better together

i spend a lot of time thinking about this year and how it’s blown by.

after all these two hundred some odd days i realize that i have lost and gained a lot of friends.

to those of you who are reading this, i love all of you and i never wanted our friendships to end.

but to you, i’m sorry.

i am sorry if i caused us to drift apart, but i miss you and i hope we can be together again.

 

Photo Credit: pexels.com

 

we always promised we would be friends forever, but i guess not every promise is kept.

we swore we would be friends until the day we died, and would never, ever let anything come between us.

but, it breaks by heart that we aren’t close and i’ve been longing to just talk to you again, just like we used to.

i miss you and i love you.

you may know who you are, and i hope you do, because i’m calling out to you, i’m screaming, you just can’t hear me or maybe you don’t care to listen.

maybe it’s our different opinions on certain things, or maybe it is that we drifted separate ways, but i hope we can find our way back soon.

i remember how we used to be,

we were so close,

and knew everything about each other.

we would laugh and cry together, learn strange dances at midnight, sing our hearts out to songs from our childhood until the sun rose, and just be us.

we used to die to be with each other, and would spend every ounce of time we could together.

but here we are, seperate, and i’m trying to find my way back to you.

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Greek Tragedy (pt. II)

Read pt. I here. — (music)

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She placed the mug in front of him, she was warm just looking at him, it had been like that since the beginning. She could still remember all the steps to the dance that got them here: all the cups of coffee, all the late night fry runs.

She could still remember what he was wearing the first time they had brushed hands and it felt like a powerline had hit her. He had been in a pair of well fit light-wash jeans and a plain white t-shirt, next to her heavy boots his were stylish and sleek.

She could remember the first time she realized that just looking at him could make her blush. Just seconds ago, she had been staring out the window at him thinking she was going to burn up just knowing that he was hers.

Photo Credit: blog.iloveflycasual.com

As she sat down though, everything ran cold, her blush fell from her face faster than a spring thunderstorm. It felt as if all her blood had sunk into her feet, leaving the rest of her shivering and pale. She looked away from him, a cold finger running down her spine. Her heart jumped as if just shocked back to life, sluggish and uncomfortable.

In an attempt to warm herself, she brought her mug to her lips and the steam felt cool. Looking over at him didn’t warm her; that molten flame in her chest was guttering. She pressed her lips together as she gently placed the mug back onto the table with a small tap.

She could feel the breath in her chest jump and stumble a little, it wasn’t the normal hitch she got being near him. She lifted her mug again and let the warming steam brush its hands, like his, across her cheeks and nose. She took another sip of her coffee — bitter. She looked up at him — sweet.

She put the mug down again, warmth returning to her fingers, wondering what he would look like come rainy season in the spring. Would he wear that pair of soft, fit-as-if-tailored-specifically-for-him jeans with the tear in the knees? Would he wear that black sweatshirt she so desperately had wanted to steal, would he wear the sleek black jacket, that she loved on him, over it all?

She didn’t know how they were going to reach that point, but she knew they would. Her heart beat a little faster just thinking about it, but then it skipped like it hadn’t quite been beating in rhythm. She was still cold.

He murmured something, pulling her out of her thoughts, “Hmmm?” She responded.

He looked bashfully introspective. She watched him glance up again, with a warm glow in his face, following the trails of steam, a spaceship, into space, finding her eyes in the dark of space, staring at him cooly, like frozen stars.

Photo Credit: rustichome.com

“I love you,” he whispered across the planet, with oceans of coffee, beneath them.

She blushed gently, the flame in her ribcage sparked and gained strength slowly, an ember being coaxed back into full warmth.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. An umbrella offered against the snow.

She grinned at him then, content to just look at him as the clock ticked away the seconds somewhere within the cafe. She watched the easy fluidness of his movements as he leaned forward to grab his coffee mug. She watched and painted the angles of his arms as he took a drink, she followed his gaze as he looked past the awning.

He was staring at the pale sun just beginning to show its face through the cloud layer, the snow persisted in small delicate wisps that turned to messy slush on the pavement. She couldn’t help but wonder what went through his head, as he watched the sun slowly appear as if dabbed into existence on a pale, gray background.

She looked away from him then, and looked back into the window of the cafe toward the clock that was adding up their time. Adding up the time that he was hers, another second, another minute, another hour, all hers.

She didn’t even need to look at him head-on to know how the light shining through the clouds lay on his face, making his skin look soft and downy; to know how the bridge of his nose, the center and peaks of his lips, his chin, the very tips of his eyelashes, his gently sloped forehead, and his cheekbones, sloped up, were all glowing with snowy light, like painted lines of adoration.

She looked at him then, at those lines of Olympian light tracing his face like her fingertips. He was looking at her, though, out of the corner of his eye, not at the sun, not out at the world in front of him, he was looking at her.

 

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The Fight Must Go On

The night was pitch black. The minimal stars sitting up high in the sky only served as a reminder that we were still in the universe, and the distant street lights and sounds of passing cars were muted while walking across the field.

The grass was cold against my bare feet, and I held the neon pink glow stick inside my shaking hand as every single memory of my fifth and sixth grade years came back to me.

I wasn’t the only one there who had these memories rush into my head. Everyone who had cracked open the glow-stick had something about cancer to remember.

The whole field was silent. The occasional sniffle could be heard, and the tear stained cheeks were inevitable to avoid the longer you walked in silence.

The longer I walked, the more memories rushed into my head, and the more memories eventually made me break down.

I never enjoyed crying in front of people, and normally I don’t. I cry alone, because I’ve always hated crying in front of people and feeling pitied for my tears. But I was surrounded by so many people, and when I knew I wasn’t the only one crying, I didn’t hold the tears back anymore.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

I never had cancer, but the speaker last night was right. In a way, when a loved one gets cancer, it consumes you too. It affects you too. It takes up your mind and heart. My father got cancer, and it killed a part of me too when it killed him.

Cancer is the deadliest weapon of all.

It’s the cause of the pang in your heart when you first find out they were diagnosed.

It’s the weeks spent in hospital waiting room during examinations and testing.

Then there’s the news that the cancer is gone. You think they’re finally safe, until the cancer fights back, and it comes back worse and worse, until it eventually takes over and kills.

It’s weeks of watching the life in the eyes of your friends or family fade away. When they go from being healthy, lively souls, to being trapped in their beds with no energy to get out.

It’s the fight that soon becomes too hard to keep continuing.

The consequence of cancer isn’t always death, but it’s the long suffering before it.

Not every cancer story ends with a cure.

Not every cancer story ends in a peaceful death.

In fact, most of them don’t. The cancer eats up everything. It eats up their health, and their happiness, and their motivation until all there is left is remnants of hope and loved ones close trying to help continue the fight for them.

But that was what the walk was for. We were fighting for those who couldn’t fight anymore. I was fighting for my dad who was hoping for a cure, and didn’t get one. Who didn’t win the fight. Every year I walk with survivors, caretakers, and friends to continue the fight, so that one day, the war against cancer will finally be won.

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Greek Tragedy (pt. I)

(music)

Winter.

She placed a steaming mug in front of him on the chipped mosaic table. He could see her hips, just at table height and just below the bottom of her large jacket. As she moved to slide into her seat across from him, her scarf drifted away from her body, offering a silvery black contrast to the white atmosphere.

Stop.

He looked up, taking advantage of the frozen moment. Just behind her, outside of the awning, the snow hung suspended and the people braving the weather were stopped mid-step, mid-word. The steam curling out of his mug was frozen, cloudy glass.

Thinking back in this pocket of non-time, he could not quite remember the steps he had taken to reach this point. How exactly had he begun a conversation between the two of them, or had he not started the conversation at all?

Photo Credit: videoblocks.com

He could remember they had met in a pocket of Indian Summer, he could remember what song had been playing, “It’s Never Over (Oh Orpheus)” — Arcade Fire, he could remember what she had been wearing, a pair of cuffed denim shorts and a burnt-orange t-shirt, a messy ponytail and a pair of well worn sneakers. He couldn’t remember, however, most of the rest of it.

He started at her feet. She was wearing heavy-soled boots, that despite their size did nothing to make her feet seem clownish. Her socks barely peaked from the stiff tops, a light grey knit line-break between the black boots and the black jeans, undoubtedly worn over another layer. He could see her blue-black sweater peeking out below the hem of her jacket, flaring out a little bit.

He continued upward, taking in the puffy jacket that dwarfed her, her hand – frozen midway to her pocket. He paused just a second longer to take in the fall of the jacket, the stolen movement of her arms, the way that her fingers curled around her own mug, the uneven crescent moons of her fingernails.

How had he gotten here? How had he gotten to the point where he could just stare at her and that would be enough? How had he moved from point A to point B? From seeing her serve coffee in a small hole-in-the-wall cafe, to not wanting to miss a single minutiae?

He looked over the folds of her scarf, piled high on her neck, he watched the shadows fall rightly. He followed the fuzz of the scarf upwards to her neck where a flush had crept up toward her face. He followed her jawline from right to left. Her lips —

Start.

She slid into her seat and her scarf fell back into place against her torso. The snow fell, again. All the frozen mid-steps became the movement of the next. He jumped a bit, a shiver riding up his spine. The milky glass above his mug had once again become nothing but vapor. She brought her mug to her lips and stared out from the awning. Now he could see her breathing, there was a small furrow between her brows.

Photo Credit: shutterstock.com

With time now moving he could feel it, a warmth spreading from his heart outwards, a soft tingle from his eyes was working its way down to his toes, while sparkishly light fingers wound around his shoulder blades and rib cage, he would stop time again just to enjoy the sight of her, to will her to understand everything he felt.

“You are everything,” he whispered, testing how it flew from him into the corporeal world.

“Hmmm?” She hummed.

His words, like ducklings pushed from a nest, fell into the mugs between them, unheard and on their own, paddling away from him. She turned to look at him. He was stunned. Her attention was like a blow to his chest. Her eyes, it was all in her eyes and the small grin that dimpled the left side of her face.

How did he get here? How could so much of him rely on her? He looked down at his mug, at the dark coffee there, the light steam curling out of it. Like coffee and steam: warm, rich, and velvety, that was how they were. Coffee and steam, energy and complement, she was warmth in the cold.

He looked up again, “I love you.”

His words this time flew gently across the mosaic table to land in her mug as she brought it up to drink again, to hopefully bring the flush back to her face.

∆∆∆

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25 things i’m looking forward to

Once again, it’s 10:30 on a Sunday night and I’m out of ideas, so here are 25 things I’m looking forward to (in the near future).

  1. getting my driver’s license
  2. living in Spain
  3. summer
  4. going to college
  5. becoming fluent in Spanish
  6. traveling around the world
  7. meeting new people
  8. falling in love
  9. getting more ear piercings
  10. having a different president
  11. changing my hair (well, maybe… i’m very attached to it)
  12. going to concerts

    image via Pinterest.co

  13. people becoming more environmentally responsible
  14. summer, again
  15. getting a tattoo (a very, very small one)
  16. joining the Peace Corps
  17. going to concerts
  18. being done with AP exams
  19. going on hikes with friends
  20. having free time
  21. reading books during said free time
  22. new music
  23. getting better at playing guitar
  24. learning how to sew
  25. having a career that i’m happy with & is positively impacting the world
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Drake’s on his Worst Behavior

Although I could make an entire blog post (honestly, a series of blog posts) on the perfection that is Rihanna, today I’m talking about something she said in her interview with Vogue.

In her interview, she recounted a very famous speech that Drake gave while introducing her as MTV’s Video Vanguard recipient in 2016.

“Waiting through that speech was probably the most uncomfortable part. I don’t like too many compliments; I don’t like to be put on blast,” she said to Vogue writer Chioma Nnadi.

In other words, Drake made her pretty uncomfortable. This very public expression of unrequited feelings made by one celebrity to another is manipulative and harmful. For one, Drake chose to do his manifestation of his feelings in a moment meant to honor Rihanna’s decade-long achievements in the music industry, but, instead, he took away all the sentiment in that speech. 

Photo Credit: naradanews.com

In the wake of Rihanna’s belated response, people have come to Drake’s defense saying he was simply trying to get out his feelings. If he truly had Ri’s intentions at heart, he could’ve expressed his infatuation with her after they left the stage or virtually any other private setting. So, no, it wasn’t a spur of the moment reaction, but a cheap way of revealing his crush on Rihanna in hopes that she won’t immediately reject him.

All in all, I simply think Drake could’ve handled the situation a lot better. Now, the 2016 VMA’s will go down as “that time Drake said he loved Rihanna on TV.” It will never be a celebration of Rihanna’s boundless talent, (those killer performances, though!) which is what she definitely deserved.

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you

it’s you.

only you.

you are the one.

and you have no idea.

you are completely oblivious,

i don’t think that thought has ever made an appearance in your mind,

and i don’t think i have either.

but, i wonder if you look both ways when you cross my mind.

i sit and stare, as my heart breaks.

if only you knew it was you.

you don’t really know me, but i hope you soon will,

and i hope you can see i’m right here for you,

waiting, and wishing.

wishing is kind of a loose word,

i’m praying that you’ll notice me,

and notice how utterly in love with you i am,

but maybe if you don’t, it’s not meant to be.

there are some questions, my heart just can’t answer,

like why you, why me, why us

and why is it so hard?

i still have no idea what it is, but i guess i’ll wait and see

because for what i know now,

you are the one for me.

 

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

 

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