birth to a still-born child.  Those long months(years!) of waiting only culminating in dead weight, all limbs and fingers and toes, and I'm swallowing the placenta to erase the memory of it.

Blanche DuBois said falling in love felt like someone had turned on a brilliant, bright light, but not my love.  My love was the chinese lantern over the bare light bulb, everything soft in glowing warm colors like a child's night light; only, the flashing light exposes twisted faces and blind eyes, writhing from the shock of sudden illumination. This lifeless bundle I've been carrying, so much like the real thing, a cheap imitation-- a ragdoll filled with ashes.