back before maps, beating hearts lead the way. warmth drew warmth. bodies on an inexplicable path, seemingly without destination, until destination appeared. blood follows blood. back before maps, we crossed this earth on scent. we all followed one another, just a few feet behind. with no one in view ahead, they thought they were blazing their own trail, but they were simply following a familiar scent. uncharted territory didn't exist. someone's been there and others followed - not knowing they were following.
back before maps - life was about catching up to those in front of you. about finding, reaching that connection. it meant that when you made it - you were worth being there. back before maps, beating hearts lead the way to the reason your heart beat. life's purpose, your reason was clear. it's too easy now, but we still manage to get it wrong. even with maps, we're inexplicably on the wrong path.

time heals all wounds
but just wait.
in time, something new will come along
and tear it open again.
but then,
over time,
you forget about it.
you learn to be better
until some time has passed
and it all falls again.
but just wait.
time heals
the wounds
it's bound
to open
in time.

cities have architectural histories
and so do i.
the landscape of my life evolves thanks to my own wars and revolutions.

grassy fields
ravaged
savage tears
growth
destruction
construction
revolution
rebuild
taller
better
higher
stronger
sky's the limit
fall
ice over
thaw
rebuild
slower
better
solid
foundation
stronger
attempts at destruction
stronger
fortress
stronger
drawbridge
stronger

i can't describe it
no words come close
but i can close my eyes
and picture it
that's enough for me
i suppose.
but then that means i
can't share
the dreams that fill my
sleep
no words do it justice
so its mine alone to
keep
i try to fill you in
but no words i know
compare
to the way i feel in
my dream
when his hands, like wind,
ruffle my hair.
there's no way to explain
so i might as well not try
for to describe anything else
would surely be a lie.

all my stories, this story, makes up my history. fills up my gold-embossed addition to the world. my tales of love, of loss, of have and have not. my pages that sit next to your pages - all are filled with my most minuscule moments. the ones i can't remember and the ones i can't forget. all brought me here - all will lead me onwards. regardless of what i find relevant - every minute contributed. every person contributed. all those faces i've seen but never met have come together to make the one man i'll always dream of but never find. all the words i see but never remember make up the poems and songs i want to write but can't. all the things that barely touched the outskirts of my life affect me more than i can give them credit. my story is complete with them, yet incomplete without their proper annotation. my life is full of uncredited information and that drives the rest of my story. provides the fuel for the relationships i recognize and the words i love. all my stories make up this story. this story makes up part of my history. my history is affected and affects those around me. all our stories are but chapters in the grand scheme. in a grand scheme.

i spent enough time blaming the wrong people, namely myself.
it's about time i laid out justice
where justice is due.
freeing myself from self-imposed punishments and beatings.
clearing my mind of inadequacies
and what might have beens.
what might have been is i could be worse off.
you never think of it that way - that the alternate could be bad.
that the might've been you've been dreaming of is what you're actually living.
i'm starting to think of it all that way.
that this is what i hoped for
when i fell asleep smiling
and what i had to tear myself awake from.
i spent enough time imagining the other
when i should have lived the now.
a self-imposed punishment of greener pastures.
a corporal punishment of gazing too hard through the looking glass.
it's about dishing out due justice
justice to this world,
this life i'm living.
it's about taking the blame off of myself
and replacing it with praise.
what might have been has nothing
on what is.

so unamused
unenthralled
of living life
by unwritten conventions.
antiquated rules
based on age-old notions.
i live the way i want to live
with whom i want to live it with
regardless of what people say
and what they have "planned for me"
i'm not sorry i don't fit your
age-old notions
or live by your antiquated rules
i write my own conventions
living life
enthralled
amused.

leaves fall
under the sun
like splashes of color
raining down
onto a blank canvas.
a barren earth
laden with green
and blue
now covered in splotches
of burnt reds
browns
oranges.
leaves fall
under the moon
colors vibrant
but immeasurable
until the sun rises
and opens the world's eyes
to a fresh layer
of splashes
of color.
fallen leaves
leaves fall
behind

distance causes us to disengage
disregard the memories
and discontinue to feel anything anymore.
distance drives us farther away
geographically
emotionally
until all that's left are memories
that i don't keep anymore.
memories that don't affect me anymore
memories i don't remember anymore
distance is what i need more than time
sometimes.

my one wish would be for you to not look at me with such disdain when all i want to do is clear the sleep from your eyes. i don't want to love you, at least i don't think i do, but i do want to be there. and i know you want me to be there. so why do we continue to treat people like shit? that's why i'll never tell you i love you because if i ever feel that way, i'll know it's the beginning of the end. no one wants to chase something they already have. no one wants what is possible. at least, i don't. and those i do want - they don't want it either. why are we so afraid of love and its resemblance when it is what makes us feel our most alive? because of a few sad love songs, we've begun to associate sadness and love when really, they relate only occasionally. the pop songs don't affect us. love stories don't either. we only see the bad, only let the bad of the good take root. what's tragic is how we push away those that matter, surrounding ourselves with the dredges. we see the sadness in love before opening our hearts to its beauty. love might end up breaking your heart, but it always leaves beauty behind.

i don't need you to be the hero of my story

i can accomplish that all on my own.

dig myself into trouble, climb my way out.

that's how it was before you,

that's how it will stay.

i don't see your placement in my life as fate,

just coincidental.

i didn't expect you,

though i did enjoy you.

but i'm not looking for your place in my future.

i don't need you to be the hero of my story.

i don't need you.

doesn't mean i don't want you,

but that's another story.

rain smells different where you are. feels different. sounds the same.

it's always water falling from the sky, but alone, it is soothing, calming.

with you, it's exciting and fresh. it smells like brand new streets and new countries. it feels like music notes falling on my umbrella - playing a familiar tune. rain grounds me. wherever i am, it's familiar. flitting off to different locales - the people change, you change, i change, but rain stays the same. except for the way it smells, the way it feels. that changes. it changes us.

raindrops are different when we're together. they act like a wall surrounding us, saving us from the world when we walk hand-in-hand under an umbrella. it feels like a cleansing shower when we get caught outside unexpectedly. it feels like its washing away the dirt in our souls, making us fresh for one another.

alone, i love the rain when i'm not in it. it's no fun getting soaked to the bone without someone there to laugh with. it's cold walking by yourself under an umbrella - all sides exposed to the waves of rain.

it's always going to be water falling from the sky, but there's something about you that makes rainstorms worthwhile. like i've been missing out praying for sun.

sunny days never affected me the way rainstorms have. sunny days don't make me smile, cry, reflect and feel like rainy days. because of you, rain feels different, smells different.

Switzerland

mountains climb over lakes,

snow meets sun and sundays sunning under far away shadows cast by tall peaks.

driving through, stopping at the water,

sighing, dreaming, thinking,

"i want to live here when i grow up"

but i'd settle for living there now.

a country surrounded on its sides by haute-couture, lace, chocolate, and tall, dark and handsome.

a girl can get used to that.

a girl can already start to miss that.

don't turn your back

give it one more chance.

it hurts.

it always will.

even when you think it's okay,

that you're okay -

that one song will tip the scale you didn't know was off center.

and you'll be off center yet again.

but don't turn your back.

face the pain,

show it your courage.

face forward so you can move forward.

turning your back puts you face to face with your dementors.

the sun is shining ahead of you.

don't turn your back.

give it another chance.

London

there's open space between where you are and where you want to be.

a span of nothingness to cause you to lose your footing, to stumble if you don't pay attention.

pay attention.

keep your head up, looking towards your goals,

but watch your step.

cast your eyes downwards for only a moment so as to not miss anything,

cast your eyes downward for only a moment so as to not fall.

make sure to mind the gap while following your dreams.

make sure to mind the gap between where you are

and where you want to be.

your beauty comes out under the sun.

it's like grace is shining down,

reminding the world of how your soul shines.

beauty is fleeting - rarely looking back as it decides to leave, but sometimes it shows up unexpectedly.

walking onto a bus,

smiling at your daughter,

holding your husband's hand.

even on a cloudy day,

the sun seems to find you,

warming your cheeks

and the hearts of those near you.

your beauty shines under the sun for everyone to see.

you knew it was there the whole time.

we wake up and everyday the colours are a little brighter, a little more saturated.

the sun shines brighter as we step out into its embrace, embracing each other.

we go out.

we see the sights.

the buildings look taller, your smile looks wider, my heart feels lighter.

night falls but the ferocity of the shining stars keeps things in sight.

i fall asleep.

everything is alright.

everything feels right.

Roma

in the city, night is day. awash in the glow of ever-burning lamps, everything is illuminated. city streets flickers and shine like the stars they overshadow. in this light, you can see people for who they truly are. at night, it's bright enough to see the masks come off. to see the truth.

Oxford

green gardens reserved for the wicked at heart

the brave and adventurous of mind

the stalwart of soul

the green landscape covers miles separating me from you

a distance immeasurable and vast

somewhere along the way i forget

how to love you

i learn to be strong without you

instead

i saw it all for what it was

i knew it was a rotten idea

but i invested everything anyway

i put up all my capital

knowing full well there would be no return

your heart is a ponzi scheme,

i live off the love from other investors

until you realize you'll dry up

and move on to the next unsuspecting victim

i suspected it all from the getgo

knowing you'd try to pay me off with dirty money

but i invested

i was complicit in your crime

a willing accessory

i knew you were a rotten idea

and those never turn ripe

but with each transaction

i held back a little bit of hope

i hoped you'd be worth the investment

i still don't know

her eyes were his sunset. they were set so deep he often thought he could ride off into them and into her soul. he couldn't go there with her, they were her eyes after all, but he thought if he could reach her insides and learn more about her, he could come back and impress her with his newfound knowledge. but you can't ride into someone's eyes like it's a sunset, so instead he settled for gazing into them. he would gaze into her bright eyes and imagine he could reach her soul. he would gaze at her eyes and smile, because he loved her and that's what people in love do.

his eyes were unassuming. where he thought hers shone, and they did shine, she thought his were modest, unpretentious. they didn't dazzle her, but she didn't want to be dazzled. they were already in love, she loved his eyes. they weren't boastful or ostentatious - they were eyes only for her. she looked at him in the eyes and smiled because she knew he complemented her. her bright eyes and his humble.

while her eyes were his sunset, his eyes were her dark night. the dark night that didn't frighten her because she knew he'd be there with her. dark nights always bring the promise of a new morning with them.

next time i'll be better,

bullet proof,

able to weather the storm.

i'll be better than our first meeting,

alluring,

keeping you wanting more.

better than before,

when i let things fall apart.

things always fall apart.

next time i'll be better,

i'll keep it whole to the best of my ability

so that if it still falls,

i won't be able to blame myself

or make rationalizations.

next time i'll be better

at getting over you.

some sleep to dream

others sleep with hope of a new tomorrow.

one where they can start fresh,

the mistakes of yesterday just a memory.

some sleep to escape

others sleep for a second chance

another go at getting it right

of doing it so well

their dreams come true.

some sleep to lose themselves in dreams

others sleep to wake up

and make dreams into reality

they sleep to live a life

worth waking up for.

like a bitter pill i have to swallow,

you choke it down without water to follow.

i'm told it's good for me, and i'll be better for it,

but i can't help it, each pill makes me sick.

each day i try again, hoping it will end different,

but each day my stomach turns and my throat's bent.

whether they heal while hurting me, i won't know

until enough time has passed to truly vanquish my woe.

but until then, the pills, and their pain, i endure

because sometimes the worst pain is the best medicine and cure.

he told me i shined like a diamond

that my soul was crystal clear

flawless

i was his gem

they say very few things can cut diamonds

that they're as tough as they come

diamonds don't cry

he told me i shined like a diamond

while he simultaneously cut me down

and dirtied my lustre

i was his gem

the only bad thing about sleeping

is when you dream so hard

so vividly

it's a nightmare waking up

when the holds are so tight

and the feelings so real

when you're in another world

and then you wake up

lost in the sheets

with the fading memories

of a dream past

like a rainstorm in summer,

the water mixes with the sweat

and washes it away,

leaving you cleaner than before,

cooler,

better than a breeze

better than AC

after a summer rainstorm

you're refreshed

that's what you are:

you are the rainstorm

in the summer of my life

the welcomed blast

of refreshment

even if it lasts for just a second

that fleeting feeling

will make a mark deeper than you know

that fleeting feeling

is all i'll need

in case of a drought

like a rainstorm in summer,

you mix with my sweat

and leave me better than before.

i spend most of my time rationalizing,

talking myself out of feelings,

dreams, hopes, aspirations.

if something goes wrong

and i can't explain it,

i give it space, a meaning,

i give it a reason to happen.

i can't believe that shit just happens,

that people can fuck you over for no reason

i try to find the deeper meaning,

the reason why i opened myself up

to that failure.

in doing so, i find the good - 

the relationships that never would've formed,

the times i never would've had

and i try to think that makes it okay.

but the thing about rationalizing is that

it obviously isn't okay

otherwise i would've just let it be.

i can't keep thinking it's my fault

or theirs

sometimes two people come together

and you're only meant to have one night, one week, one year

before you have none of them at all

it all goes back to the grand scheme

back to how we run on perpendicular planes

some people come in and out of our lives like night and day

but others don't

you get a finite amount of time with them

and that's it

you might see them again, but it's not the same

you're not the same and neither are they

the contact you had changed you both

and going back isn't an option

so what you're left with are the good memories

from the past

trying to reconnect never works, not really

it's not your fault

or mine

a hot breeze envelopes me

sweltering, i'm caged in

binding, it takes my breath away

my entire body is sweating

feeling the heat

a hot breeze is relaxing for a second

as it ruffles your hair

and gives the false idea

that it will cool you,

relieve you

a hot breeze isn't a breeze at all

just displaced hot air

finding its rightful place

next to you

suffocating

bruises aren't ugly. they're not defects.

bruises are beautiful. they show a life lived,

a night loved.

my bruises are reminders, short-lived memories that fade and disappear.

my bruises are temporary pieces of art

that depicts a story of two people coming together

just once.

bruises cover my legs, my body, sometimes

and i'm proud of them.

i notice them when i glimpse at a mirror.

bruises fade, the temporary memory,

physical evidence fades - but the non-tangible stays behind.

i wear my bruises like badges of honor.

the birdsong in a rainstorm

the little message that lets you know

the sun will shine again

it can't be grey and rainy all the time

you can't feel grey and rainy all the time

sometimes the universe just takes a while

to make it up to you

to show you that you're on the right track

your bird will sing soon

and i hope, when it does,

you enjoy the tune

because it isn't sung forever

no one's that lucky

the universe doesn't love you that much

it can't

you're a snowflake - unique -

but in the end,

just one of the million falling from the sky

like the raindrops that are meddling with your birdsong

your eventual swansong

you're the plans i make

but never follow

the dreams

i never chase

who knows you, the real you?

the you that's only around

when no one else is.

why is it we all have different versions of ourselves

but keep the best for no one?

the truthsayer, the artist, the girl who smiles, 

no one knows that person

they see the white lies that grow like weeds,

the flicker of creativity, a spark that never quite catches,

the pout.

why do we share the untrue facets of ourselves

when time and again, people have proved their worth?

there are only a handful of people close to knowing the real me -

they hear my scathing judgement calls

and are privy to my mind's inner workings

as well as my smile

but even they get the glossed-over version,

the annotations.

the complete works of me is a book locked away

there is only one keyholder

and she wont share its location once she's gone

these words are all you'll have

the closest you'll get to the real me

she's by your bed

and calling out

trying to make it into your dreams

one way or another.

persistence pays off

in the end

whether you want it to

or not.

but the good thing about dreams

is their privacy

no one knows what's running through your mind

until you tell them.

so tell her what she wants to hear

and have her forever

or tell her the truth

and let her move on.

i used to be full of love - it flowed through my veins in droves. it pumped my heart, made me warm. but over time, the pool of red lessened. my heart beat slower, i got colder. there were bouts where the blood surged, but they were all flukes. once the red becomes a pink, you can't saturate again. colors don't deepen over time. too many factors cause them to wash out. i used to be full of love, but over time, over the course of my life thus far, it lessened. it becomes more rare. i give it out less.

i can talk myself out of expecting to hear from you. i can talk myself into lower expectations. i do this to stifle the hurt if you don't respond and to create a semblance of joy if you do.

i manipulate on a regular basis and my regular subject is myself. i tell myself not to expect anything different and that you're just like the others. why wouldn't you be? that night was not the night you fell in love with me, it was the night you came home with me. why wouldn't you be the same as the others that came before you? the ones i was never just friends with and never would be?

i tell myself all of this but still i put myself out there. i manipulate on a regular basis. this time it's to trick myself into thinking i don't care, that i've lowered my expectations, that i'm not waiting for your response and planning my next move.

1) Open this webpage in a new window: http://www.baby-to-sleep.com/

2) Listen to, oh, um, any song ever

3) You're welcome

sometimes i don't mind waking up to lukewarm liquor and beer

the taste of you on my lips

is the only buzz i need

dull life

lush life

sometimes

are the same

cold night

hot night

one doesn't

necessarily

cause the other

harsh words

stinging tears

these always

come together

and sometimes

the world flicks you off

and everything you think you know

isn't

dull life, cold night, harsh words

lush life, hot night, stinging tears

i used to look for you around every corner

and listen for your voice in every crowd

when we met, my heart fluttered,

and like a fool i thought that meant,

"at last," 

when in reality, it actually meant,

"not again."

love is just four letters but is one of the biggest words i know (and i know a lot, i like to read). no word of any other length - long, short, complex, simple, has the same effect on people. love kills, love hurts, love lifts you up then drops you. no other word fucks you up as much as love. but at the same time, it's wonderful. it's the only thing i can think of that people willingly go back to, regardless of how much it hurt last time. nothing touches love - it's powerful and disgraceful - makes a fool out of everyone and yet it's what dreams are made of, fairytales are based on and poems are written about. i love love - even if it does have a tendency to dropkick my heart.

close your eyes

hit the sheets

and dream out loud

in technicolor.

what are dreams if not enhanced reality?

love on

give vision to your hate

and live beyond your means

in your dreams

it's just for you

so do it big

my hopes and fears

are tangible only when

i'm unconscious

in the dead of night

and while i could deal

with more real life

dreams come true,

i'm okay with the situation

i have going for me now

dreams never let me down.

my heartaches are self-inflicted.

i choose to get involved in bad situations,

no-good situations, that can only end one way -

with a heart that hurts,

a heart crying for pain relievers.

but it happens with such frequency

so i can't blame anyone but me.

i put myself out there

i act forward

i'm an accessory in the cause of my pain.

but i do it for a reason:

the pain lets me know i'm real

lets me appreciate the days my heart smiles

without the heartache,

i'd be dumb -

there is no enlightenment when all you feel

all the time

is good.

eventually that "good" feels like nothing

because that's all it really is -

a hollow emotion

substance-less because it has no foundation - 

no memories of heart burn to give meaning to good.

my heartaches are self-inflicted

because it helps define my heartsmiles

and reinforces the fact that i'm alive

with a heart strong enough

to handle one more hurt

one more ache

one more burn.

have you ever wondered how many versions a story has?

all those people,

all those points of view...

conflicting,

incomplete,

searching.

whose story is real?

whose is missing the integral piece?

what is the integral piece?

whose version of the story allocated that title,

and why was it taken at face value?

all those people,

all those points of view...

there is no face value,

nothing to be taken for granted.

when someone publishes their story,

it's automatically taken as the popular version.

any dispute is just that -

disputing the facts.

one voice over another.

have you ever wondered how many versions a story has?

you won't need to -

it doesn't matter -

not everyone cares enough to speak out.

"Your heart is my pinata"

my heart is your smorgasbord

fill up

then leave.

ravage the serving platters

and drink up

'til you're sick.

get your money's worth

before moving on

to the next establishment,

the next heart,

maybe that one will be another

all-you-can-stuff-in-your-face

or maybe it wont.

that's the chance you take

when you leave.

my love is a monsoon,

only seemingly endless.

it comes in waves, in droves,

on schedule.

in some countries, it's marked on the calendar,

built into the year,

you can swear by its entrance

and eventual exit.

my love is a monsoon,

it comes and goes like the seasons.

when it's around, it's stronger than a stampede of horses.

and when it's gone, 

you don't miss it.

my love is a monsoon

it effects, hits, touches, falls on, kisses everyone

within a certain radius.

stories are told of its damages

to farther off, arid lands.

yes, it can rain that much.

yes, it can fall for days on end.

yes, it changes our life without fail.

my love is a monsoon.

we began in the summer,

seemingly suited for one another

when days where long

and nights warm.

but then the suns tarted to shine less

and it got colder.

we got colder

towards each other.

we were curt

and seemingly started to care less

about responding.

in the depth of winter,

we were silent,

like the sound of the absence of birds.

it's spring now

and i hear chirping daily

but still not from you

and i know you experience the same

and that's how it will stay.

we began last summer

and that's how far it went.

NYC

change of pace

change of location

scenery

buildings that kiss the sky

towering over jealous trees

that go for miles

in the city's heart

history

hidden behind old world facades

along its moldings

smothered in the walls

i need a change

a place where people walk

because it's quicker

and not the other way around.

i could leave now

an adventure awaits

i have no direction in life

and i've never felt better

but still i sit in one place

like a good child

hiding behind the facade of purpose

in a place where trees outreach the buildings

and the closest they get to kissing the sky

is their leaves holding baited breath

lips puckered

for contact that will never materialize

scenery

change of location

change of pace

life is like a polaroid...

snap up the good times

then shake it out

bare branches

whipped by ice gales

eventually feel the breath

of spring

before hiding behind

dresses of leaves

just in time

for the arrival of birds

who prefer their perches

done up and well-coiffed

How Does It Feel

Palahniuk

Why is it that more often than not, I find Chuck Palahniuk's words to be the closest to absolute truth that I've ever found in a book (of any kind)? He's been quoted as saying, "My goal is to create a metaphor that changes our reality by charming people into considering their world in a different way." And while I don't feel "charmed" by Palahniuk's writings, I do feel like it's changed my reality - in that he says things that I agree with, before I even think them, or realize I'm thinking them. (Does that make sense?) 

Par exemple:

"The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person." Invisible Monsters

"We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace." Diary

"Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known." Invisible Monsters

"The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. If you can change the way people think. The way they see themselves. The way they see the world. You can change the way people live their lives. That's the only lasting thing you can create." Choke

"We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens." Fight Club

"In a world where billions believe their deity conceived a mortal child with a virgin human, it's stunning how little imagination most people display." Rant

"No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close." -Invisible Monsters

"That's why I write, because life never works except in retrospect. You can't control life, at least you can control your version." Stranger than Fiction

"Until you find something to fight for, you settle for something to fight against."

"Have your adventures, make your mistakes, and choose your friends poorly - all these make for great stories."

"What we don't understand we can make mean anything."

"Game shows are designed to make us feel better about the random, useless facts that are all we have left of our education."

I can read and re-read his stories over and over, every single time picking out a new favorite quotation or passage. Unlike other authors I loved in high school and revisit with disappointment (coughsalingercough), Palahniuk does me right every time. I can only hope that one day someone will read my words and feel even an inkling of what I feel for Palahniuk; they'll read and think "why, that's exactly what I've always felt, but I've never been able to put it that eloquently before". 

Wait, why am I on facebook again?

i'd offer you my hand

but letting go would hurt too much

and letting go is eventual

so instead i'll imagine the warmth

and i'll imagine that is enough

even though we both know it isn't

but imaginations wont hurt me

as much as your hand

letting go of mine

to find someone else's

Skins

Okay call me Miss Late to the Game but I just started watching Skins.

And I'm in love.

Yet another reason the UK > the US, I'd say.

Especially this scene, which now I can't stop thinking of whenever I hear "Alice Practice":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ar7QXqz0ZSI

It starts off with loud and perfect music then just evolves 

into the heartbreaking embrace with clutching and silent understanding.

HBO: Def Poetry

Watched this, as well as other Def Poetry slams, during my senior seminar
on performative autobiographies last spring.
"I wanna hear a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply that metaphors get jealous."
Loved it then, love it still.

grins

cuddling into sheets

reaching for water

searching for pillows lost in the shuffle

stretching

curling up

sunlight through the blinds...

these are what mornings after

are made of.

there are some

i'd tell everything to

and others

who get the vestiges

one doesn't know

of the other

both sides think

they're getting it all

but to be honest,

there's a third.

and this one 

honest to god

does get everything

hopes, fears

smiles, tears

there are some i'd

tell everything to

but i don't

you're my cup of tea

all i need on a cold day

your sweet scent tickles my nose

as my lips move towards you

and you're warm,

calming my insides.

with you

the drinks all go straight to my head

i can't think straight

and the next day i can't

remember anything

i always think the next time will be different

and that i wont make the same mistakes

but it's no use

something about you

is intoxicating

and it's mixing with my drinks

to bring me under

and show me the error of my ways

Namesake

our time period was short

but the pages you've caused are many.

our time has passed

i live in the now

but my words betray me,

take me back,

as do the photographs

and the opening chords of our songs

(i still consider them our songs)

we happened so long ago

but i still find things to say

about things that happened

circa sometime

Le Petit Prince

"...when someone blushes, doesn't that mean 'yes'?"

used

but easily made up

like my bed

that

no matter how many times

i clean

will always

smell of you.

your sweet smell

spices, sweat, and nature

does more than linger

it's found a home

within my sheets

within my memories

it's like i could

close my eyes

and you'd be right there.

but you're not

you wont

ever be right there.

we were strangers once

we can play those roles

so well

once again.

i like it when stories take sharp left turns.

you think you're going to hear a love story,

then without warning, it's nothing more than a "fuck you" to the terms of endearment you once held dear.

i like it when the narrative falls apart

and the protagonist, who once had the girl,

loses the world.

i like it because it's true.

"happiness isn't a fixed point anyway, 

you find it, you fumble it"

and these stories show that.

show what it's like to be at the bottom

and how the bottom never

really truly is the lowest.

you're always at someone else's high.

Volume's up

to drown you out.

if i look like i'm paying attention,

let it be said that i'm not.

window's down

because i'd rather hear the rushing of wind

and traffic

than you.

volume's up

because those singers

are saying what you want to

but more eloquently.

window's down

because there's something

beautiful about you

pushing the hair out of your face.

volume's up

so we can be together

in peace.

a sturdy chord

strummed at the same pace

as a tapping foot.

this is what my heartbeat sounds like

an easy chord

at a steady pace

strum down

then up

at no particular hurry

this is the sound of my heart

before it skips a beat.

this is my life, a full book on the floor, feel free to open and read, i think i wrote it for you anyways.

by that, by saying that i thought i wrote all of this for you, if you were to find it - i don't think that's a complete truth...for one, the proverbial "you" is a large one in regards to this. the subject of my rants, words of love, whatever, changes often. the only distinguishing features are catchphrases and references to pencil skirts. here's hoping i can recall those allusions when i'm older and revisiting. right, now. if any of these "you" found this - and read this - and attributed writings to yourself - then fine. i'm not going to be around to say whether you were right or not. you wouldn't listen anyway. speaking of anyway, maybe, in a way - these are my memoirs. find. publish. one dream down, a million to go. i always wanted to pen my story but always pictured it as daunting. here it is - uncut. unabridged. just like life. only better.

my room is packed with books - with stories of lives and loves i'll never experience

hundreds of vignettes show me exactly what i'm missing

however, some have been helpful tomes

they've led me in the right direction in order to pretend my life was storybook

but like all lies, those had to come to an end as well.

my room is my own library

where i can revisit the same stories

night after night.

my dreams, hopes and aspirations are coloured by these pieces of fiction in ways fiction should never be considered.

storybooks and fairytales are cautionary -

build houses out of stone, not straw, and don't rest until you've finished the race - 

so why am i reading them with a comparative eye?

books make sense.

life and love make sense in books.

they aren't supposed to in real life.

at least, i hope not.

because then otherwise,

i'm reading the wrong books.

sometimes i wonder what will happen when i'm gone. who will be the one to end up going through my things? read my journal pages? will they mean anything? i've left a lot of names out...hopefully i'll remember who i talked about so vehemently, so passionately. when i go, whose eyes will scan my pages? someone i've written about? if so, i'm not sorry. i didn't make anything up. i accept your apology, though.

swift fingers plucking a piano,

that's my soundtrack.

mostly single notes, a couple chords,

make up the intro.

but eventually the single plinks

escalate and blend

into both hands

spewing a melodic tune

at an increasing pace.

faster and more beautiful,

the music goes on

until it stops.

don't give me flowers,

flowers eventually die,

and i see signs in everything.

don't give me chocolate,

it gives me stomachaches,

and i see signs in everything.

call me atypical,

but all i want is your kiss.

indoors and out

morning noon and night

kiss me in the rain

or on my doorstep while judy garland

sings in the background,

"somewhere over the rainbow

way up high

there's a land that i heard of

once in a lullaby."

i see signs in everything.

tears fall

as a mind races

history is revisited

without any traces

of a smile

that vanished

along with ideas

of a "you"

that never materialized

Stories from the live-out-loud-broken-hearted, a generation born into clarity

1. 

My spoon clinks against a coffee cup

and the birds outside sing in tune

songs about early mornings that blend

with late nights

long dresses that graze

dirty streets

that i tread

while everyone sleeps.

but those birds see.

the nightbirds watch over me

and in those wee hours

that i catch sleep,

they tell my stories

so morning birds

can sing my tale.

2.

sometimes words can't express my thoughts, regardless of how hard i try to mold them. my stories aren't unique. i'm just another casualty in the war of the open hearts, and the soldiers before me have already woven their tales, created intricate tapestries that far surpass my later, foolish attempts. so instead, i hang their stories up because they're also my stories. i read their tales and learn their mistakes so i can recognize when i'm making them.

"that's the problem with being both really smart and a little screwed up. you're able to concoct the most believable self-defeating positions." - Diana Peterfreund

never in my life will i ever say,

"i am nothing without you."

i am something, with or without you.

your presence doesn't miraculously change me,

though you would add to my definition.

on my own, i am still someone

someone great.

a liver, lover, giver, taker, seer, traveler, recidivist, ne'er do well, perfectionist, musician, artist, champagne aficionado.

together with you, i am still that someone

someone great

standing by

sleeping with

loving someone great.

i am something without you

and something better with. 

i wear love like a see-through dress

a loose cover up

but covering nonetheless

hiding my scars

but just barely.

i wear love like a loose dress.

gauzy armor

ruffled by the wind

and lets the sunshine through. shining onto every imperfection, highlighting ever perfection. but covered nonetheless. i stay covered throughout. 

i wear love like a see-through dress

forget modesty -

i just made the best mix.

the songs complement each other

as well as my memories.

the highs are highlighted

and the lows bring me to tears.

cathartic.

a handful of years

down to a fistful of songs.

on repeat.

unlike my memories,

these songs are welcome.

Lore

it was the middle of winter

but someone was looking out for us

amidst 20 degree days

our day

was in the low 50s

our day

was tshirt weather

in the depth of winter

our day

was spent on patios

with bottles of wine

and belgian beer

our day

had its own dj

spinning a soundtrack

that belonged to us

our day was perfect

a harmony

of recollecting the past

and imagining the future

our day

it was in the middle of winter

and there were bluebirds

just for one day

our day

love at first drink

the last shot is the deepest.

clarity comes on long walks home

go straight

with him

or turn

for another night alone.

waking up to pounding heads

and dry tongues

is better together...

your mouths can take solace

in each other.

lust at first bar

the last drink is the decision maker

and it's always on the mark.

so throw it back,

keep your chin up,

walk forward,

and don't look back.

the last shot is the deepest

but it all starts with

"can i buy you a drink?"

poorly drawn coats begin to describe our disheveled love.

my fellow dreamer

on the other side of the world

gone for a year

but still in my heart.

i think of you without thinking

and find myself dialing your number

but the electronic message 

is a rude awakening

to a present without you

to thrift stores

long drives

concerts and crafts

completed on my own

and kept aside

to show you on your return

Happy Valentine's Day!

Truth be told I don't think I've had a legit Valentine's date in probably forever, but that's okay. I love love in all its forms and shapes, so usually my friends and family are at the top of my list, and really, unlike any dude I've known, they'll always be there for me. Recently, I sent a package to a girlfriend of mine who is abroad in Korea which mainly consisted of a letter and a mix. And this mix had a CD cover. And I'm proud of it. So I'm sharing it. It's Valentine's Day! Love love!

Front cover - and a glimpse of the line-of-hearts ribbon enclosure.

For the "Shake It" mix

"Like You"

"Mean It" - the CD slips in as follows: 

Just something pretty to end it off.

And for those of you who aren't abroad in Korea, and therefore did not get a package with a mix from me, here I give to you the next best thing:

A sweet, totally sultry, blush inducing .gif of Clive Owen being....Clive Owen. You're welcome!

I die. Why can't more dudes dress like this? I swear, most girls are fans!

And now a break for sartorialism.

Okay this might be random, but there is definitely a direct correlation between this train of thought and the recent amazing weather we've been having...I absolutely love button downs on men, but thus far no man in my life has worn one of the short-sleeved variety very well. And then I saw these photos of Chuck from Gossip Girl and everything fell into place. 

THIS is how men should wear short-sleeve button down shirts. Fitted. In the summer. Fitted. Emphasis on fitted. Or at the very least - not really baggy.

And it has to be said that I'm completely aware that maybe I just want more men to look like Ed Westwick, but hey, a girl can dream.

i woke up to the sound of birds today.

and here i was, thinking it was still winter,

still time for overcoats

and tissue boxes.

and while this morning might be a fluke,

and the snow might fall in a few days,

that bird knew to fly home already.

who am i to judge its internal calendar?

maybe come february,

we should look up to the birds

instead of down to a groundhog.

No words right now, just some of my own visual inspiration...

Sources: The Sartorialist, j'ai oublié the rest (my bad)

waking up, i'm glad you're gone

out of my life

completely.

haven't thought of you lately

even when i find myself listening to the songs that used to remind me of you.

i don't miss your company,

it wasn't that great anyways.

and your wandering hands

i once found so pleasing

i now recognize as the lost ships that they were

fumbling without a guiding light.

i've kept you out of mind

because while once you turned me on

now i just feel off.

your memory doesn't make me happy

thankfully you killed the notion of that when you broke my heart

and that pain blocked out any of the great

(was there ever any?)

and eventually led to nothing.

i don't remember that pain anymore either

which i guess is good.

i just stopped remembering you.

unpack and assuage my fears

one by one

my pack is heavy

and i'm complicated

but please

keep on trying.

here, i'll do the work for you,

undo the zippers and

unlock the locks

but please

finish the rest.

i can't do it myself,

otherwise i would

make sense of my mess.

but if i were to try,

i'd get sucked in all over again

one at a time

clean out this full and heavy heart

my life is a mix tape

put together so carefully

listened to so intently

and eventually forgotten by the wayside.

tapes were replaced by cd's

but i'll still be here

when you want to listen

and reconnect to your past.

there's a hidden track if you're willing

and you can play me again if you want.

remember to rewind when you're done

i want the next listener to start at the beginning.

i haven't been looking for you

not recently

it wasn't in the hopes that you'd show up

when i wasn't looking,

though, that would be nice.

no, it's mainly because...

i've already spent so much time

looking, analyzing, agonizing.

and sometimes a girl just needs to stop

stop looking

maybe even stop caring

until one day

someone comes out from the shadows

and takes the shape

of the empty spot beside me

i didn't know was there

i know now that we'll never be together again

and that all of his promises will go unfulfilled

i'm not surprised though

which is pretty sad

show up in the middle

and open heart surgery

looks like murder.

start from the beginning

and you and i

look like a fairy tale.

everything's old-fashioned,

nothing technologic,

that's supposed to imply

meant-to-last

because that's how things worked

when old-fashioned

was typical.

from the beginning

what we had looked like

a storybook tale

but start from the middle

and it's open heart surgery.

fast forward to the end

and someone's left on the table

not sewn up

all grown up

another casualty

in the old-fashioned

war of the open hearts,

a tale as old as time.

everybody lies

there's the truth

i do it to others

but my best

i keep for myself

delusions

and romance

don't go well together

kind of like you

and i

there's the truth

but that's not what

i dream about

not what keeps me

smiling into the morning

every body lies

and mine is

a repeat offender

i want to let you under my skin

but i'm scared because you might want to stay

i don't know if i'll be good for the long term

i'm best when i push people away

sometimes i think i'll be alone forever

and sometimes i think i'm only good for short flings

sometimes i think i can live with that

but most days i know i need more things

i don't know if i can get everything i need from you

and maybe that's why i'm scared

unsure of whether to give my all

to someone who might decide not to care

years ago i might not have been so rational

and thought this completely through

i wouldn't have cared how we ended

as long as i had a beginning with you

but there have been times, and men, who wronged me

and because of that i've become careful

i started to keep my dreams of love to myself

to keep from becoming sentimental

so i don't tell you i love you

though i might act otherwise

i won't unravel my feelings easily anymore

it's up to you to undo the ties