devotion and imagination

they're spilling out. my views and perspective.

right now. you are hearing words so unequivocally me I could have written them myself.

these...this...is me. this is me all the time. except it's a fake, spurious imitation.

I cannot stand to listen to this, especially trapped in here when I know what's outside.

Everything I think, everything I feel, everything I see--all of it is being thrown on you this very second.

But you have no idea.

And you will only grab onto a tiny piece or two.

As hard as this was for me, I genuinely hope that someday these small pieces will flourish into full, genuine capacity for you.

afterglow

nothing is said, yet words are right under the surface. thoughts...you think. you...feel them there in your mind. and though nothing is said, you still know they are there. palpable. skimming the surface. things you want to say, but don't have to. words? feelings. nothing spoken aloud...but they're there. pulsating. beating. they are there.

I know what it is. In these precious moments, I am no longer alone in my head, my thoughts. It's as if for the first time, the words actually reach the person to whom I tell them. Finally transmitted. Who knows if this is really so? But it seems I am no longer simply spitting out words to those who either don't care or can barely grasp them. No. I am understood. And you know what else? Even when there's no discussion whatsoever I feel like I'm out of my head. Speaking a million words to all the others would prove futile, hopeless. But this...everything is different.

Because just being--just absorbing--is enough.

"on peak hill"

I like how the unanswered questions can stay just so.
No need to search, to define, to explain.

Just take a breath and accept it for what it is:
unchangeable, perfectly okay, and beautiful.

'what kind of blue are you?'

clouds.

I'm starting to see that this isn't a newfound fascination. I've always been drawn to them. Since the good 'ol age of 8, when I requested for the walls of my room to be covered with their beauty. my own, cloud-filled sky. my cloud-filled haven. this was a dream I had always had...I have no recollection of when it began.

clouds.

what is it about them? I may never know...but they've always been here...and here, they shall remain.

little pieces

fall is in the air.

can you feel it? that fresh, crisp aura.

can you see me swing? the energy inside takes over...and I swear I am just inches away from breaking out and flying.

reminders

She can fake a smile. She can lead a group. She can laugh when she wants to cry. She can get her work done on time in spite of her ridiculous, dilatory tendencies. She can run on practically no sleep. She can mediate between polar opposites. She can get through the most hectic of days.

But what is this girl supposed to do
when every song reminds her of...

__________________________________________________

She's not the only one.

tired

sometimes, I miss being lost. you were right. the clarity does get to be too much. not only that, but being so sure of who I am can make me weary. sometimes, I want the darkness to return, to make it easier to accept the monotony. sometimes, I want to go back to sleep.

but only sometimes.