Really Living

So often, we don't really live. Not like God intended us to. So I've taken this and run with it! Won't you join me?

The Quest for Forgiveness

Hypocrisy is an everyman word--I'm aware. You open the dictionary and my picture is there. So is yours. That doesn't make it any easier to look in the mirror. It never completely absolves you of the guilt.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I guess that must be true. Because the way I saw this turning out and the way it actually happened are two rather different things, and though I'm forgiven, I'm still wracked with shame.

Life is full of tough battles and choices and you never know how you're going to react to a situation until you are in someone else's shoes; oversized or pinching as they may be. Don't assume yourself to be better. Wait until you're a mile away and curse those untied sneakers. Turns out you were wrong the whole time and it is you who is the worse person. Isn't irony cruel?

Thank God for hope--literally. The easy part of forgiveness is accepting it, the tricky part is forgetting it. Slate clean, move on. Don't obsess over what's been wiped off the dry erase board. There's no need to rewrite it. It's done. Finito.

Finished.

The Musings of a Lonely Insomniac

I should be working. There are a million things, all lying undone, screaming for my focus. Some are in need of desperate attention. The word deadline pounds through the back of my mind, an almost-physical reminder of everything that has to be finished, or even started.

I could be sleeping. Taking advantage of these dark hours between dusk and dawn, the way the rest of the world does. Shutting off mental and physical facilities just long enough for them to recuperate for tomorrow. But Insomnia leaves me out in the dark, like a long-abandoned animal that still doesn't understand what's happened.

Nighttime pensiveness is stealing over me again. It happens time after time. I could be productive. I could rest. But there's something inherently magical about the twinkle of stars--some sense of breathless anticipation waiting on the edge of the brisk winter air. Aloneness and silence make a girl strangely thoughtful and every sense sets on edge.

Perhaps that is why I fear not the night, but you in the night. To take my innermost moments, and to find someone else is there to witness them is terrifying. Least of all because the idea is not completely repulsive. Somewhere inside of me, something stirs and a burning settles in the tips of my fingers--a desire to touch, to share, to express. I don't know what's happening; we could be anywhere and anyone--all it takes is a drop of darkness. All it takes is a little midnight...

And suddenly the dream vanishes like a wisp of smoke and I'm staring up at the black velvet sky, alone again. But, for the first time, I find myself desiring you to share it with.

Some Snowy Afternoon

There's something to be said for thick, slanting black eyelashes, framing a pair of wide blue eyes.

Something to be said for standing in the cold and spinning, spinning, until you fall, disoriented into the snow.

You can't discount gentle, ringing laughter that makes the whole world pause momentarily, just to listen.

There's something to be said for flushed faces, colored rose-red from exertion and uncontainable joy.

Something to be said for staccato puffs of white breath, mingling with the cold as weightlessly as a vapor.

And you certainly can't ignore a giant snowball bursting on the back of your head!

There's something to be said for intricate white snowflakes gathered in clumps on those beautiful black lashes.

Something to be said for the icy artificial tears they create as they're blinked away.

And no matter how you try, you can't forget the breathless realization of some snowy afternoon.

Panic Attack

Heart hammering, hammering

No exterior stimuli...

Stop it.

Please.

Tremors in the hands, the shoulders,

Shortness of--gasping--breath.

Why is it happening?

No, no, no.

Swallow past the lump in the throat.

Close eyes. Count to ten.

Breathe deep. Drink some water.

Stop.

You

have

to

just.

Stop.

192

It's been one-hundred and ninety two days,

Time that stretched into infinity.

A lot can happen in one-hundred and ninety two days.

Bridges can be burnt, alliances can be made (and broken).

Misinterpretation and gossip can run rampant.

It's been one-hundred and ninety two days,

Since you finally shared what I already knew.

We've had our differences since then,

And I have no misconception that the events will look the same

Another one-hundred and ninety two days from now.

In the last one-hundred and ninety two days

I have learned so much, experienced so many things,

Had so many illusions shattered.

One-hundred and ninety two varying emotions

Have built up in my heart, a cacophonous din.

In the last one-hundred and ninety two days

There has been so much I didn't understand.

In the last sixty minutes, it all makes sense.

But understanding brings pain and I realize

That even though I understand you, you don't quite comprehend me.

And of all the things that have happened

In the last one-hundred and ninety-two days--

In those six long months,

Being resigned to this is perhaps the most painful of all.