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eyes closed, feet moving pained
will failing, heart weakened
and yet

sweet sweet leaves of love
The giving tree-
i rest
and i wait
and i, too, can love.
will failing, heart weakened
it is enough

Impossible. Impossible.

Truth is, I'm trying so hard to reinvent myself, because I know I need a new something. I'm always needing a new body to be a part of. I was made that way, just as I was born with light freckles and a single dimple. Just as I got daddy's hands and mama's eye for colors. So I pack a new bag and put on a coat and go.


Her collarbone smells like softness and tears, my arm around her waist feels like an answered prayer. Her stomach makes noises that I've heard already- from before this lifetime. I can almost remember being curled up and tinier than a moment. Almost. I could almost imagine I am a cub, safe in my mama's den. Yet lying next to her, I am dense and suddenly aware of the tightness of my waistband and the fullness of my sleeves. I remember that she is frail and translucent and I am afraid to let myself fit comfortably. This is the fear that reminds me how long it's been since I've let myself be little. Holding mama is just as heavy as holding my weight, my gut, my pride, my heavy head.

When we have everything, they tell me to live in the moment and pretend tomorrow won't ever come. But when reality becomes empty and harsh, they try to console me with fortune telling and the idea of hope.

I keep writing because there is so much. As soon as I let go of one heaviness, another anchor ties me down and I cannot be free until I find a poem for it to sink in.

Oh, not because happiness exists,

The thing about words is that I can choose whichever ones I'd like. Give them meanings to carry, as I wish. Big things like - this is who I am - followed by more words. Then tomorrow or the next day, rearrange them yet again. But how can you use such volatile letters and sounds to hold such precious truths? That's the thing about words: as soon as I define them, I lose a little bit of everything else.

How could the world be such lyrics and rhymes, if not for the Great Poet? Human beings did not create symbols and themes, simplicity or contradictions, you know.

Even with my eyes open, all I see is a blank mural wall, a white canvas in front of me. I'm afraid to choose the wrong colors.
And honestly, without you, I can't even tell the shades apart. If you don't come true, I might never know how to dream again.

i get up, try to fly, and find i'm still in bed.
i find i'm still only dreaming, until i pick up that brush and paint a new ground - far below my feet.

q. how can i know when i've waited long enough? when is it finally time to give in?

a. do moments of murkiness ever come because of your own will or ability? can you force yourself to be stuck? finding confusion is the biggest surprise, especially when we expect to know it all.

so how can you expect any different from the process of becoming unstuck?

look first in the closet, at the beach, the bottom of the bottle. check outside your window, every street of india, in other people's mirrors. look everywhere & examine everything - except the little seeds of truth clenched in your fists.

how willing we are to spend our lives away, pretending to seek, pretending to not know. all because it's too scary to take off our shoes and our lies. too scary. to become small enough to fit inside freedom's hiding spot. empty enough to be filled.

keep it simple
hug your heart
send more letters (even if they're telepathic)
embarrass yourself, then laugh
write in cursive
wear coral, canary, cobalt, & cherry

redefine each day

To the girl in the navy blue dress, be careful with that one. Your lace sleeves, slender arms, and weightless hair might make you different from me. Might make you prettier than me. But inside, you look for the same as I once did. Don't ask me how I know, but I've stood in that pose, your pose before. A different place and a different winter, but you can trust me. I know. You can trust me when I say - what you are looking for is more than his fickle tendency to make promises. Charm you he will, but don't give in to his eyes - you will drown. So walk away. And when you really find what you are seeking, it will be solid, it will be yours, and you won't have to live with the excuses.

she said. i thought you forgot.

it is hard to forget, i said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone.

-Brian Andreas

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
- 2 Corinthians

give you whatever you need, let me give you me. take any parts you want, because i like to travel light. let me please give you words and sights to see, let me thank you, let me not need anything in return.

when i am alone
when i've lost all care for the things i own
that's when i miss you, that's when i miss you,
that's when i miss you-
you who are my home.

and here is what i know
here is what i know now,
goes like this.


- Orange Sky

said goodbye, again. this time, out loud.

watched as the constellations of your skin spun away, to be closer to other planets. to be known by other skies.

I wish you could have been there for the dancing & sick days & honey & peacocks & rivers. There for the sad festivals, rooftop smoke, silent talking, and back roads. The nights too tired to stand for anything. But, mainly, I wish you could have been there.

Whenever I fear that others will judge me for what I believe in, I find hidden deep within me the actual fear of admitting my own hatred. That is a strong word and a painful one, but it describes my fixation on the possibility that those who seem different will challenge me and maybe even change me.



I don't have a choice, but I still choose you.

-Poison & Wine

With every dense inhale, I pick up my heavy heart; with every forced exhale, I hear it thud.

how young we are
how little we've lost
how much there is waiting
how long it takes to walk from vancouver to kimpala.

but it's ok to not know those quantities.
the only thing you must grasp-
the difference between the weight of imperfection
and the peace of saying "forgive me"

i love you.

don't cover your face
with those hands
your crying will have
no place to spill

when tears fall
they are meant to drop
with heaviness
and certainty
satisfying their need to be
free

-not smothered between your fingers

Something about the edge where cold tile meets wood drawer. Something about spilled flour and dish towels. Something about oven timers and moving hands, buttery avocados and salt over my left shoulder. Something about watching from across the room, you talking to your grandmother. Something about wanting to lie down.

I am thinking about something.

I stayed up yesterday cutting out stars. Hung them over my bed, next to a map and lights that never turn off.

Made a list. Waited for you. Loved you for a lifetime.

i spend most of my life listening
to rain machines

dripping faucets
crashing waves
weeping eyes
thundering hearts

then today the storm finally came
but, can you believe it
i only focused on watching one foot precede the next
kept my eyes down and
my senses muted-
until a drop hit me square in the heart
only then could i hear that freeing rush of water

all i know is
for so long, i've been searching for you
now i'm not so sure i will recognize
when it becomes real.
all of history, people have been waiting for rain
i fear i've forgotten how
sweet the release can be

this is how i know that the dust i am of, came from the same comet - as the dust under your skin.
when we are next to each other, the air tastes sweeter, feels bigger in my lungs, because we are sharing it.
that way, i wake up the next morning with you inside my breath.
this is how i know that my laughter is not ugly, when you are smiling with me.
because sometimes that is the only way to tell our troubles - they're not welcome.
it doesn't always work, but then we laugh some more.
this is how i know that even i can be beautiful.
you stopped when we passed that empty lot: rubble and leftovers are jewel toned paints to you.
this is how i know that i am made of strings and you are made of chords.
because in my past life, i was born in the ocean; and you spend your time listening to the water.
this is how i know that even though the doctor has big words and big warnings (and it's my birthday), you are my surprise
that eases the strength of this little pill.
you are my short-lived eternity.
this is how i know that the future is a dream - at the same time, a promise.
this is how i know that knowing anything at all is rather impossible.
this is how i know that my life could change today, and your heart will change tomorrow.
but, i am for certain when i know
who we are.

i still remember my first dance class
i was only four, i was barely a person
they taught me how to raise my arms
how to keep my toes and fingertips in line
how to spin in endless circles-
without falling over
without even getting dizzy.
it was here i learned to put my hair back
to tuck away loose ends
and to please the people who watched.

when you haven't got much to carry,
you don't even have to think
you just balance.
finding your center isn't hard
if you haven't got so many layers to dig through.
but now i'm four plus a lot more
and somehow my body isn't the same as before
how did my pockets become so heavy-

to be quiet or to be loud
to stay in or sneak out the window
some days i know who i am
some days i only want to change.
i forgive
but i want justice
i know sadness but i know beauty
well. i don't know if they're so different-
the more i see, the more i'm deaf
but the darker it is outside, the clearer i can hear inside.
my hair won't stay tucked back anymore
and to please others is a mystery
to please myself is unsolvable

still, i know i live for the clues
because they keep me standing
and sometimes,
to be on just one foot is enough
i believe in the power of paradox
i believe in the wisdom in questions
but sometimes,
i've been standing on one foot for much too long
and balance is no longer an option

they never taught me when i was four
how to fall
to know how to leap gracefully
is dead weight when
you're lying on the floor just trying to see
what's up and what's down-
though it's ok to tip over sometimes.
i believe there's a me out there
standing upright, knowing how to be on both feet
[weight evenly distributed between
inward and outward
serenity and change
silence and thunder
love and fear]
just waiting to be found
i believe.
i'll keep looking.

at least i'm glad,
that i learned when i was four
it's much harder to keep your balance
with your eyes
shut.

i threw your name at the wall
i hurled it with great force
because nothing has more power than grief
except maybe hopelessness.
i threw your name
your promises
your identity-
at the wall, the door, the floor,
until it all cracked.
until my strength cracked and
my body found itself parallel to the ground,
my cheeks pressed to scratchy carpet
a dew was forming
in both my eyes
and the only way to stop
was to close them altogether.



the moon would rise, the stars would shine
just like they always do.
but not for me, not for me,
if not for you

Because the point isn't to make you fall in love with me. It's to help you fall more in love with Christ. That's it.

I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will.

-Wendell Berry

Pray for surprises. Smile a lot, but be real with everyone as well. Notice each second going by, and remember that everything will too soon be a memory. Allow tears, but fight for healing. Understand, everyone is hurting, everyone is trying to win their battles inside. Always practice spontaneity, there is no better secret to friendship.

Definition:
One who shows others the joy of achieving something together. You cast a vision and market the cause only because you believe it possible and worth fighting for. Be genuine about that - never act for your own gain, only for the gain of the Kingdom. It doesn't belong to you, you belong to it. Be strategic: not in profits or in fame, but in love. One whose confidence is quiet.
A servant.

A season for this and a season for that. And now is the summer of sunshine and water. Water for growth and nurture. Occasional dry spells come and go, but now is the summer of making waves. Waves that catalyze change on shores that desperately need transformation. A time of toes in the sand and the freedom to run. Running from the past, towards the Kingdom to come. Hot summer rainstorms perfect for dancing and loving. Loving on those who are frozen in a winter of shame and insecurity. So thank You for the fireworks and the sunsets. For the explosive epiphanies and the silent moments of gradual awe. I'll stay out here on Your waters, navigating Your compass.
Lord, catch my sail with Your wind.

No other instructions have ever left me more confused about who I am.

I have no clue why I don't just write like myself. Why I bother with the fancy punctuation and the extended metaphors. Why the lessons I learn or the pains too hard to ignore can't just be laid out for all to read (the way they are in my messy brain). "Today I was eating some cereal for dinner and I realized that I am the big toe of the Body of Christ!!1!1!!!"

Why I create this second identity. A wise woman with the power of being concise. Are my insecurities so severe that I'm inventing a new self that is easier to live with? We all know this written me is nothing like the struggling, dribbling, off-balance real me.

Or is it? These words are mine, after all, these verbs are my choices and these adjectives are my prerogatives. This imagination is my own and these aha-moments do seem real. I don't know why I don't write in the same blubbering way that I spill my thoughts when I talk, but maybe, just maybe, the talking is actually the fake, confused, sleep-deprived version of the composed, put-together, real me.

Definition:
An intimacy that all of us silently search for. For someone to pay attention to the details and listen closely. To make the small moments count. And when you surprise someone else with soft, smiling eyes, or remember the specific shade of blue that comforts them - you yourself could be a prayer's answer. After all, each of us just wants someone to recognize our true worth. Not to receive a love born out of obligation, but rather a genuine liking, admiration, appreciation.

What we need or what we want? Neither of us seem to have a clue, so we're settling for letters of uncertainty and half-heartedness. We both deserve better, but for now we'll give in to this make-do love.

He'll only have two questions for me-

What was my relationship with His son?
And how did I use the gifts He entrusted me with?
Make Him proud, bring Him glory.

But my hands are so greedy, they want to fit You in my palms, hold You and memorize Your curvature. I'm so easily frustrated when I can't visualize the big picture of it all. Sometimes it's hopeless, trying to live this life, knowing that I'm numb to a whole other dimension and realm. Why am I missing one of my senses? Why is it so damn dark? Why am I so damn doubtful? Why does it feel like I'm down on my knees, hands spread on the floor, just trying to grasp onto solid ground that my eyes can't see? When the dust falls through my fingers, please be there to shelter me in Your hands. Please.

Stop trying so hard. Stop trying so hard to make your own heart and your own love good enough. The easiest discovery of all - His love lives within you and His love is already 100%. What more could you possibly need? Trust in His goodness and you will surprise yourself with the way His infinite love will soon become yours to share as well.

Definition:
Fulfillment stemming from obedience. May not bloom within the comfort of clarity, but surprisingly, you won't wilt away. To be rooted with Love so that He may grow greater. Jesus, others, yourself.

Whenever I am convinced that love is cheating me of contentment and bliss, eventually I find that the fault is mine, not love's.

Love always waits on us. Its very nature is gentle and generous. It is not one to hold on to jealousy. Never dishonoring or self-seeking, love does not get angered or keep score of others' wrongs. Love is never on evil's side, because it gets its joy from the truth. Love is my protector, it gives me trust, hope, perseverance. And love never ever fails. Ever.

I am none of those things, and none of those things are me. So if love can never fail me, I must be failing it. All my time and effort spent blaming love for my own insecurities and inadequacies prove worthless.

So we must stop expecting entitlement, and instead be the difference. Be selfless - be fearless. What does radical love look like? Stop asking what it can do for you. Just give freely, pour, without needing reciprocation. Worry not about boundaries - because when it comes to love, there are none. Judgment only clouds the good, pleasing, and perfect lens of Love.

So it goes unsaid, but I hope not unheard.

You who are so beautiful, you who expand my capillaries and veins, you who weep for bountiful love. That you who live within and through grace - are my downfall? Can it be? Are you but a distraction from the righteous path? A momentary prize catching my eye, swiping my heart from the One who deserves it? Or is this complex, twisted, irrational longing the Only other thing in my life that is worthy. It hurts, it really does, in a brain-shattering soul-squeezing kind of way. But if I am given the strength make it to the other side, to row to the other coast, a paradise far from this confusion, then I might have the clarity to know that this was all for Good. Maybe that is the pure truth of Sacrificial loving. Past the crippling fear and the difficult choices, there is perfection. Ironic, nonsensical, perfect.

A slice of star pie. A bite of constellation cake. The night sky, the one you digest with your head thrown back and your appetite for more. More sky, more atmosphere, more cosmic infinity. Who knew you could capture the entire breadth of the universe in just one panorama? It’s only geometry. Turn your eyes to the furthest point to the left, and then trail your gaze in a straight line bisecting the plane, reaching the last visible point to the right. Or trace the horizon, 360 degrees, where each intersection between up there and down here add up to the circumference; you are the radius. Now it all seems measurable.

Why not calculate the volume of the air between your feet on the ground and the dust in the Milky Way? Once you’ve done that, you can own it. A slice and a bite to yourself. Your portion of dark blue. Don’t worry, you are not being selfish. There are more batches of sky – plenty for all. You are lucky, though, because your designated section of sky includes a moon. What great service. What great luck. The shadowy orb of pale, golden, delightful light as the backdrop for a smattering of crystals on midnight velvet. All yours, slightly off center in that great expanse of personal sky.

What great luck! Had you not roamed to these exact coordinates tonight, who would have appreciated this magical coincidence of a complimentary moon? In all the grandeur and vastness of this world, tonight you are here, privy to this private showing of galaxial beauty. And even though you are – in a physical, momentary sense – alone, you are not by yourself at all. You know this. Just as you knew that every fiber of the universe was compelling you to throw your head back. Just as you knew to lose your breath at the contradictory nature: infinity that can be personalized. You know.

He is 1353 – give or take a dozen – miles from your tiny patch of earth, but he can share the Heavens with you. He can share it all – the stories of the constellations, the winks of the stars, and the comfort of the moon – so far up and away, but close enough to submerge you in your own pool of lunar glimmer. The intimacy: you know it is your fragment of the night, reserved to envelope you and follow you tonight. And somehow, it is simultaneously connecting you to him and him to you. From an entirely different place, he can own the same view. You just know. Just as he knew to throw his head back and find your very reflection on the moon.

There are secrets you keep from others. And there are secrets you keep from yourself.

There are diseases that outwardly scar you with detestable sores and poxes. And there are diseases that plague you with mind games of regret and remorse.

There are addictions, concrete and dangerous, that you use to fill the gaps and silences of day to day life. And there are addictions, intangible but destructive, that you retreat to for your nightly dose of self loathe.

There are viruses that infiltrate your lungs, your computer: systematic breakdown. And there are viruses that lay dormant in hidden memories: repressed for the most part, but never forgotten.

There are floods that wipe away cars and churches with no regard whatsoever for the scope of human life that lay in their paths. And there are floods that topple the dams of the damned, pulling down each heartstring in its way of destruction.

You have not seen many places; but you have been to all these places. You have been sick, you have suffered withdrawal, you have been infected, you have been swept away. Once or twice, you have almost searched for healing. But mostly, you have held it in. You do not know where to start, you do not know how to ask. All your life, this has been a war never-ending. A war with just one side – a war with an enemy, but no allies; a war of the strongest offense, putting up no defense. And while most wars are contested with violence and arms, all you know and own is your mind. This is your own battle and your soldiers are waiting for your ownership. So fight, fight to save your life.

So write.

trust trust trust
what it all comes down to
when hearts are involved
nothing else to say

Address to the Senior Class

Coming down the hill into this
I tried to hold in mind the worth of your lives
to be able to help when Main Street isn't enough any more
what of the silent storm that is happening now
inside you, the minutes adding to days, and the days
to years, and the time coming when you will lean
for the air that was rich, for the sunbeam, for the sound
going away? I stopped by the roadside to raise
a handful of dust, as the Indians did, to pour it
slowly out and let it fall in a cloud
and the grains tumble together. "This is today,"
I sang. I sang for you till the sun went down.


Our Story

Remind me again - together we
trace our strange journey, find
each other, come on laughing.
Some time we'll cross where life
ends. We'll both look back
as far as forever, that first day.
I'll touch you - a new world then.
Stars will move a different way.
We'll both end. We'll both begin.
Remind me again.


William Stafford

The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;­
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back ­a faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress­
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.


Charlotte Bronte

about his size.

Every expression that's ever danced across your face, every deep-throated laugh that's ever bubbled up, every victory, big or small, every callus, every moment of ecstasy, every sigh of relief, every prayer, answered or not, every weakness, every shortness of breath, every blissful evening, every guilty pleasure, every change of mind, every change of heart, every embarrassment, every conviction, every song that mattered, every uncertainty, every tremble, every secret codeword, every interruption, every wrong turn, every curve of soft skin, every piercing pain, every look that cradled everything you ever entrusted in me.

Every Last is vaguely remembered, and I wonder why we didn't realize it during the fact. If only each Last had been recognized, so every particle could have been memorized - because now I can hear the Lasts flying past Forgetfulness, past the point of no return. And it frightens me to ask - what if some are already out of sight?

but I remember so much
never ending afternoons counting freckles
bittersweet cinnamon and risk
attempts to choose between guilt, denial
words that didn't echo
left my lips wholly empty and vain
that night running from the law
rushed from trouble and childhood
so fast, we misplaced the ground
so fast, but I remember so much
daisies that grew all year round
home in the form of a passenger seat
pain that consumed you from the inside out
how i tried to be your caretaker
how you became my saving grace
now, a white frame still on the wall
bare, because the photo was just too heavy
it weighed me down
out of sight, out of mind
hiding,
the one thing I do best.

Most days, I am a flood of flaws. The addiction to my failures seems irrational - you would think I'd want nothing more than healing. But it's damn impossible to believe that I deserve love when I am caught in the middle of my own disgust. When I am crouching behind my fears. When I am sliced open with my hate. When I am shivering at my destruction. When I am torn by my lies. Fixated on the fall from grace, it's easy to forget: He seeks mercy, not sacrifice. Do not let His goodness go to waste. Forgiveness is free, with just a single prerequisite - stop with the self punishment. Embrace His tenderness, and all else will follow.

Definition:
The moment you feel you must own something, exist somewhere, or belong to someone - letting go. To live in the goodness of goodbye.

Every lamp that approves its foot
shyly reminds me of how Ellen stood.

Every bowl, every shadow that leans forth,
hunts vaguely for the pattern by her door.

One summer, I remember, a giant beautiful cloud
stood beyond the hill where Ellen lived.

It has been years, and we hardly look back;
now, except for times like this, we hardly ever look.

There may be losses too great to understand
that rove after you and – faint and terrible -
rip unknown through your hand.


William Stafford

Every word you've ever shared with me. Iridescent bubbles floating by, transparent against the crystal blue sky. Will I ever be able to hold them? Will I ever be able to call them mine?

And Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, "How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" And the disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said to them again, "Children, how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God." And they were exceedingly astonished, and said to him, "Then who can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God." Peter began to say to him, "See, we have left everything and followed you." Mark 10:23-28

It took a few tries, a hundred prayers, and a thousand tears, but the answer finally resonates. Only those who have nothing can accept everything.

Immense fear, infiltrating doubt, overwhelming shame folded up into origami swans - perfectly deceiving. You wouldn't know the wrinkles you could find if you took the time to rewind and unfold. The stains and the crease marks, the scars and the edges. A thousand swans could fill an ocean of vintage milk jars with my regrets, but what good would that do me. If shelves of glass ceramics stack up all around my house, what kind of home would that be. Guests could only tip-toe, always being reminded of my fragility.

"The Kingdom of God is near, repent and believe the good news!"

Jesus calls us to spill out the insides of our bent up selves. Repent and smooth out the hidden. A house filled with a menagerie of flightless mulberry paper swans can easily be traded for a home with the most beautiful wallpaper - that opens up and brightens the space within.

What we all need is a little more you.

The deepest concaves of your soul are rare and genuine - words that may describe gemstones, but words that were destined to define you. Know that this is true, know that you are loved. And just do one dramatic thing for this world. Be forgiving. Be outrageously, unbelievably, inexplicably forgiving. Have a vision: one of reconciling and redeeming. Why? Because you can. Because you were given the tools to love back. You were given voice and compassion and art. You, more than anybody else I know, were given art. Go ahead, color the coast. Show your truest to the world, and I swear it will be breathtaking. We will watch you and come alive with indescribable feelings. You, yourself, are the greatest gift that you could offer.

This I know, because, all I need is a little more you.

Do what you are afraid to do. When perfect love comes, fear leaves.

It's quite an idea that I could have lost access to you. As if you require a passcode from me. There's no eloquent way to put this, but I swear this is the loneliest I have ever felt, knowing that I'm on the outside looking in. What sequence of events led me to this time and place where I've lost all rights to you? I've lost all rights to you. You as a being, as an entity, as the person surrounding my soul. All of it has been replaced by you as an idea. There's no eloquent way to put this, but I swear it hurts so bad.

The irony is that it never varies. Life's biggest constant: we're always dreading change. A tedious little paradox that makes you wonder, who are we kidding here? Maybe it's one giant cosmic joke that nobody has gotten in on. Where's the punch-line?

Well the joke's not on me anymore. From now on, a full-on-embrace with change. Bear hugs and tackles and airport hellos, because today forward, I will seek change, I will scour the couch cushions for change, I will collect change in a ceramic piggy bank. No longer will I remain a static character. Changes in setting, changes in main characters, changes in internal and external conflicts will all be greeted by a welcome mat. Granted, the concept of venturing into that six-letter word is frightening in a shattering sort of way, but a certain five-letter word seems to serve as a remedy. I guess faith is the glue that will hold me together when everything else is as unpredictable as a kaleidoscope.

It's simply a fact of life that all countdowns must come to an end. The digits check themselves off without needing to be reminded, because time is much more dependable than people. And if it hurts, it hurts. Each time you remember the daunting task of just letting go, still your mind and remember that even the hardest goodbyes expire. Send a trail of light and butterfly kisses in the general direction and that will be enough, you'll see. Oh and - promises that you'll never ever forget the moments that spun you around.

I used to question: Why did he leave me? How? Can someone's mind - no, someone's heart, change that rapidly? Didn't it hurt him to give everything up? Does this make him one giant lie or really just the painfully open truth? Did all that love simply evaporate?

They say experience is the best teacher.

Now, standing on the other bank of the river, I finally have the answers, but they're no easier to swallow.

There is no child here.
Bodies have been crippled, sons have lied. Homes have been lost, fathers have given all to addictions. Trust has been sacrificed, mothers have wanted to kill - themselves.

But I am promised: to God, nothing is wasted.
I trust him and Him, both.

I ingest your words and hoard them because I never want to lose them and I don't even want to share them. They are beautiful and poignant and they are just what I've craved. They are pale aquamarine and rich juicy cranberry and they are helping me breathe. Never knew that such little letters could have raw and honest melodies, like the deepest notes of jazz feeding my appetite for soul food.

My hair,
doubles as a stress
ball,
for Him to lash - onto.
except there is no -
compression .
there's only,
tension.

Tension is the noun
tense is the adjective,
tense is the air.

Oh the air between -
us
Him and me,
with only air,
in between -
us.
But Oh the tension
of the tense-
oxygen

It keeps us
alive
but it breaks -
us - no, me.
it rips to shreds
the fragile -
life.
Oh the air -
that became
wind into a
storm.

It pulls
and I pull,
back -
pull of war.
I pull from
the - abuse
the - hatred
the - malignancy. I try.

If there is
one - ounce
one - carat
one - calorie,
of regret,
I cannot see it.

His eyes are of stone.
No quartz, no ruby,
only coal.
Easily -
flammable.

And I am just -
the fueling element,
I am the cause.

The cause - because,
of me.
He jumps as a flame.
The match strikes.

It is -
because of me. I - am the cause.

Not written by me! Credit goes to a certain inspiring writer I know :)

I really don't understand why bad things happen to good people. It just doesn't make sense to me. I really don't understand it. I don't understand why life has to be so unfair. I also don't understand how people can change so quickly. One minute, everything is okay, and the next minute he tells her that he doesn't feel anything anymore and she breaks down and cries and tells me that she's sorry for being a sploosh. I'm still not quite sure what on earth a sploosh is, but I know her and somehow I understand. It's just not fair to her. And now I'm sitting here when something's going to happen today and I feel powerless. It's not even any of my business. But it affects me like anything that is my business. She cries and all that floods her mind is silver rings, pizza boxes, chocolate roses, greeting cards, football jerseys, and a list of all the reasons he loves her more. And then, past summer love in staircases, baseball caps, a pink tank top, and sidewalk blocks and a first kiss. And one year three months is a long time to not have been alone when you can still smell the air when you're above the clouds and plastic cups and bags of peanuts are all you get as you wave good-bye to sun-kissed beaches and summer all year long. And now she can't even remember a time when he wasn't at her side. She told me that she doesn't even remember, and she'll be stupid now, cause she doesn't know anything about what they think, just how he liked her to smell. And I tell her that we love her, but it's funny how small and insignificant it was to her at that moment. And somehow I understood, because how could it? But maybe it was true for him of her then, and that is something that I could never understand. After all, she had always been the raven-haired beauty who knew how to walk down any street in sparkling stiletto heels and make it seem like second nature. She was a girl of savoir-faire and poise, a perfect paper doll but cut out with scissors with the crazy edges. And yet she never lost that spring in her step, because when she dances, she goes and goes. And he had always been crazy for her, and I had always wished I could have someone that crazy for me. And now I think I do, but he's slipping through her fingers. And all she tells me is how she just wants to say those words to him, but how she thinks she shouldn't. I don't understand a change of heart like that. Somehow I don't think this is like when you're a kid, and you say that your favorite candy is Reese's Pieces, and one day you go to a candy store and you pick up a box of Raisinettes and someone says, "Hey, I thought your favorite candy was Reese's Pieces" and you say, "I thought so too" but you're standing there with a box of Raisinettes in your hand. I just don't think it's the same.

It's funny how one summer can change everything. It must be something about how bright the stars are on those sticky sweet nights. The fresh appeal of raspberries, the tang of iced tea, the familiar jingle of the ice cream truck, and how your hair feels tucked under a baseball cap. Just take a look around. Everyone glows in a certain way during the summer. Not a just-got-back-from-the-beach-with-an-incredible-tan glow, but the kind that comes from within. The kind of glow that lets you point to a girl and say, "Well, she fell in love this summer." So much in one summer, it can be hard to realize how much you grew. It's not until you get back home that you realize how much that summer meant and just how hard it's going to be to go to back to people who don't know you anymore. For me, it's true. I can reach back and put my finger on the moment when everything turned around. That summer was mine.

God, that was strange to see you again, introduced by a friend of a friend. You smiled our little secret and said, “Yes, I think we’ve met before.” And in that instant it started to pour. Instinctively, without thoughts and without words, we ran for cover. Our feet were in sync as we splashed across the avenue. It all felt so natural, I squealed a little as you kicked up some puddles, you held the door open as I rushed in, you followed after and there we were. In that fateful coffee shop of so long ago. Except this time it was 6 years later, I had seen my share of the world, and you were working that 5 o’clock shadow. You and I both were trying to conjure up words – these secrets and confessions we had been keeping on our tongues. I was dreadfully scared you would mention the weather. The sunshine and the rain and the hail... that's for people who have grown apart and now don't know the first things about each other. Hesitating, we blocked the doorway, with our teeth chattering and our hair dripping and our minds whirring with polaroids of the past – our past. And next came the move that I should have expected. For the three thousandth time in my life, you flashed that lopsided smile at me, and right on cue, my insides thawed. It was as if the band had struck up the foxtrot and you had held out your hand. You, leading, sure as always, then me, twirling after you. Blindly following your strides with no intentions of stopping. In actuality, you simply took the first step out of the doorway and into the café. But that first step is always the biggest challenge, isn’t it? Of course I traced your steps exactly. Everything after that folded right into place. There was some kind of rhythm to our path, some muscle memory. Was it really you who headed toward that particular window seat, or was it just your limbs doing as they remembered? Was it really me who told the barista, “Two double shot macchiatos and a maple scone to share, please,” or was that just programmed into my system? And then it was like no time had ever passed. I could almost imagine I was in my old school skirt. I could almost imagine I was 16 and whole. You can’t deny that you felt it too. You could almost imagine you had never broken a heart. You could almost imagine you had never walked out of my life. You gave me a look so tender and familiar, it nearly broke my heart again. Yes, for a dozen silent moments, we were teenagers in love. Loosely translated, we were on top of the world. But the secret about the top of the world, the summit of life, the ecstasy of first love, is that in no time at all, you have to come back down. Sometimes you find a ladder to safely climb down. Sometimes you both slide down together. And sometimes you get pushed. Funny, isn’t it, how we both remembered at the same time. Your gaze went from soft to alert. Something clicked, and our walls put themselves back up. Even the single moms club and the strangely fit couple in the jogging apparel at the next tables could sense the snapping of our comfortable silence. Nostalgia can disappear real fast when reality arrives and sets up camp. And the truth is this: no number of scones or years spent pretending can scrub away the dirt of a ruined dream. Fact is, you pushed me. Fact is, I fell. Fact is, I never stopped falling. Slowly but surely, we raised our eyes and our drinks. And -cheers- we drank to that.

Mid-sip, he murmured, "I seem to recall, you always did have a thing for rainy afternoons."

Yes, we drank to falling in love and falling apart.

He reached for her hand, as if that small gesture could fix everything. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. His voice was shaky, tinged with raw honesty. And although she wanted to just accept that, although she knew it would be easier, and although she could feel the tears coming again, she also knew she couldn’t keep the question in. “But you don’t want to keep me either, do you?” No immediate answer. And that was enough. Because that was the way it always went, wasn’t it? One person feels the love with an astounding and frightening clarity. The other becomes an expert at pretending they feel the same magic. At that, he tried to look her in the eye, and he kept saying, “But I think I love you. I .. yes I think I love you. I think I will always love you. Isn’t that enough? Can’t that be enough?” To the floor, she said, “But why – why do you love me? Can you even tell me that?” A slight pause later, she went on. “I know I love you because you’re always the first thing on my mind, I choose your wishes before anything I want, and I want to give you everything you could want and anything I could offer. But you, you love me because… you love me because I love you. You love me because you’re always the first thing on my mind, because I choose your wishes before anything I want, and because I want to give you everything you could want and anything I could offer.” And what could he say to that? The silence that followed was her cue to stand. Until now, he had always done the leaving. But not this time. She kept walking, and she did not look back.

Here’s a conventional question: What is love?

Here are some unconventional answers: Love is feeling completely lost – lost in translation, lost in reasoning, lost in too many thoughts – but being just as found. Love is not being problem-free, but instead being full of problems. Love wants to face those problems, fix those problems, shoot those problems down with butterfly kisses. Love is holding a starfish in your hand, snorkeling in a kelp forest, drinking coconut milk. Love is feeling involved in something bigger than just you, bigger than just him, bigger than the two of you together, bigger than mammoths or apartment buildings. Love is not a dozen roses; love is a mug on the kitchen table with some fresh-picked daisies. Topping an apple pie with caramel squiggles? That’s love. Love is more than you could ever promise someone else. In fact, love is keeping the promises you make to yourself. Love is not chalk, love is spray paint. Love comes with the osmosis of feelings – two people diffuse the same grief, the same despair, the same ecstasy. Love exists in airports, in laugh lines, and in iTunes playlists. Love sometimes means comprehension, but often it means that understanding is not even required. Love asks simple questions, “Are you sad?” “Is this comfortable?” “Does it thrill you?” “Ready?” Love does not expect much, just a warm place to bloom and a fair fight for survival. Love feels like tucking your thumbs in your pockets. Love is meeting a new city on your own, eating an egg over easy for the first time, being an army of two. Love smells like sweat, chocolate milkshakes, and the insides of cars. Some people say love is needing a person, love is finding the perfect person, love is trusting a person.

Sure, those are the conventional answers. But really, love is just driving on the highway on a rainy night, with blurry and fuzzy headlights leading the way home.