When it comes to writing, I plan everything out in my head.
Even if I’m not physically writing, I’m pretty much always thinking about how and when and what words to use next.
It happens all the time: when I’m walking down the street and see someone eating alone at a restaurant, in a movie theater with my friends, whenever I’m doing anything. I start putting together bits and pieces of a story or poem, trying my best to remember it all, until I have the chance to jot something down.
My mind is constantly filled with words, phrases, and thoughts. I don’t think there’s ever been a time when it was completely empty.
But, for some reason, I can’t seem to find any words at all to explain how I feel about you.
I’ve been trying for months now, but they never seem to fit together quite right.
The thing is, I think about you all of the time. I know how it feels, but I just don’t know how to describe it.
Maybe it’s because I don’t fully understand it myself. Maybe it’s because the only messages I ever get from you are hopelessly unclear.
Whatever it is, I hope I work it out soon. Because, once I do, you’re going to have a lot of reading to catch up on.
I have known you since the second you took your first breath and became a part of this world. I have loved you from that moment on and I am so thankful for every minute I have spent with you so far. In these four years of your life, I have only learned to love you more and more with everything you do.
I know you are “just a horse” and I may sound crazy to some people, but you will always mean the world to me.
Photo Credit: Me
When I couldn’t ride your mother anymore, a part of my world collapsed. She has been my pony since I was eight years old, she was my best friend. The day we decided to breed with her was the day my world started to come together again. Breeding horses always means taking a risk. There was no way I could have ever expected you to turn out so perfect.
I was there for your first breath, your first step, your first sprint, your first fall. I wasn’t there for your first jump, your first time carrying a saddle, your first ride. I am sorry. I am sorry for all the things I’ve missed out on, because I wasn’t home. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I always have wanted to.
Photo Credit: Me
But, now you’re coming here. Now, you’re traveling 6,000 miles to get here, where I will see you and love you every single day. You are a piece of home and so much more than that.
Let me correct myself. You are not “just a horse,” you are my horse.
Well, that was when I really met you, your soft hands and nervous laughter, nervous but happy.
I remember when we first started talking, during awkward lunch hours, and way too late at night over text. I remember that time when you walked me back to the bus and everyone inside was staring at us, but our friends approved. They knew just how perfect we would be for each other.
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I remember that first kiss, so sweet and unsure, but so convinced it was right. I remember realizing how madly I was falling in love with you, when I had to leave you for the summer.
We have such a great history. I mean, you sent me flowers to Germany. You gave me an engraved necklace confessing your love. We’re going to go to Paris together.
So I’m asking. Why do we have to end like this?
Don’t get me wrong, I know this is the best decision for us to make. But why? Why is this the best we can possibly do? The longest we can possibly go?
I don’t understand the universe. Once it brought two soulmates together, why would it break them apart so soon? Why would it give us this choice to make, so bitter and sour and burning hot?
It’s not fair. You know that, I know that. And obsequiously, we go along with it.
I see couples that get so much more time together, that get to go out for dinner on a Tuesday night, or go watch a movie after school, or walk their dogs together at sunset, and I am so jealous. It’s that red, yellow, glowing jealousy that you can’t turn off. I hate it. I want to be happy with what we are given. But there will always be this huge part of me that wishes for us to have that life together. I know we deserve it.
Over the weekend, I went with my school to a Pony Club mega rally for the first show of 2018. I was so excited. I’ve been riding my horse, Time, for weeks in preparation, and every single time I jumped he had been a saint.
This weekend was different. It shattered any self confidence I had in my riding skills when Time threw me off over a simple cross rail in the warm up arena and bruised my back so much that it currently hurts to breathe as I’m sitting here trying to do my homework after waking up at four am every morning this weekend to get to the show grounds.
I had fallen off just the day before when my horse stopped right in front of a jump. Now, I have to admit that it was my fault that I was in two-point way too early, but that’s besides the point. Not a single scratch was on me, and I shook off the dirt from my helmet, got back on, and finished the course I was set out to do.
Photo Credit: Jerry Mohme Photography
However, that was not the case on Saturday. When I hit the ground, I was certain that if I moved even just an inch my body would shatter into pieces and I’d be sent to the hospital in an ambulance. I couldn’t get up for minutes, until I was rolled onto my back, then I stood up, and I slowly walked foot by foot back to my stall without even getting to do that course.
I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to ride the next day either, and that weeks of training would’ve gone to waste. But the next day I ended up getting back on my horse and started jumping, and though my entire body was shaking every time I thought my horse would refuse a jump, we ended up clearing both courses.
But I guess there’s both pain and pleasure in horseback riding. There’s the sense of accomplishment when you jump a new height or when your horse comes to say hi to you and nuzzles his nose into the palm of your hand when he thinks you have treats. But there’s also the hours of pain whenever you fall off or when a horse steps on your foot. There’s the moments of self-degradation whenever you see a person with better position or better clothes, and the constant thoughts that plague your mind thinking that you’ll never be as good as them.
I’m not going to lie and say that my confidence in my jumping is back, because it’s not, and I don’t think it will be anytime soon (or, at least, until all the bruises go away), but it was a learning experience to some extent.
I’m going to fall off, and probably more times than I wish, and I’ll get back up, and fall and get back up, and that’ll keep happening, but I’ll still continue riding until I no longer can.
I’m craving to write something, but I simply can’t. I’m sitting here with so many thoughts running through my mind, yet none of them can leave.
I sit here with my hands immobilized while trying to think of what key to touch next. I’m mindlessly staring at the glaring screen in front of me trying to think of something to write that’d make someone in this world proud of me, but I can’t. My mind is empty, and my heart is too drained to come up with any creative concoction of words to form some poem or sad element of my life to send chills down someone’s spine just reading it.
My thoughts are begging to be expressed in writing, yet they’re trapped inside my mind, and I’m sitting here helplessly trying to figure out how to let them out.
Photo Credit: sarwrites.com
It’s just not possible right now. I’m trying to write for me – or, maybe, for anyone – but every time I start a poem or a story, I exit the tab. And draft after draft later, I’m left with tens of unfinished passages into my thoughts, and now I’m just here writing out every insecurity I can think of about my writing.
But even then, these words don’t even share half of it. They don’t share half the conflicts I face when it comes to my writing. How I constantly think my writing won’t be beautiful enough, good enough. That it won’t be something extraordinary, just something plain and forgettable. I’m still battling myself, trying to figure out the right words that accurately express what I’m trying to portray about myself, yet right now it’s useless.
In this moment I have nothing to share. Sometimes, I have so much inspiration I’m writing one blog post after another, one story after another, and I’m sharing one dream after another, but right now… I’m empty.
I haven’t really been homesick since my fourth grade field trip. But lately, for some reason I can’t make out, I miss my home more than ever.
I miss my mom, and watching her in the kitchen, perfectly slicing vegetables for whatever masterpiece she’d be about to create for dinner.
I miss my dad and his weird ways, and how much more excited he gets about our dog than about us, but that’s okay because I miss our dog, too.
I miss my friends, being able to walk to their houses after dinner and watching Germany’s Next Top Model with their family, sipping way too sweet hot chocolate.
I miss the trees above our house and the lake nearby. I miss the smell of pretzels wafting from the restaurants as I walk my dog past them, trying my best not to let him snatch any food.
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I really miss being able to spend hours and hours in the barn, riding and taking care of my horses, taking them on long trail rides until the sun sets and it gets chilly.
There are many things, however, that I don’t miss. I don’t miss the people I used to go to school with, their constant judgement and disapproval. I don’t miss the ugly, gray parts of Germany, and god, I don’t miss not having air conditioning in the summer.
I guess being homesick is something natural, and in a sense I like how much it connects you to home. But gosh, I wish it would just stop.
Looking back, I think I could have fallen in love with you.
And I think that if I let myself I probably still would.
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But now things are different and you’ve met someone who you seem to love even though you don’t talk about her much.
I wonder if you ever think of me that way anymore. I know you used to.
For a while I thought every word that came out of your mouth was arrogant. The few words we exchanged in passing made me sad, and I wondered why you were so polite to everyone but me. I thought that I would never know you the way I used to and I missed that. But now I realize you probably just said those things because you missed me too.
I forgot about how effortlessly eloquent you are. I forgot how good you are at communicating and how incredibly intelligent you are. I could listen to you for hours and never be bored.
I forgot how curly your hair gets when you let it grow longer and about the way you gesture with your hands when you get excited.
You reminded me that I don’t care when you laugh at me because I’m just glad that I get to hear your laugh again. You reminded me about how you actually listen to what I have to say, and you actually care.
You told me you wanted to hear me sing again. You said you’re learning guitar now and talked about how we used to play music together. I never told you badly I miss that.
I could see myself loving you someday. I could see myself loving you for a long time.
I’m sorry for the things I said about you. I think it was because I was sad that so much had changed so fast and that inevitably you had changed too. But when it’s just us and when you don’t have to worry if anyone is listening you somehow convince me that you haven’t changed much after all.
I sometimes try to imagine what it might be like now if you never left, but it’s probably better this way.
Maybe we were always meant to love each other but we just missed our opportunity. Maybe someday we’ll still be able to, if we’re lucky.
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