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 


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



our days have been intermittently caught up in transitions; fog, snow showers, icy roads, and then, the unquenchable Arizona sun, mud, and pale faces turned towards the light. it's as if the earth can't decide if wants to be heavy with shadows, or illuminated with the rays of the sun. even so, we are just as indecisive. the gray settles over us like a heavy blanket and we welcome the illusion of true winter with open arms, but just the same, we are unexplainably joyous to see the sun when it overcomes the clouds and bathes the earth in the warmth of its kiss. 

i still can't grasp the reality of 2015. a new year, goals, changes - big, and small. we don't notice the change until it's already behind us; we don't realize life has transitioned and changed, transforming us along with the seasons and those around us, until we look back. to move forward, they say you have to leave the past behind you, but remembering where you've come from is just as important as envisioning where you're going. the past is a part of who you are, stitched into your hands, etched into your mind, written on your soul.

our past is a part of us - of who we are, who we have become, and who we are constantly being shaped into - just as our future is only a vision, a hope, a collection of dreams. this new year has brought many new thoughts about my future; what i'm doing, where i'm going, and how i'm going to get there. i can't see the big picture; i don't know what my future hold, but there is hope in simply knowing that our God does. and i'm holding onto that. 


everything in between / 2k15

(fragments of 2014)

twenty-fourteen. how does one sum up 365 days in a few words? how do you capture the essence of that much time on a page? i can't even begin to bring forward those memories, already touched with the dust of time; already stowed away; some of them half-forgotten, crumbling around the edges. some locked away with an iron lock. some we wish we could forget.

a collage of loosening fingers, of exhaling white smoke into the blackness and watching it fade, of saying goodbye, of salty paths traced down cheeks, of letting go. learning how and when to let go; to move on, release the past, bridge the gap that has been a gaping wound for so long. 

and also, like a song of hope, a mosaic of white knuckles, of gripping tighter, of refusing to let a face - so different, and yet, hauntingly familiar - fade into the smoky shadows of the past. recognizing the hazed glimpse of victory. the moment pale fingers grasp onto something - fragile, crumbling - and you simply know it is not something to give up on. you don't know why. it cannot be explained. 

back and forth. holding on, letting go. receiving, giving. waiting. wondering. looking backwards, pondering the future. 

and such is life.

i look back at the year with veiled eyes. first glance, eyes sweeping the cracks of the past, burrowing, seeking, cracking, breaking, searching, comparing; where we've come from, and where we are now. 

the change we see is not enough. it's never enough. the biggest footsteps, the most painful changes, the raw, aching losses. they never add up to what we think they should be. 

if only i had done this. i should've been more. 

we never escape the grip of imperfection. we see it everywhere. it swallows the past, it shadows the future. it rises before our eyes. it whispers, you are never going to be enough. 

there is no fear in that realization. it's true. we aren't enough. but He is. we find our rest in the shadow of His love, and mercy. we find our peace in His promises. we will never be enough. but we don't have to be. because He is, and always has been. 

and so, we learn. we move on. we accept the past, and plan for the future. lessons learned. fingers clinging with pensive persistence. new beginnings. nights spent staring at the shadows that crawl across the ceiling. holding on, letting go. the seasons progress. faces change. people disappear, wisps of smoke across the gray sky. 

there's always something we wish we could change in the past. regrets. painful memories. ghosts that haunt us. white knuckled fingers, hearts thundering in our chests. remembering. wishing. 

but remember this: we cannot change the past. we can only learn from it. 

this year has been overflowing. rocky. filled with new things, and many muched-loved faces. crazy. adventurous. full of growth, and changes and difficulty. brimming with hellos and goodbyes. 

there are always things to celebrate. this year, i've learned (and am still learning. always) to simply celebrate life. love every moment. the brokenness, the tear-stained moments and bittersweet memories. the organic, raw beauty of learning and growing and changing.

it's the simple things that make life the most memorable; things that have a hold of our minds and hearts. and the funny thing about it? we often find the smallest moments are the ones that mean the most; the ones that stay with us the longest.

here's to twenty-fifteen. beauty, pain, laughter, sorrow and everything in between. xo