Looking back through these group pictures, I never recognize myself. That face isn't mine. I've changed so much, inside and out. I want to keep these changes, because I feel they're pretty positive. I've found confidence where I didn't know I had any, but I had to drop down to where I felt totally lost to find it. I now have the drive and ambition to finally move forward and do something with myself. It feels good. Inside I'm still a mess, but every day I get out there and improve myself just a little bit. Hopefully it will be enough. Hopefully *I* will be enough.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
I stand, and...if even for but a moment, I feel as if I'm waiting for something. For a long time coming I can't identify what it is, but even that fact alone is unsurprising--it's dark, it's stormy, and I'm rendered incapable of making sense of anything in an environment like this. In my thoughts there's a swirling rain, in my thoughts there's a dark and musky night...in my thoughts, there's you.
Even when I think I've escaped these kinds of thoughts--this feeling of waiting, and of longing--I'm haunted by the remnants of the destruction we created together. Every night, after night, a memory plays out to me. It's vivid, it's real, like it was only yesterday. A memory of standing in the cold, swirling rain of the past; a memory of the drops beating down on the leaves of the oak tree, the shafts of the roof. The water slips down inbetween the cracks, of a glass door I stand outside of; when I press my hand to it, it trickles down inbetween my fingers, the chill running off the back of my hand.
My ragged clothes are drenched, pressed up against my body--my thick hair, too, stuck to my forehead. I have little energy left in this moment, but still, through tired eyes I peer through the cracked glass, to see you inside. Your back is to me, but you sit quietly, wrapped up in a thin blanket watching the fireplace--it's burnt out now, the wood blackened from the pouring through the chimney; there is nothing to see, yet still, it's as if you remain unaware of my existence.
I can't call out, because I have no voice--can't open the door, when the locks protect the cold hard shell like castle walls. My only purpose for being here, my only reason to exist in this state, is to realize and to accept the harsh truth, the reality of the storm among us.
I lower my head like a dog who was just scolded, thoughts swirling like the rain. What was I to expect, after all? My hand is still pressed to the glass--the drops that slip down are only our own blood, together, shattered and mixed together so that we no longer know whose pain is whose. The way the drops never cease to keep beating down makes me feel like a murderer--the way they can stay beaded together, clutching tight to the very moments they hit the cold ground, makes me feel so terribly alone.
I remember a time, so vivid and lively, when we were beaded together, holding on tight through the ups and the downs on life. Until we hit the ground, each fell into an abyss, each bounced off of each other--and now, we are only blood, only pain, the murderers of the murder we are. It's a painful truth to realize, a painful fact to bear.
And even now--I'm somehow here, at least, standing, breathing, without you by my side. You are here--yes, but this isn't like before. I feel weak, knowing that there's no time to change what has been done, knowing that nothing will ever be the same. This is how things have to be, now--with us far apart, like parallel lines who see each other yet never meet--or even any other pair, who cross once, in a beautiful and glorious moment, and venture off from that moment forever. It is the heartbreaking truth that I am learning to accept, ever so painfully, agonizingly slowly.
That is it--that is all this is about. That slow, dull pain, creeping through my body. The remnants of the past, the destruction we created, the loneliness despite us not alone. We were together and now we are not, and that is simply that.
I stand, and by a fleeting moment, I'm waiting for something. I'm waiting for the painful, hard, and unchangeable truth to sink into my thoughts, and then, into my heart.
It is not that I am alone--I'm not. There you are, on the other side of the cracked glass, there you are. It's not being alone that causes a pain of this extent. No, it is that solid, unbearable truth that changes everything.
That even now, somehow, I am without you.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
It is strange how I find myself thinking of you at the oddest of times. Whether it be a flower or gunfire, you're there in my heart. I think of the laughs we've shared, the sweet embraces, the stolen kisses. Would you like that flower? I bet you would be adorable thinking about how that thing goes together. What kind of comments would you have about the people we're watching?
Inevitably it all turns to the other questions. Was I just some fling? Do you even think of me? Do you even care anymore? Feels like you don't, and that hurts me more than a bullet ever will.
As sweet as life was before, it is as painful now. Inside me there are cold, quiet things huddled in the dark that want to scream but can only whisper.
Monday, July 17, 2017
Monday, July 10, 2017
Saturday, June 24, 2017
In all honesty, I feel way less stressed in this warzone than I did back in the States. Out here I don't worry about bills. I don't worry about finding a date. I don't worry about what people think of me. I don't worry about hardly anything. There can be explosions nearby and I only care because I'll be inconvenienced to go and put on my kit. Gunfire is commonplace, more easily ignored than the sound of street racers.
Nothing has any meaning.
My biggest source of stress and pain is the fact that I'm trying to hold on to a memory. I should just let it die.
I hurt myself far more than you hurt me.
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Dear Girl Who Walked Away,
It's not like you weren't aware of what you were getting yourself into. He told you he was nice. He trusted easily and gave you all he could when he could.
The nice guy believes in doing things right. He was there when you needed him to be, and he went out of his way to make sure you knew just how much you could mean to someone.
We live in a generation where we all have to wear masks and play parts to make it through the battlefield of dating in the 21st century. There is no such thing as giving it your all.
We like quotes on Facebook and post things on Instagram stating we want the masochist one day and the romantic the next. We play these games where being available can only happen sometimes, and playing hard-to-get must be our number one priority. Why?
I thought the ultimate goal was to eventually settle down. I mean, what is the point of dating if you have no desire for it to go anywhere? If a one-night stand is what you're looking for, leave the good guys alone and toy within the levels you lay down.
Save yourself time and energy because the good guy isn't going to make it easy to just walk away. The good guy cares, so he'll get his explanation from you even though he knows it'll be a load of bull.
Every girl says she likes the asshole because he's the challenge — the one she must break, train and force to be more than just a douchebag. Have you ever thought, however, maybe you were the girl in need of learning what it means to actually feel again?
You went through something, like we all do, and because of it you changed. It's normal and heartbreak happens, but the next assh*le didn't fix what the first one did; he kept it the same or made it worse. His priority was not you and couldn't be you. So now you're bitter and closed off from anything remotely more satisfying than a one-night stand.
I won't deny that the asshole is fun or that a good time isn't promised with him, but when it's all said and done, is it ever more than just a good time? Probably not.
In fact, the asshole has a charm about him; it's the charm you justify your pursuit with. You say, “There's just something about him.” However, it’s probably the same quality that ended up hurting you in the past.
So you tried to push the nice guy away. When he wouldn't go away, you pushed harder. Still, he didn't give up and every time you pushed harder, he pulled you in even more.
He ignored your fears and forced you to grow; he fought for your passions when you were too busy writing them off. He forgot your wants and focused on everything you needed. Then you walked away because he was too nice.
He gave you too much of everything you wanted, and life got too easy. You wanted conflict and hardship as if everything else in life did not promise you an endless journey of just that. This is where you failed.
The nice guy has been hurt, too, he just chose to stay nice. He learned that different people were going to provide him different things in life. The nice guy also chose not to let any of it change who he was.
So, he let you walk away and he called it a day. Everyone always says there are plenty of fish in the sea, and he let you go knowing this, even though it hurt.
What you don't know is that someone else is out there, and she won't be as foolish you. When you realize all you really want is the nice guy who cares about you too much, it's going to be too late. Some other girl will be able to see how great he is, and she won’t waste a minute.
So you lost your Ted Mosby and, I promise, to him you were Robin. The nice guys are there to give you a break, a light to something more than the games we identify our generation with.
He may have loved you too soon and it was too crazy and too much, but guys like Mosby don't happen every day; they happen never. He got you the blue French horn, and he made you feel love when love was no longer a part of your vocabulary. You were now saying “I love you” again and remembering what it felt like.
He was the guy you were supposed to end up with, who makes everything change. I just wish you'd see it before another girl does because at the end of the day, everyone, including the nice guy you hurt, is rooting only for you.
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Monday, May 22, 2017
I can't help but wonder who will leave me next. We've already lost one guy from the platoon. It was sudden. I guess everybody leaving is always sudden, that's life. Life is pain, anybody who says otherwise is selling something. Sometimes I feel the stars and moon, the sunrises and sunsets are all I have left. I mean memes have pretty much stopped making me smile. I only chuckle a little bit on the inside on especially funny ones. All the rest I just don't find funny anymore. I guess I'm depressed. Hopefully most everyone else doesn't know it, I couldn't stand the pity or the "go out and fuck some hoe and get over her" 'advice'. She's the one. She's the one and I fucked it up. She says she needs to find her. That's always been the "I pity you and don't want you but I want you to think you have a hope rather than kill yourself" excuse. She gave me hope so She wouldn't blame herself for me dying out here. She sure as hell doesn't want me, I don't know why I ever dreamed otherwise. She's wrong though. I wouldn't kill myself. Me dying like that would be too much of a bother. If I die it's because I get the chance to throw it away for somebody else. Derek knows it, but he knows me best out of everyone here. Ruben probably does. He saw me break down when it happened. He saw the pile of self loathing torment I am. I'm afraid to laugh. I'm afraid to feel. I'm afraid to dream. I'm afraid to hope. Life is pain.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
I'm not over you. I won't be over you.
Every night I look up at the stars and miss you. Do you see them? Do you remember our stolen kisses in the moonlight? I watch the sun rise and I watch the sun set, yet all I see is you. Through the long hours of the night I think of you, of how you complete me. My sleep is filled with your laugh and how sweet you are in my arms. My heart is sick for you.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Friday, April 28, 2017
Tasted eternity in her kiss
My belly home to butterflies
It's her I truly miss
Her arms are home
Her laugh the sweetest melody
The most loved goddess of Rome
Her name, my threnody
Alone, I now wander
Damned to ponder
The heart grows fonder
Her love I did squander
Left to my thoughts
Solace brought by no thing
Telling constant lies
"I'm fine." "Everthing's okay"
I'll rest and never rise
Not this day
She feeds me false hope
Dares me dream of tomorrow
Wants me to cope
All I feel is sorrow
Death would be such a sweet release
No more feeling
Emptiness so appealing
I am but a husk, hollow
Why continue on?
A bullet to swallow
All that is good is gone
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Friday, April 14, 2017
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
QuIERO que sepas
Tú sabes cómo es esto:
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe,
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.
Si de pronto
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.
Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
que en ese día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.
si cada día,
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable.
Si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.
Friday, April 7, 2017
Growing up love seemed so clean, so pure. It was idyllic in its simpleness. It isn't. Love is hardly ever not messy. It comes out of nowhere and leaves you lost and confused and hopeful and scared. Yet still, love makes the sky more blue, food taste better, it fills life with clarity. It has ups and downs and it's a lot of work. People do stupid things because of love.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Never in my life have I ever felt such constant emotion. Early on in life I learned self discipline, to not be ruled by my base self. As of recent, though, emotion rules. Is anxiety an emotion? Or is it a state of mind? I know not, just that when it hits it hits hard. I overthink constantly. It's hard not to when I've so much time stagnant.
Still, my heart soars. I feel full and complete. Life is good.
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
I am past despair. I am past the hours of hot tears streaming down my face. I am alone. I am empty. I am filled with grief. I can't breathe. Iron shackles bind me. I'm drowning in my anguish. I am calm. I am hopeless. I am the withered husk of what could have been.
I am hollow.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
I love you, completely. I look at you and know I can't deny you anything. You want my heart? You already have it. You want my attention? It never left you. You want my blanket I've kept since I was 12? All yours. I just can't help these thoughts that you feel the same. It's probably the fact that I've been used and let down so much in the past that keeps me from believing I could ever have anything so great as you. Bourne doesn't get nice things. Bourne doesn't deserve nice things.
How could you ever be happy with me? What can I ever give to you that you couldn't get better from someone else? When am I going to feel that sweet, familiar burning in my chest when you tell me you just don't feel it anymore? When am I going to put on my smile and tell you it's alright, I understand. When am I going to watch you walk away, like everyone else in my life? When will I be alone again? When will my dreams of a future fade away into painful memory? I love you.
PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS