Onward, and to the Stars

As I embrace the idea of looking to the future, and of making sense of what is to come, I find myself less anxious than I might’ve previously. Lack of anxiety, of course, may not necessarily mean lack of fear itself, but I do believe I am more at ease. And for that, I am grateful. I don’t know where this newfound peace is coming from, and how to hone it holistically and optimize in the way that I probably should. I suspect optimism for the future is stemming from an exhaustion with my preceding obsession with the past, or perhaps, just a clear understanding of the need to release it.

Regardless, after a long time, I am thinking about tomorrow. I am thinking about the weeks to come, about what will become of everything. I am more conscious of my relationships with people, and will attempt to be more charismatic and attentive in the way I interact with them (I think, now, that they deserve this, and that I have been wrong to remain distant and cold for the sake of my own convenience). I don’t know whether I can become less selfish, for while in theory it seems to be a brilliantly simple and becoming manner of living, I find it difficult to practice the art of denying my own desires. Still, I’ll try to work on that. Hedonism, in all of the luxuries it provides, is not something I’m sure I want my legacy (should there be one) to be associated with.

There is a lot I want to do with whatever time I may have left. I know how irritatingly cliché that sounds, and I know how many people who’ve made the very same claim have done little with their actions to support it. Even still, I felt the need to say it, because I feel it, and at this point in my life I am finding that feeling something is often the most apt and apparent cue we ever get to say it; I may be wrong. I feel I’ve wasted an insurmountable amount of valuable time. And I don’t mean to say this to evoke a feeling of regret or depression, but of ambition and determination, to make sure I don’t continue to mistake the time I am given as some sort of prison sentence. Time was not the shackle, my perspective was; time is a privilege, one I had been ignorantly wasting.

I hope that this final push into utter adulthood, turning twenty, means I will begin to transform (as I would very much like to) from a girl of thought and grotesque obsession, into a woman of action and eloquence. I want to think less, and do more. I want to plan less, and see more. I want to be absolutely present in every moment granted to me. The time, as I now know, is now.

I have found that the secret of letting go of my obsession with the past, of allowing myself to come face to face with the idea of fashioning my future in cognizance of its significance to me, was to understand that the future is not some distant, intangible phenomenon, it is now. Someday is here, and it is time to make of it what I will.    

Cultivation of Pain

Newfound radiance, I’m learning to feel again

New set of eyes, I think I can see again

Though lost still we remain

Something slowly emerges from the ashes 

Hope 

And hope rises 

So too do we 

 Up and up, higher 

We are elated, for the moment

Let’s enjoy this 

He is there 

I am here 

We remain seperate 

Let’s learn to make our peace with that

Peace we used to know

Peace we are learning to cultivate once again

From the pain 

Yes, 

Let us cultivate hope and peace from the pain we didn’t know what to do with yesterday 

Let us give it purpose 

Sway of the Pendulum 

Forgetting what it feels like to believe in magic 

To have hope 

To have faith 

To have the will to continue to live 

For the sake of it 

Because the beauty in that is evident

Because we have the ability to 

Forgetting what it feels like to want to 

To have aspirations beyond what is necessary 

Beyond what is plain 

Beyond what is easy

I am crumbling 

From the inside out 

I am perishing 

What I was is not what I am 

What I am 

Is gone 

Tainted Looking Glass 

Swampy puddles

Muddled pasts

Look me in the eyes

Drowning in thoughts past

Reflections in a looking glass

As I wonder, “Who am I?”

Sinking deeper into myself

But I don’t know who that is

Almost feels like drowning now

Less a curse, oblivion feels more like a gift

Lost now, within this maze

Don’t remember where it began

But I suppose that’s the point

What does it matter, who I really am?

Enduring Loyalty, Wavering Sanity 

I wanted to tell you about the kind of music I’ve been listening to, how much it reminds me of you. You were right, the words are hardly as important as the melody and the way it makes me feel.

I wanted to let you know that I’ve been feeling less anxious about doing things I like, that I took your advice about doing shit just because I wanted to, because I can.

I wanted to say that I fucking miss you and that there isn’t a moment where your absence doesn’t gnaw at me from somewhere inside, I’m not quite sure where.

I wanted to tell you that things are different now and that although different might not necessarily be better, I’m not who I used to be. I guess I’m thankful for that.

I would’ve really liked for you to have known this new me, since you are largely responsible for her. I like to think that you are always with me, always watching, always smiling in that knowing way, always protecting.

I wanted to let you know that I love you, and that I know now what that means. I don’t ever want to treat you like a memory, because a memory has little place in the present beyond momentary acknowledgement. I’m realizing that a bond like ours doesn’t unravel in the face of something as meager as distance or time or reality.

I wanted to tell you that I’ll always be yours, whether or not you existed.

What’s the view like, inside your mind? 

“Do you think about it?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s the sort of thought that never goes away, you know?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“All sorts of ways, mostly sad. There’s this lingering sadness that functions as the constant backdrop. Over that, sometimes there is a moment of fleeting excitement, reluctance, confusion, happiness even.”

“Is that the only way you’re able to feel happiness then, momentarily and through connection with these thoughts?”

“Well, no. I mean, not necessarily. There are different kinds of happiness, aren’t there? I suppose I am able to feel other kinds of happiness about and for things entirely seperate from these thoughts. But no other happiness seems to count as much as this one. Perhaps that is because this sort of happiness is so difficult to achieve and maintain, it becomes more valuable to me in its rarity and mercurialness.”

Mirrored Realities

Things are happening

I’m not quite here

Where am I?

I think I’m sitting underneath the sun

Among the flowers

In a peaceful meadow

I can hear the birds chirping

The wind is nuzzling my skin, gently

I like it here

This here

Not that here

They’re happening at the same time

Where are you?

Are you here with me

Can you feel the tranquility?

Or are you here with everyone else

Which reality do you choose to accept?

Which appeals to your soul?

Which are you more comfortable with?

Can you see me?

Or am I slipping away?

As though I might not have ever existed?

As though any other reality could not possibly be?

Where are you?

Are you here?