Tag: life

promise

faithfulomnivore1 Comment

do you remember when i broke your hat?

i stole it from you so you would chase after me.

we ran across the grass, smiling.

eventually you tried to grab it out of my hands,

but i kept tugging so hard

that the back just snapped off.

i apologized a thousand times and

told you i would get you a new one,

but you said you didn’t mind.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

it was worth the laugh, you told me.

“promise you’re not mad?” i asked.

you looked me in the eye

and latched your pinky finger with mine.

“promise,” you replied.

a few years later it happened again,

except this time you broke something of mine.

you apologized a thousand times,

and told me that you would try to mend it,

but i said i didn’t mind.

it was worth it, i told you.

“promise we can still be friends?” you asked.

i hooked my pinky finger onto yours

but never looked you in the eye.

“promise,” i lied.

pieces

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

i hope i’m not asking too much of you.

i’m not asking you to fix me,

because that wouldn’t be fair.

i’m not asking you to accept me with wide open arms,

but i’d love that.

i don’t want you to be my friend,

because we’ve never truly worked as just friends before.

i wish we weren’t on different time zones,

we always fall out of infatuation when the other falls in.

i hope that we don’t crumble apart,

because i can’t handle another landslide.

just like i’m sure you can’t handle another person leaving you behind.

i promise i’d never walk away from you,

i’d never leave you stranded.

i can’t promise forever,

that’s too much to bear.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

i can only promise you pieces of me,

a puzzle with some empty spots.

instead of presents wrapped in bows,

i’ll give you my heart and soul

in the shape of little irregular pieces of cardboard.

i’ll wait for you to fit me in next to the edge pieces,

i’ll make it easy for you.

because, it’s so easy to see myself with you,

my head fits into the dip in your chest

like we were made for each other.

maybe you’re my final piece to the puzzle,

but i’ll never force you to fit with me.

a reminder

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everything reminds me of you.

the summer nights that never really begin until 8 pm and

the smell of salt in the air.

sitting by the fire while the breeze comes off the ocean.

my wet hair soaking through your sweatshirt.

i miss that.

peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in ziplock bags,

mountain bikes and dust and

image via pinterest

the music we listened to and the long, hot

afternoon hikes that seemed to last forever.

smiles. i see your smile in every smile.

stars and soda cans and trucks driving through orchards.

pencil sketches or skateboards or grassy hills or pizza boxes.

trying to fit five people into the backseat of the car.

being too loud in movie theaters.

i think about you now because

i haven’t started any of my homework yet,

and i know you probably haven’t either.

whenever i think of anything, i think of you.

maybe that’s why i’m so sad.

well-traveled hands

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

do you remember how it used to be?

when we were still innocent,

so much younger?

do you remember the first time you saw me?

i was wearing my cousin’s old tank top and a pair of shorts.

i remember the first time i saw you.

actually, maybe not the first time,

but i do remember the first time

I really saw you.

that stubborn piece of hair that never stayed in place.

your hands worn and callused,

but like home to the touch.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

your smirk that can still melt me.

i remember that night,

surrounded by friends,

when i knew i wanted you.

but, now it’s too late,

you aren’t the same boy with the messy hair and soft smile.

our hands are like strangers,

i’m not even sure i know how yours feel anymore.

the lines i used to trace,

delicately, so as not to cause any slight ripple in their perfect surfaces.

we’re strangers,

but unlike the strangers we were when we met.

now, the uneasy feeling is from lack of contact,

not the absence of it altogether.

i don’t know the new you,

you don’t know the new me.

maybe one day,

i’ll once again trace the lines in your hands,

feeling their gorgeous warmth on the pads of my fingertips.

maybe you’ll remember the little things i do,

so unaware that i do them,

and you’ll tell me about it,

like it’s a well-known fact.

what i’m really trying to say is,

when can we not be strangers,

when can we be the new girl and the boy with the floppy hair

that knew each other like the backs of their well-traveled hands?

Homesick

localdreamerwithapenLeave a comment

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.

if we’re lucky.

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Looking back, I think I could have fallen in love with you.

And I think that if I let myself I probably still would.

Image from Pinterest.com

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.

25 more things to be happy about

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A few weeks ago I compiled a list of 25 things that make me happy. I’m not in the happiest of moods currently, so I’m creating a sequel in an effort to cheer myself up.

  1. Music – the only thing that I know absolutely makes the world a better place.
  2. The sore dents I get on my fingertips after playing guitar for too long.
  3. Singing harmonies.
  4. Hugs – good, wholesome, all-encompassing hugs.
  5. Seeing my friends succeed.
  6. Having good hair days.
  7. Being proud of something.
  8. Going a week without biting my nails.
  9. Eating passion fruit.
  10. Being able to sleep in, for once.
  11. Having my driver’s permit (and the bragging rights that come with it).
  12. The times when I feel pretty.
  13. How silence isn’t uncomfortable with my closest friends.
  14. Tea tree oil.
  15. Getting buried in sand at the beach with only my head sticking out, and the sand that covers my body being carved into a mermaid.

    Image via elephantjournal.com
  16. Laughing until tears come out of my eyes.
  17. Finding the perfect tree for climbing.
  18. Climbing said tree.
  19. Being barefoot.
  20. The satisfaction of overlooking a valley after hiking all the way up it.
  21. How my nose gets red when it’s really cold out, and I can see my breath in the air.
  22. Being so hot that I can feel the sweat evaporating off of my skin.
  23. The comfort of a cool breeze in the summertime (the best feeling in the world).
  24. Grass coming back after the fire.
  25. Peeling a tangerine in a perfect spiral.

Imagine

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Imagine if you could do anything you wanna do, be anyone you wanna be, go anywhere you wanna go.

Where would you go? What would you do?

You always hear parents saying to their children,”you can do anything you want, you just have to believe in it.” My parents never told me that. I’m glad they didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted them to lie to me.

credit: dressage-news.com

I can’t do anything I want to, that’s simply not plausible. I’m not brave enough to become an astronaut, that’s for sure. I don’t have the time and endurance to practice enough to become a Grand Prix Dressage rider. I definitely don’t have the voice to become a singer, and I’ll never fit the standards to become a model.

But if I could, if I had all these possibilities, what would I do?

I would do everything I know I can’t do. I’d hike up Mount Everest, because why not? I’d ski the Olympic Super-G, race to the podium just for the heck of it. I’d start a band and travel around the world to perform our music to millions of obsessive fans. I’d create the most beautiful paintings of life and beauty and ugly love, so stunning that they’d immediately be displayed in the Louvre. Honestly, I’d probably successfully bake a cake for once, because I don’t see that happening any time soon with my striking lack of talent.

credit: cpr.org

There are so many things in this world, big and small, that I would love to do or achieve or become in my life, and I know most of those things will never possibly happen. Though I’d obviously love to become a world famous artist, that’s not what I need. Of course we need equal rights for everyone, the same opportunities. But it is good that not all of us have the same talents, the same passions, sometimes it is good that we can’t be anything we want. After all, that makes up our individuality.

Home

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Home is a loose word, I often find my mind and, in turn, my spirit in other places. Sitting wrapped in a blanket I’ll physically be here or there but, in truth, I’ll be far, far away. Henry David Thoreau once wrote, “At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house.” House or home or somewhere in between? A trivial question when one is hunting for a place to rest one’s mind.

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My tangible home will always be with my family in our small “faerie home,” surrounded by an unruly garden that seems to compete with the urbanity of the asphalt road and the ever shrinking street light (or perhaps I’m the one growing). Home with its boarding of white and blue, with a hand built white picket fence; home with a stylized and cohesive found object collection inside and hand painted walls of a whimsical forest land further from reality than the closest galaxy. Tangible home will be with my dad’s music blasting well above the sound threshold of his earbuds, shuffling in the Paint-Shack. Tangible home will be with my mom, picking up conversations we never started mid-way through a sentence. A home fit for part of my heart and part of my body.

But my true home, home for my mind, my spirit, the rest of my heart and body, that’s much harder to pin down. I’ve lived too many lives, I’ve walked the halls of Hogwarts and thieved the streets of Ketterdam. I have run through the Overlook Hotel and traveled the world in the Leviathan. I am inclined to call all these places my home despite the threat of horror and danger and pulse-stopping fear. But then again, I am just as inclined to call a solitary cottage at the edge of humanity surrounded by piles and piles of mugs and books my home.

When I was much younger I believed home would be among the pyramids and mummies of Egypt, studying a culture older than I could comprehend, dinosaur hunting while bouncing from continent to continent in search of the next great dinosaur find. Now I find myself lost, filled with wanderlust. Do I return to Ketterdam, Hogwarts, Brakebills? Do I follow the dust and jewels and bones of ancient history? Do I find my library tower with an endless supply of tea, coffee, pastry, and more books than I know what to do with? Do I find my corner of a city and people watch for the rest of my time?

Photo Credit: enlighten.pk

Maybe, what I’m getting at is I won’t find one home, there is no way to make that which is plural singular. I’ll always be hunting for the next city to make my heart beat faster and my lungs dance, the next country, the next world, the next universe. My home will be that glimpse of color disappearing around the corner, just slow enough for me to go skidding into the alley and see it go around the next corner. My home will be a sturdy pair of boots, one hell of a scarf, and a bag with an undetectable extension charm. My home will be that trip around the world finding the best food there is and then traveling to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Home will be that rare dinosaur in the middle of nowhere. Home will be Nefertiti’s tomb. Home will be finding that portal to Fillory, Hogwarts Ketterdam, Le Cirque des Rêves. Home will be the pens and paints I bring with me; home will be the countless notebooks of dreams, adventures, and future worlds.

Home will be the next great adventure. The never ending circular promise: the next place will be the place, the next place will be home. Part of me will always belong to the first home though, my little blue and white cottage in the forest of pavement and cars, but the rest of me? The rest of me is restless. Home will always be one step ahead of me, patiently waiting for me to catch up, always waiting for me to leave a little more of myself on the path.

A Letter to Past Generations

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Dear people of the past,

I am one person out of millions. I may be small, but my voice will not be silenced. We will no longer be silenced by beliefs made centuries ago.

We will not be silenced by beliefs that are killing innocent lives, or by the beliefs that are discriminating against the people who are finally becoming proud of who they are.

We are the new generation. We are the millennials, the Gen. Z kids, and the generations to come, and we are proud of ourselves for the world we’re determined to create.

We may be young, and we may not know everything about the world, but we are still learning, still improving, and we are definitely still fighting.

We are strong

We are resilient.

And we are powerful.

But we aren’t defined by adjectives; we are the future. In just a few years, most of us will be given the power to vote, and we will remember when you ignored our pleas.

Photo Credit: ABC News.

You ignored our pleas for equal rights, our pleas to not feel afraid to walk into our schools, our pleas for an equal opportunity you pride your country over yet fail to fulfill.

We will remember what you refused to give us, and we will take it ourselves.

The years will come, and the world will become ours. Not just for one percent of us, but for everyone.

A world where students can walk into their schools without the fear that they’d never walk out.

A world where people are free to love who they wish to.

A world where people are judged by their personality or by what they bring to the world. Not by the color of their skin, or their preference of who they love.

So remember this

We may be young,

But we are angry.

And you can try silence us, but we will rise, and we will scream louder than ever.