4.07.2015

tell me a story, v.1


i came home three weeks ago today. i hugged you in the parking lot when i left, our hearts beating next to each other, a cacophony of rhythms pounding in our chests, struggling to get closer, closer. always closer. our heartbeats, a throbbing ache that keep us alive, and at the same time, reminds us of what we're missing. it always amazes me how something so fragile can be so strong; how something so easily broken can keep us alive to be put back together, and shattered all over again. 

five short days until i saw you again. and even though love knows no distance, the heart feels the absence of someone it loves as poignantly as if it was a physical wound. missing someone is a tender ache. it's a fragile thing. not something you can touch, or see, but oh, how you feel it. i hear the whispering in my chest, proof that i'm alive, a throbbing echo, but also a reminder that i am hollow, cracking and expanding as my heart is stretched the distance to where you are. after all, the heart is the one thing that will not be reasoned with. 

*   *   *


*   *   * 

i follow scores of tread marks to the shadowed land of concrete streets and clouded skies. even the brazen blue expanse overhead is misty with smoke, as if the tall buildings are breathing in clouds, and exhaling reluctantly released dreams. it's not a mystery why my feet are rooted in the country, but there is a certain sadness in the very largeness of a city. a million, billion people trying to fit into a puzzle that only has room for few pieces. 

it's puzzling how a building can become a place of safety for something as fragile and shy as a heart. a structure of wood and nails and concrete and cement and metal and screws with the capabilities of drawing the words "home" from our faltering lips. we associate a place with the word, but there is a difference between the feeling of home, and the actual place. the place holds material comfort and assurance, but we find our true place of dwelling in the nearness and presence of the ones we love. and oh, how i love you. as i've said a thousand times before, i would follow you until the ends of the earth. 

don't you know? my home is found wherever you are. and so, i follow you.
(a bit of fiction combined with a recent journal entry.) 

3.24.2015

february :: {forgotten photos}

"i miss blogging."
"then why don't you blog more?"
"life."
"seriously?"
"seriously. life is crazy."
"i know it is. but if you love it so much, why aren't you making time to do what you love, instead of wasting time doing something that requires nothing of you?" <--- a conversation i had (with myself) that really hit me hard.

okay, let's face it. life really is honest-to-goodness crazy (yes, at times, i do talk to myself), and sometimes there is absolutely no time in between to do things we love. such as... say, blogging. (ahem.) pretty much all the photos i've been taken lately have been "forgotten", because, well, i haven't posted in almost 2 months. (whaaa?) honestly, life seems to come in waves, alternating between the crashing, billowing swells that suck us under, and steal the breath of our lungs and the gentle, persistent tide that laps against our feet just often enough to keep us unbalanced. 

life is an ocean of so many different colors, and sensations and experiences. full of memories and distractions that fill our time, and pull our attention away from things that matter. and the truth is, life stops for no man (or woman). even the happiest moments hold bittersweet memories, and sometimes we don't have time to do the things we love most. but i am determined to make time - at least, make more time - and spend less time doing senseless things that have no positive or useful effect on my life, and spend more time doing things i love. 

which means, hopefully i'll be blogging a bit more regularly in the future. because, truthfully, i really do miss it. and sometimes you have to sit down and just do it. ignore the boundaries and boxes we build for ourselves, the guidelines we create that stay within the appropriate range of 'blogger expectations' and simply write when we have something to say. i used to do it so much more, and i want to get back to it.

because, hey, it isn't just writing i miss. i miss YOU guys too! so, what's new with you friends? how is your 2015 going? i'd honestly love to hear. xo

p.s. as the title says, here are some random snapshots from the month of February that never saw the light of day. ;)

2.07.2015

life as an ocean.

Life is an ocean, or so they say. A tidal wave that crashes over us, overflowing into our hearts, washing into cracks that have slowly worked their way into our souls and become a part of us, changing, shifting, taking and returning. Arrivals and departures. Salt water washing over us, our hearts aching from the suddenness of the nearness and then the emptiness that follows absence. But, perhaps, more often than not, things come and go unnoticed; like a whisper of smoke dissipating into the gray air, leaving no trace behind that it was ever there, except for the remembrance of pine and dirt, thick and heavy in our senses. 

Even life itself is given and taken as time passes. This is simply the unavoidable reality of being human. And still, hands grasping, hearts clutching, eyes seeking, we hold onto things that, perhaps, we should have let go of a long time ago. A tide returning to the shores that sent it away, fragments of memories, faces - ghosts, mere illusions of the past - and moments long since washed away by the ceaseless rhythm of time and change; moments we thought we had forgotten. Stars explode in our galaxy of abandoned planets; a reel of the past that has been pushed aside by our hearts to conserve and protect our sanity and the cracking, fragility of our hearts is suddenly replaying before our eyes.

Oh yes, there is safety in separation; there is strength and invulnerability found in being alone, but sometimes, perhaps, strength is only an illusion of the mind. The heart knows in the very depths of it's own pain, that no one wants to be alone, no matter what they say. All they really want is someone who will care enough to stay. 

Life is an ocean, they say. We are mere pieces of driftwood, caught in the billows, swallowed by the waves, pulled by the current of a reality that is ever changing. But yet, there are some things that never change. There are some things that stay constant, things that are rooted in the hollowness of our hearts, only waiting for the right moment - for permission - to grow.

We're afraid to let go, perhaps, but someone once told me, you can't move on until you do. Who knows what's waiting just beyond the boundary of fear you've built? We'll never know unless we take a chance. Life is full of chances, after all. Maybe you all you have to do is make a choice to take a chance and see where it goes.

xx, m 

1.24.2015

v o i d // fictional poetry



i) a thick blanket of clouds,
wrapping tendrils of fog across
the shoulders of the mountain.
deep roots, bare branches,
myriads of color blended together,
a mystic painting etched by the finger of winter.
we are carried by the heavy breath of time,
snowflakes peppering the sky, a haze falls
over our eyes, and the world turns white
as if with fallen ash. 

ii) i see you in the gray clouds
that settle over the reaching trees,
an illusion of warmth that dissipates
as soon as i immerse myself in your (its) embrace. 
the moon haunts the sky, absent as often
as it is there, hovering, a promise of constancy, 
a interminable reminder that nothing stays the same. 

iii) purple haze, light passing into memory
that fades with distance. 
a funeral; effulgence only a dim memory
of the hollow days past, your laughter
still ringing in the air, shadowed with words
that are now empty, heavy with that which
was promised, and forgotten.
i'm becoming a ghost, fading into
the past, melting into what you were.
and as illusions, we pass into the void.

just let me go.
don't hold on.
let me go.

this is the first time i've sat down to write poetry in months. it's aching, unnatural and the words don't flow like they used to, but it feels good to be writing - even if every word is fought for. also, i know i haven't been posting very regularly, but i'm getting back into it; slowly but surely becoming comfortable in the state of mind that used to be second nature to me. i've missed this. what's life like in your corner of the woods, friends? xx