Some words about love, dedicated to Cupid Valentino.

What is love? Is it one commercialized day out of the year? Celebrated with flowers that wither and die, chocolates that are passed through our bodies, and expensive gifts that hold no value, that don’t represent anything but a dollar amount? Is it classic cars, a drive-in theatre, and 60 year marriage that seems as if it inspired every romantic movie, ever? Is it crying in your bed with an almost empty tub of ice cream, wishing he would’ve stayed? Is it as simple as a kiss next to a sunset, or as complex as a fight that started in the morning, and lasted until midnight? Is it disguised as lust? Is it as beautiful as child birth? Love. It’s consuming. It’s love letters that were never written, as well as ones that were received but the feelings weren’t reciprocated. Love is beautiful, tragic, wild, full of laughter, anger, trust, and friendship. Love never means the same to two people. Love has different meanings for everyone; yet it simply cannot be defined. I can’t tell you exactly what love is, only what it has felt like to me. I can tell you that love is worth it; whether it resulted in a loss, or a lifetime spent together. Love is a chance; a tomorrow that is never promised. So if you have the chance to love, to feel, do it. And love hard in your own way.

A past that cannot define you

We all have a past; a unique story that is and will forever be our own. Whether we come from a place of pain, love, or both, we are here, now. We are in the present. Our past is exactly that, the past. It resides in rear view mirrors and homes with ‘for sale’ signs planted neatly in grassy front yards. Our pasts are the seeds that planted us exactly where we are today, but our pasts do not define today.

I’ll be the first to admit: I found myself looking in the rear view mirror for a long, long time. I wanted to live in the places that were behind me. I wanted to turn the car around and relive moments more than I wanted to keep driving. I was blind to the road ahead of me because I was so fixated on the memories that I could no longer physically hold. I wanted to move back to my childhood home, I craved the feeling of the sun on my skin as I laid in backyard, listening to my favorite song playing on my CD player. I missed playing in the creek, summertime romances, and seemingly endless nights that resulted in oversleeping until 2pm the next day. I wanted it all back, and that want consumed me for years.

It wasn’t until I had my daughter that I had realized how much better my future would be, than my thoughts of the past. The life that I had wanted back so desperately, no longer had significant meaning. It had no place, no purpose within my future. For years, I let my past not only consume me, I let it define me. I allowed the bad moments to sink into my skin, I tried to cover the bad moments with good. I walked around with thick skin, every inch of it containing hurt, abuse, and loneliness. I forgot about the times I cried in the corner watching my mom being hit by her boyfriend, fearing I would be next. I forgot being dragged down the driveway, my skin scraping along the pavement. I forgot the times I lived in shelters, and all the sad faces I had met while in them. I forgot my first heartbreak and the immense emptiness I felt the first night I had to sleep without my boyfriend. I forgot that I had been so depressed that I no longer had motivation to finish school. I forgot that I had never had anyone to guide me. I forgot that I had started drinking at the age of 13 because I wanted to feel something other than what I had felt my whole life. I forgot that I never planned for my future because I was convinced I would eventually muster up the courage to commit suicide. I had been so obsessed with the small, good moments, that I had forgot my past wasn’t all that great all the time, and it was the past for a reason.

I had masked all the bad things in life, by numbing them with false happy memories. Was I ever really happy playing in the creek or lying in the sun? I mean, I remember contemplating suicide at the age of 10, all the way up to adulthood. The realization that I would never–and should never– live in my past again, was a hard pill to swallow. For those who know me, know that I hate swallowing pills. Yet, I downed it with water and wiped the few remaining drops from my lips and I moved on.

I’m 24 now, and still, I reminisce on what was. But now, I reminisce of the good and bad times. The bad times remind me that here, right now, is always where I’ll be. I’ll never feel those same exact feelings or experience those same exact moments again. What happened to me, happened. Those moments, both good and bad, were real. I’m no longer the girl who went through what I went through, I’m no longer the girl playing in the creek. I’m a woman who is making mistakes, embracing growth, and looking forward. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that the only thing you can’t do, is go back. You can decide your destination, you can change directions, you can chase your dreams and make them a reality, but you can never have the same moment twice. You can’t change what has already happened, only what will. You can try to relive moments and feelings, but they will never be the same as the first time.

I had always said, “I am this way because of what I went through”. I would reason that my failure, my success, and who I am, was because of my past. My past got all the credit when in reality, who I am is who I want myself to be TODAY. What I went through and how I once felt is in no, way, shape or form, responsible for the hell of a woman I am today. My dreams and goals for the future, the morals and respect that I teach my daughter, the way I choose to live and love today is what defines me.

In order to truly let go of your past, you must loosen the grip. Let your past slip between your fingers, and watch it crumble as it hits the ground. Feel the solid foundation underneath your feet, and look up at the clouds passing by. They stop for no one. The clouds just keep flowing within the blue sky. Sometimes the skies get dark, and it rains, but the clouds always subside, and when they do, they just keep moving. The sky isn’t dark forever, and your past isn’t forever. Your past is only that moment, but your future keeps going. It’s okay to reminisce, and miss moments, but don’t live in them and don’t let them define you.

New Year. Same, but better, me.

Through the duration of 2018, I endured love, loss, happiness, anger, you know, all the human emotions: but amplified. All emotions and experiences, intensified. It’s twenty minutes past midnight, New Year’s Day, 2019 and I was hit with a strong realization; I came into this year with absolutely no expectations. No resolutions. However, I entered 2019 happy and present. I’m content; although I do want more from myself, from my life, I will not expect. Expectations lead to potential letdowns. I’m not being negative, but more so realistic and giving myself the chance to accept things that I may not control. As for the things I’m able to control, I do want to make them great. I want to love more passionately and learn to breathe when faced with an unexpected loss. I want to be successful in all trials and tribulations. I want to enjoy moments of silence and embrace the loudness of the world. I want to appreciate the times I cry and feel and smile and laugh; I want to live in those moments and learn from them. I want to give my undivided attention to flowers, trees, and roads that lead to unknown places. I want to fall into myself deeply, doing the things that give me peace and serenity and following dreams that always frightened me. I want to climb and fall and travel to places that inspire my soul. I want to be calm in my rages, I want to lay on my favorite heartbeat and visit the beach often. I want to feel the water on my skin and the snow on my nose. I want to find myself where I had lost myself, and teach myself things I always knew. I want to remain the same, but become better.

Happy New Year!

When your leafs change: an exert of a short story I’ll probably never finish.

Saturday

I look at you, your face emotionless. You won’t look me in my eyes. You look ashamed. I’m not afraid to speak my mind and tell you I hate who you’ve become, and that I liked you better when your leafs were green and your branches we’re only twigs. Within your growth, you’ve became a man whom I don’t want know, whom I believe, you don’t want to be. But you’re him. He’s you. You’re forever different and that’s okay. Like the flow of the ocean, like all the seasons in a year, like the color of the leafs, people change. You stand before me like a stranger and instead of loving, you’re dark. You’re cold. You’re distant. You’ve changed. Who are you now? I wonder who were you all along. Here I am, talking to you, but your attention is at your feet. You lack the ability to communicate. Now, you speak without any truth to hold your words. You are so gone, and here I am. I’m sad but, more than anything, I feel sorry for you; a fool who chases easy, cheap things and gives false hope. I’m not afraid to speak my mind, but I bite the inside of my cheek. My anxiety rises. I swallow my feelings like an already-chewed, flavorless wad of bubble gum. I watch you as you turn your back to leave. So many words sit at the tip of my tongue as I close the door behind you. I fall to the floor and silently cry. You would’ve never cared anyway.

Sunday

It’s Sunday night. It’s raining heavily. I write down some work notes before being smitten by the thunder’s sensational drums. I feel the vibration of the earth’s core shake my bed. It’s a beautiful night, I’m content. Thoughts of you linger, but I’m at peace as I lie awake in love with the storm, and a little less in love with you.

Me vs. Myself

On my dark days, I’m messy. I’m tired. I’m a faucet with no water, a lifeless mind in an exhausted body. I’m cold like an October night up north. I change like the colors of the leaves. I push people away. Sometimes, these days turn into weeks. I don’t talk to anyone. Isolation like an igloo in the North Pole. I’m the fire that could never keep anyone warm. On my dark days, I’m moody. I cry in the shower like Niagra falls. I spend countless hours sitting in bed; a statue of sadness. I hold on to a pillow like my arms are wrapped around another lonely soul, keeping me company throughout the night. Sometimes I overeat, sometimes the smell of left over spaghetti makes me vomit like an Eminem song. Sometimes I wander the streets, the streetlights give me peace as I walk alone with my friend the shadow. I lie in the cold bath water, and I sleep. I sink before I realize my depression has a life of it’s own, it lives within dirty dishes and my unbrushed hair. It embeds itself in my bed, and pulls on me like a magnet. On my good days, I’m good. I focus a little more, I breathe more easily. I dance in the shower and splurge on unnecessary things at the store. I smile at strangers, I curl my hair. I take breaks at work, I socialize. I feel free. I wake up everyday not knowing how I’m going to feel that day. My anxiety battle begins as I wake up, debating whether or not I want to go to work. I shake, smoke a cigarette, and look outside. I feel the energy of the unexpected weighing heavy as it fights my anxiety. I get nervous. I turn on music that makes me happy, I stretch. Some days I struggle to feel normal, some days flow like calm ocean. Everyday is a war against myself.

What I really meant to say

I’m not good with words. I get nervous. I stutter. I shake. I crumble in your presence. I open my mouth to speak to you, but my words break like soft shale. What I really meant to say in my silence, is that I want you. I want you next to me in the morning when I’m cold, so you can wrap your warm arms around me like my favorite blanket. I want to feel your lips on my neck and your fingers through my hair, as the sun shines on us like a rose blooming, except it’s one that never dies. I want to fall off your stem into a pond of lilly pads and love. I want you like rain on my windowsill, when I’m in bed, sick and needing comfort. I need you like a slow sunrise on the morning of our wedding day, and I need you to tell me you need me too as my knees become weak when you slide a ring on to my finger. I need you like a cool, sandy breeze in the Sahara desert. You, a mirage, so clear and pure. I want you like a glass of water when I’m dehydrated and lost in your sandstorm. I need you like your soul needs to be felt, as I look into your eyes and feel your pain embed itself onto my shoulders. I wanted to tell you that I think I love you, not because you’re perfect, but because you’re not. Because you’re you. I crave your rawness, your truths, your love in return. I wanted to tell you I’d travel miles by foot just to see your blue eyes shine under City lights. I should’ve told you there’s no other place I’d rather be than in your arms in a hotel suite looking over the world. I revolve around you, like the moon chases the sun. Like the moon craves the sun’s light. I want to cast a passionate shadow on your bed sheets in a room filled with lust and secrets. I want to feel your anger like a burning sun who is too scared to tell the moon she fell deep in his orbit. What I really meant to say is, I love you.

Distance, love, and the space in between.

Sometimes she can feel him all around her, although he is not there. She can feel him on her skin like freezing cold water. She hears his voice in calm, warm breezes of wind. She dances to his soft laughter in a small empty room. She sits on the bed and ponders, ‘Why does he have to be there, and why do I have to be so far?’. He stares at his phone with pride, holding it with shaky hands. He ponders, ‘Why can’t my hands hold her, and why can’t I find she find her way to me?‘. They ponder, they wait, another day is gone and two broken lovers shed tears over what ifs. She feels intense sadness and regret, he feels loneliness and defeat. Two souls; connected through distance, and pressured by time. They never feel as if they have enough left, so they run, they crash, they burn and then they start all all over. Torn by distance, consumed by each other’s love, forever stuck in the space in between.

Because you didn’t love me.

A memoir to the man who never loved me.

First and foremost, I want to thank you for not loving me. I know it sounds crazy, but by choosing not to love me, you helped me to love myself and to know real love when another man presented it to me. Thank you for that. Now I know a gentle touch when I feel one, now I know a passionate kiss when I receive one, now I know genuine love when it embeds itself like tattoo ink in skin. Thank you for telling me I’m not good enough, thank you for laughing as I begged for your love, thank you for not showing up to the hospital when I lost our second child, thank you for instilling reality into me, thank you for helping me see how foolish and desperate I once was. I needed you; without you, I wouldn’t know hurt and better yet, how to heal from it. You showed me darkness and at the time, I was convinced it was all I’d ever know. But no, I know so many things now.

I know I’m beautiful, I know I’m intelligent, I know I am a unique woman full of wonder and depth, I know I’m a good mother and a good wife, I know I’m perfectly imperfect, I know these things because you told me I was none of those things, but true love proved otherwise.

You hurt me, and I let you get away with it. Still, to this day, I wish you no harm. I harbor no hatred in my heart. To be honest… you aren’t even worthy of my hate. I tried to hate you. I tried to wish you the worst; I once prayed you would endure the hell you put me through. But it did me no good. Instead, I took all the energy I used to hate you with, and began to use it towards my own positive change. I grew. Scratch that, I bloomed. You probably thought I’d love you forever, and that I would always be waiting around for you to reciprocate the feelings I felt towards you.

You thought wrong. People say, “Oh, you must hate him.” But how can I hate someone who no longer exists? You don’t live within me anymore… therefore, I am freed of you. I let you, the memories, the pain, the loss, the fear, the betrayal, I let it all go. Maybe one day, we will pass as mere strangers on the street. I won’t look away, I won’t cry, I’ll simply smile and say, “thank you.”

And you will always wonder why…

10:05 PM, the start.

As I sit and take a long drag from my cigarette, I’m contemplating my life. I’m overwhelmed with nostalgic thoughts, and dreams of a different future. I wonder, “Is this it?”. This can’t be the end. No, this is the beginning. There has to be more to life than this, I know it. I reposition, I adjust my posture, I breathe. I’m deciding to challenge myself because I want more than this. I need more than this. Night one, and many to go.

10:39 pm

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