The Letter

"Hello Darling,

Goodness, it's been a while since we've talked. A while since I've set eyes on you. Since I've felt your hand in mine and we were just allowed to be. So long, it feels like a lifetime. Like we haven't even met.

Do you think of me often? And when you do, do you wonder what I'm doing? What is bothering me at a particular moment, if I let my mind wander possibly more than I should. Do you try to imagine my smile, how my laugh sounds, what makes me really excited. Just the little things that make me, me. Because I think about those things with you all the time. Simple things, little details that are lost in every day life. But are cherished when really thought about. Oh dear, how I miss you. Even if there's not quite a reason to. Not yet.

Do you stop to wonder if we pass each other every day? Like ships in the night, we offer each other little smiles and continue on our ways. Polite, and cordial, and perhaps we are even friends. After all, the world is full of so many people, and we have met so many already. Are you among the sea of faces that have already crossed by my eyes? And when will you become more than a flash? When will that magic moment be, when our eyes meet and everything else-- as they say, is history.

I don't wonder that so much. Although I miss you, and even though I want to know your name so I can say it over and over, that magic moment can take its time. Because you see, lovely, there are two people somewhere in the course of time. They're just meeting, laughing, talking. Being friends, perhaps. In the past or the future, we are there already. And there are two more people who are preparing for an evening, in fact many of them. Different, special, each one of them. Getting to know each other and laughing and holding hands. We're already there. And a ring, and a wedding, and a happy life full of love and all things hard and challenging but oh-so-worth it. Darling, you and me, we're already there. And there we are, laughing, talking, loving, living.

The future. It holds so much. Dreams, hopes, careers, goals, chances, little details that build into this beautiful picture. And we're both living it at this very moment. Together, but separate. We're already there. So here's to you, the future holder of my heart. I'll catch you on the other side, love. Until then, we'll always have those moments when we happen to think of each other at exactly the same time. And in that case, darling, we're already there.

Sincerely with love,
Your Future Someone."

Resolved Enough

I sat there staring right into space, tirelessly going through the list of countless things I do before bed to make my insomniatic mind calm down at least a little. I couldn't talk, my sister was gladly traversing the land between awake and sleeping. I didn't want to read, to listen to music. I didn't want to explore the strange world called YouTube. Most of all-- and this is when you know it's serious. I couldn't even convince myself to write. Nothing appealed to me, not even sleep. This was the beginning of the oncoming nightmare I always work so hard to avoid.

I hate nights like this. I've experienced them enough to know they never end well. In fact, it's worse than that. I fear them. Because after I finally relent and switch off the light. While I'm lying there beneath the thin shield of my blankets, my eyes shut tight in hopes it'll help anything. That's when it happens. My mind starts to wander. And there he is.

It's without fail for a few months now. This strange face that represents the past, cast with the dreamy orange glow that denotes the sense of rueful nostalgia. It's fascinating and frightening, expected yet completely unwelcome. These nights. The ones with little sleep and bursting mind with no fruitful thoughts. These nights I would've talked to him. Back before everything. So long ago now, it feels like a lifetime. So now he sits there, staring. As if waiting for me to break the news that no, I haven't invented time travel yet. And no, I will never see him again.

He's not real. Then again, he is. It's rather complicated. And it would take take too much time and pain to explain. But this boy, this silent soul who follows me everywhere... He's trapped in the past. A reflection of young days, spent laughing and gazing and running and playing. Of being special. He's still there making a little blond girl smile, despite the braces she hides. It's just for that reason that I can't speak to the boy. Because he's there. A few years back and happily innocent. And I'm here. With the broken pieces that are in his future.

And there's this man. This grown man who the boy doesn't know he'll be. This man who probably doesn't know how many oceans of tears belong to him. Tears that have sunk silently into the pillow while I beg God for sleep to rescue me. A man who didn't sew up the now-patchworked heart he probably doesn't know he shattered. He's real. And so am I. And so is everything else. Almost too real.

That one moment when the innocence was shattered. When the little girl ran away into the night and the boy hid himself in the past for safety. Sometimes I stand there apart from the two of us, relishing that moment right before it all turned black. Sometimes I'll catch sight of pictures I took that very night, or I'll find myself staring out of the window on car rides, remembering the smallest details of roads where we traveled. And I almost see those two little hearts, so dear and distant. Laughing together. Because life was simple then. Life was strawberries and coca-cola. Life was bits of string and quiet singing. Life was holding hands in a yellow mustang, all dolled up. Life was growing up. Together.

 In one of our last few conversations-- though I didn't realize it at the time-- we spoke of our strange story. We discussed what it would be called and what would be in it. Would it be a love story? A story of just that, growing up? Would it ever have a happy ending? That day, I promised myself that I would write it all down, from the very beginning when I spotted a teenage boy sitting on my living room couch, to the very end. The end that no one could guess would ever actually happen. Simply because it was so unexpected, so very real life it almost felt fake. And occasionally I will allow my childish mind to take over and make up scenarios in which I wake up from an awful nightmare and we two laugh about it together over coffee in that same ol' Starbucks. At that same table. I think about that place too. I've been in it a few times since, but it still feels like that cafe is stuck back in time. Where everything is safe.

"Oh, what a story we'd make," he had said. "How would it end?" I inquired, playing with the string on my wrist. And he looked at me, shrugged, and that smile I remembered for good. "That's the fun part. Nobody knows."

Nobody knows because it's the story of our lives. It could end a hundred years from now, or tomorrow. That's life. But our story-- oh that story. I could say it's all over, but that's just the thing. It's not. We never see each other anymore, we only talk in memories. But the ghosts are still following us. They guide our every actions, whether we know it or not. This boy, this man was there when we grew up. Those odd important years where everything seems so much worse than it is. We became adults together, joined the world together, suffered together but stuck together. For so long. Fate intervened but somehow I still feel like we are together, just in spirit. A shadow of each other following us because those experiences-- though painful and difficult for me to dwell on with dry eyes, were strange little tests to see how we'd grow. Like one road can branch off into several pathways, we are meant to choose our direction on this confusing journey. I chose and I kept walking, but perhaps I should've left the rear-view mirror behind.

I'm leaving this city in just a few days. I'm leaving the place in which I grew the most. I'm leaving ghosts behind, back roads behind, picnic tables, cafes, fields, swing-sets, everything. No matter how frightening that notion is, maybe it's just what I need. So my eyes don't rest on things that dig up my memories for me to go over for the countless time. Good memories laid atop horrible ones because I've tried to bury the demons. I'll be back to this town, if only for a little while. But perhaps every time I return, I'll be a little older, a little wiser, a little more free. I'm growing up. And that doesn't mean releasing the child in me. I'm learning who I am, where I belong. And I don't know how long that'll take. But I'm willing to wait, and willing to try.

I need to move on, it's so long overdue now. This'll be the hard chapter in the story that's mine, possibly one of many. But here's me, trying. This is the end, as well as a beginning.

The End of An Era

It's strange that one moment you go some place where you used to draw peace and excitement and a means to escape, and in that one small second, you realize that hallowed place no longer holds any meaning to you except the negative kind.

And this place doesn't even have to be a physical place. It can be a certain time of day at which you do a certain thing. It can be a state of mind you find yourself in when you stare too long at a wall. It can be a place on your laptop screen that you spend too much time exploring as if you actually live there. For me, it's the final example.

An online writing community. A place where fellow writers gather on the face of the internet, circle themselves around a certain plot, which one or more characters and them all interact and go about their fictional lives. I loved it. I admired some of the characters, was able to get along and laugh with the writers behind these made-up people, and was easily able to look past the ones who believed themselves better than all, when in fact they were just along the same lines. And then it all changed one bright morning. I can't even remember when exactly I signed into this community and was unable to locate that same feeling of excitement I used to draw just by catching up on everything that was happening. Perhaps it was the moment my naive eyes unknowingly locked on an actual R-rated scene before I released a shocked cry and wildly scrolled away from the words.

Writing. Using words to paint a vivid picture for the avid reader to look on later and feel that sense of excitement that the writer felt when initially painting. To form the emotion of anger, happiness, sadness, suspense, and any other feeling that can be drawn from such mysterious and wonderful things as words. And after reading that scene between two writers, with such detailed foulness, it tainted my definition of writing for a long while. I sat there before the books I had abandoned for the sake of this writing community. I frowned and scowled every time I returned to the community in order to keep my own characters active. And finally, almost all my writing muse was dried up, because each time I entered that community like a fool returning for more punishment, the writings, the conversations, the pictures would just get worse and worse. And me, the naive little girl, believed I could ignore it. After all, the world is like that, right? It has to be ignored, you can't make it go away. False. You can choose to space yourself from all that! And it took me far too long to realize it.

It pains me to leave that community. I built up three very deeply thought characters which I will have to abandon. I have made friendships that are bound not to be as strong as they would be if I didn't have to go. But I have priorities, even if they took a while to sort themselves out. My faith, my innocence, my absolute LOVE for writing-- all of these are being put on the line while I am a part of of this community with low morals. I never took part in any of what the other writers did, but it was painful enough, sickening enough, sinful enough to pass through and hold my nose while I scrolled on acting like nothing in the world was wrong. But it was. And it still is. And now comes the hard part. Telling the friends I am leaving. Silently putting to rest three characters I felt a connection to. And starting afresh somewhere else. Like in the pages of the book I have put on hold writing, in order to keep active on the constantly demanding community I used to draw excitement from until it almost controlled my life. It's all over. And now, I can finally start writing for myself. And for those readers who believe words are an art form, and respect them as much as I do.

Skimming the Surface

(Well this is full of ranting and probably doesn't nearly cover what I want to say, but maybe this is just the first in a series of rants. Either way, here it is...)

I felt like screaming. Like kicking something, or just slapping my hands to my face, curling into a ball and waiting for the earth to swallow me up. The only thing that kept me from doing all this was the fact that I was in public. It was strange, though, how a single picture can stab you in the gut and poison you with such emotion.

I think it was the way he was staring through the camera lens at me. It was just like in person, the way I would just occasionally catch him studying my face. I say those times were special because he barely looked at me; I mean really looked at me, the way I did him. Mostly I would find him staring off out of a window or across a room, and I would wonder where his mind had wandered, and why he couldn't take me with him. Did that idea ever cross his thoughts? That I wanted to be carried along on his wildest dreams? Or did he not want me there? Had I not gained his trust enough for something that special?

But all this isn't about looks, or times together, or why it all didn't work out. Though that does play a part. No. The following words address that strange phenomenon called heartbreak. And how it can sneak up on you at the oddest moments and in the strangest forms.

For me it was in the same coffee shop I had last seen him in. I was with a friend this time; a dear friend who I knew would rewrite the bittersweet and sour memories that I had lived in that place. I had cried right before him, closed the door to possibilities for the final time, and we had parted ways with strange farewells that were wrought with to be continued's that might not even follow through. Friends. I told him he'd always have one in me. And he said he'd wished it ended differently.

But no. The story wasn't over yet. I kept my distance because I didn't know how to react. It was strange that I still wanted to talk to him. That I had to train myself to not check my email in case he had sent me a hello message. It was odd that even with all he had dragged me through, through all I had put up with silently, good times run over by bad times.... I admitted to myself I missed him. I missed the innocent happiness we shared before it all went wrong and I woke up from the dream with tears in my eyes. I promised myself I would talk to him the moment I was ready again, just like he said he would give me time to. And on the very morning I even considered the possibility of rejoining the thread of communication, the horrors of Facebook slapped me full across the cheek over breakfast.

"In a Relationship"? What? Not a week after he had told me he would wait a lifetime. Not five days after that moment in Starbucks when we had said goodbye and he wished it had turned out better. I remember just staring at my sister as she relayed the strange tidings that had been posted on the news feed for everyone to read. But only me unable to comprehend. I didn't expect him to be heartbroken over the end of 'us', I didn't want him to curl into a ball and wither away due to the pain I had loaded on him. I just thought words held more weight than just things to be said-- no, typed. Because more often than not those were the conversations we held. Staring through a screen at one another's thoughts, never hearing our voices actually speak them. But when he actually said the words "This will probably only settle in next week," and "I only want to make sure you're okay and you don't blame yourself for how this ended," I just-- was blind. They were words, nothing more. And now looking back on the moment, after the tears and-- yes maybe a little heartbreak, I'm able to smile and perhaps even laugh. At my shear insolence over everything!

Girls, seriously, do we rely on men's good opinion so much that we fail to see how foolish we can appear in the sight of them? I've been played, duped, taken for the fool that perhaps I was! Yet still I feel that pang in my heart when I happen across a picture or a message I saved from my time with him. We let our hearts play tricks on our minds and see what we want to see so often that we fail to realize we deserve so much more. This is by NO MEANS an attack on any man who feels offended by the content of this mindless rant. Especially it is not meant to target that unfortunate man I am addressing in the third person. Take this as one of the many rambling thought-processes I take in order to heal from something that bothers or troubles or hurts me. I think it's a common human flaw, the acceptance of the love we think we deserve. But more often than not, that love we're accepting with a relenting sigh doesn't near reach the level in which God sees you. The love God has provided without a thanks, because you don't see it --how special you are-- yourself. So the world spins on, with discontented lovers who wish to one day become that old married couple who bickers with smiles and aren't afraid to hold hands in public. The thing we forget is-- that stage takes time, we just sometimes aren't willing to seek the rare gem out. Most of us are able to see past this initial self-doubt and wait around countless years for that soul that fits to yours like a near-perfect puzzle piece. But that other percentage of our population is simply not willing to go the extra miles (however long those miles be, sailing alone) in order to finally find that fate we call "the one". But, I suppose with this last heartbreak, I'm one step closer.

So I should thank you, dear Question Mark (you shall remain anonymous simply because the situation is between you and me and not the whole of whoever shall read this). You have taught me lesson over lesson without even knowing. How to carry myself, how to swallow pride, how to stand up for something I believe in, and most important, what I deserve when it comes to the matters of the heart. I was broken when we parted, I cried rivers over you, but now I shrug off the cloak that I have been carrying around for far too long now. I wish you luck with that special girl you found while passing time with me. I cherish the time we shared before everything dimmed into reality. And thanks to you I'm finally able to hold my head up and look to the future. Love will find me, as it will find all of us sooner or later. But for now, there's no shame in being "on your lonesome". Because maybe on your lonesome is how you decide what you're willing to wait for.

Looking Glass

When I was ten years old, I used to look at my two older sisters and wish so badly that I could skip forward through time until I was a teenager, with beauty, experience, and what I thought to be a fresh look on the world. I could play games but look physically like the heroines that I looked up to (my sisters, yes, being three of those role models). I used to hate my young and naive face, my frizzy long hair, my inability to wear make-up. I wanted to grow up. And now... two days from my nineteenth birthday, I find myself staring into the past through space when I should be writing a college research paper... I realize something very important and very heartbreaking all at once...

I so badly want to be kid again.

And surprisingly it's not for the obvious reasons, though those do play a part. Responsibility crushes me, deadlines throw their ruthless surprises toward this queen of procrastination, and I fight the battle of a near-adult on a daily basis. But I think what really hits me is the details just inside of all this. Details. I never noticed them as a little blond imp running around with braids flying behind me and imagination wild but inexperienced. I literally lived life day by day. Step by step was my balance, and weekends were those times with swimming and movie and dinner in the living room. That's all. Simple. Perfect. Back when the house was loud and small but big and sunny.

And now, things are... so different. I live life by tasks. I have to complete this paper by this date, I have to get to the bank before too long, I have to get a job so I can prepare for the future. What a foreign word that used to be and still is, but now so much scarier. The house is emptier and quiet, happy but-- big. Oh, so big. And it really just hit me tonight as I sit here scared for what the future brings... God forgive me, I never thought.

I never thought that one day my three best friends who were as tiny and dreamy as I was would be in college or headed there, spacing off in their own directions, pursuing what they love. I never thought that my oldest brother who was posing with his prom dates in the living room or cuddling with me would one day be a happily married lawyer with three children. I never thought my second brother would go away from me at all, that the games would end and he would be getting married soon. I never thought of my Addie as an Army wife and mother. Never thought of Emily as a wife with child and facing things that grown-ups face... I never thought Laura, my comrade and partner in crime, would grow up at all. And me? well, I just never thought.

But most importantly I missed all those details. Those little things like sitting at a table over school books but laughing with my sisters. Mom eating breakfast at a marble table in a Army post house. Dad coming home and letting us excitedly take of his Army boots. My brothers entertaining the family from the back seat of a large van. Holidays, weekends, arguments, family reunions with Aunts, Uncles, cousins, a loving Grandfather.... Sibling rivalry that lasted days but ended with laughter like nothing had ever been wrong. And that just skims the surface. Every little thing that lies inside my mind and heart but is shared with seven others, other memories recalled with laughter that I'm still able to meditate on with those involved because I can never relive them.

But I realize one more thing. I never valued time when I was younger, and whereas I regret it... I don't believe I value it nearly as much still today. I find myself just wishing it would return. Back to where all I had to care about was if I kissed every family member good night before bed. Back before I had to make those grown-up decisions that frustrate me. Not to trade the years I've spent growing up, because I've met such wonderful people that I just find them impossible blessings God has bestowed on me. But to pause time, look around and have just a moment to meditate before life whisks another change my way. I am about to embark on something so big in my life, but all I want to do is climb up into a familiar wooden chair and listen to my family yelling and laughing and living together.

And beyond my childhood, in just the six or so years I've lived in this little-big town called Temple, Texas. So many people have touched me in so many ways. Family friends turned into deeper relationships that I still value. A bond linking across a wide ocean that feels more like one room. People who I worked with, talked with, laughed with and might never see again. People I've learned from, prayed for, cried over. It's all part of this big, heartbreaking, wonderful thing called growing up. You can't stop it. Just cherish it. Every single little moment, even the ones that are painful or annoying. Because every little moment, I've realized, is a gift. I hear it all the time, but I never listened. Until now.

So in two days, when I embark on the final year of my teenage life, one thing will especially weigh on my mind as I take the leap. Life and ALL of those people in it are meant to be cherished, thanked, valued, learned from, and loved. So, I raise my glass to the future, but also to the past that prepared me to face it...

A Riddle and a Rhyme

It came like a little creature approaching and feeding on fear to grow. It sneaked up behind me like a surprise that is waiting to push you off that cliff into uncertainty. And it all arose from that moment of fear. Fear that it was going to be taken from me.

I say it resembled a miniature mouse at first glance, merely because I knew it was there. I acknowledged the little possibility as it stared up at me with round-eyed curiosity. However, I mistook sneakiness for admiration. I figured the mouse would simply stay there, perhaps snag my other treasures, that would not be a surprise. But when it laid eyes on the biggest prize. That was when I knew it would change. The little mouse facing me would go through a painfully quick growth spurt, eating away at all the little pieces of things I kept close, and finally it wouldn't be a mouse at all. But that ugly monster, rearing its head in the waves of disaster.

"Well you'll just have to stop your writing." I'm sorry, did I just hear: "well you probably should stop breathing right now. Just to get started. Next week we'll start tongues of fire and waterboarding."

If any writers out there are reading this, you probably understand (at least to a degree) what I mean by the last statement. To have your will to write threatened is quite possibly one of the worst offenses against a writer's soul. Ever. Period. It's right up there with "this stinks!" and "well it's good, you just don't know enough about what you're writing about." The initial reaction that your body takes on after hearing the words 'stop' and 'writing' is laughter. Yes, laughter. You want to look at the person who has just considered you strong enough to carry that command through and tell them they should do stand-up comedy right then and there. And yes, I can say writing is a weakness of mine. I am not strong enough, nor will I ever attempt to vanquish the powers it has over me. I love it. Take away all the details, every little heartache, every small cry of desperation that escapes a writer's lips when they can't find that certain word. Rid the scene of all intricacies that blind most, and you will see the love that flows straight from this writer's heart, through the fingers, and right onto the page. Read my stories, my blurbs of action, even some of my school papers and you will see, well, me.

Some people say 'oh I am my life's accomplishments', or 'I am me when I paint' or those more wild ones, 'you can see me in my children'. It took a long while for me to realize what made me ME. Years actually, which is saying a lot considering how 'young' I am and how big a life I have ahead of me, etc. At first it was the singing. I love to sing, I love when a baby smiles when I lull him or her to sleep, I love when people tell me I have something going for me in my voice. I am not egotistical, but there are those certain things you do love that you can do. Singing is one of them. But there was something that went deeper, the words that I carried a tune with. They fascinated me. Then it was filming and photography. I love it. I can capture a scene that flashes by my eyes in an instant and know exactly how it's going to look framed and on a wall. I love freeze-framing every little aspect of life, capturing a two minute snippet that might or might not inspire admiration from someone else's eyes. Creating things. That was what I realized it was about. The process, the journey it took to complete the finish product. Nursing: it was the thought of helping people. Journalism: it's the passing on knowledge to others. Acting: telling a story through expression. The list goes on. I was your typical little girl with big dreams that all led back to one little thing.

As quiet as that mouse. A free as a bird. As passion-invoking as the gospel on Sunday. As loving as a song. As full of expression as a human being's eyes. That written word. My love. My life. My world. The one thing that, no matter what happens, no matter what you may try to take from me, has no end. Its heartbeat cannot be extinguished save for through me. Its voice cannot die, only sleep in my mind. I see it every day. Colorful, magical, always moving like the tide. People, emotions, hands, eyes, tears, smiles, laughter...words. It is behind everything. Even in the smallest, most unseen details. Spoken or written. Sang or signed. THAT is really the universal language. And for me and my pen, it is the door to so much more. You cannot take it. You cannot snuff it. You can only let them drum on....

Talk Straight

Talk Straight-- you never know how long you'll have that opportunity.

I have always heard these words, spelled out in different ways throughout my life. And though I will offer it as advice myself so many times to others, I can never seem to follow it myself.

When someone asks me what is wrong, my usual go-to reply is "nothing", often accompanied with an indifferent shrug, a happy-go-lucky shake of the head. And most often, this is true. But those times when the nothing escapes my mouth, I realize only seconds later when the person is walking away that I could have been honest. I could have told them of my stress, my anger, my annoyances, things that make me sad. I could have said all the thoughts inside my head, whether happy or sad or just plain angry. But I never do. I just sit there and let another opportunity to TALK slip away.

It has come to my attention several times. In class, among my family, talking with sisters. They ask me what is wrong, and I reply exactly the same way. "Nothing!", "I don't know!", "If I had something wrong I would tell you." Often leading to an argument, these words are not always true. Is it lying? No. I honestly have no answer to that question of how I am. Most often, I am happy like my general persona lets on. But like all human beings, sometimes there are those days I just don't feel like doing -- well anything!

It is not only about how I am, or how any of us is. It's the person that hurts you but you don't defend yourself. It's the guy or girl you glance at countless times in class but never say a word, only endure your heart breaking every time he/she looks right through you. It's the one who says they no longer care about God or religion and would sooner party that go to church. You care about these people, you live day in and day out in the same home with them (yes, the world is like a BIG house, with the places we live like the rooms we escape to for shelter). Most often, you are going through the same annoyances and pains as the person sitting across the room from you, but you never notice them because they are over there, and you are here, and we're all too scared. Too scared to smile at a stranger, too frightened to say hi to the one you've loved for so long, too afraid to be HONEST.

But we don't have very long to be. I'm not those people who preach that the world is bound to end soon if we keep heading down this path, or to say the apocalypse is on it's way and we all better watch out. But what if? Ask yourself. And really think. If today was your last day, what would you do? If you had six months to live and you had two options: speak every little thought inside your head, even those that might change your life? Or would you still bite your lip as you walked past the one you secretly love? It's easier to do that, yes. I myself go through it. Would you say hi to every person you shared a sidewalk with, or would you frown and avert your eyes?

There are many people in the world. And by many, I mean millions. And each one of us are completely different, with so many view points, opinions, traits, flaws, likes, hobbies, loves, hates, pet peeves, things that make us individuals. But hey, have you thought. One thing that we all have in common, that we share no matter what, that we ignore or forget about or think it's not relevant in our every day lives. We ALL have a soul, a spirit inside us that is totally unlike the others but still the same, it's a beautiful thing that gives us a voice, through silent expression or through the most beautiful song. And if you place your hand on your chest, you'll feel that heartbeat that makes us ALIVE. But what is the point of living, if we cannot let our souls shine through our eyes, through our words, through our expression?

If you feel love, express it. If you are lost, call out for help. If you are scared, look around. You'll find we all are. And then look up, and try to realize that we were given a gift. That gift is life. We need to open that gift, and shout our gratitude to the world around us by simply LIVING.