Pruning.
Stop trying to make leaves grow where a rose will never bloom.
Reminiscing
I feel the energy around me. You’re not there but the specter of what we used to be still haunts the room. It is you that I feel caress my cheek when I feel the light breeze come in through the open window. The curtains float in the room and the shadows they cast on the wooden floors resemble the gestures your arms made when you would stretch them out for my embrace. I walk slowly toward the window, and while looking outside, I am transported to our special place. It is still there, the paracosm we created, inhabited by our inside jokes, nicknames, and memories. I sigh and breathe that spring air one more time before leaving for good, reminiscing on the love we had.
This Must Be The Place
He pushed me away when this song was playing. Instantly, I knew we had to end it.
Songs That Shape My Identity
Whether it is people, music, art, movies, or books, there are certain things that we obsess over on any given day. The music that I listen to helps shape my identity and provides an outlet to express my feelings and reveal my state of mind. These songs are a window to my soul and they give you a glimpse of who I am. I will try to post these daily. Enjoy.
Freedom
People yearned for freedom when they were working the fields and marching in the streets.
Eager to go to bed each night, their dreams the only place they could imagine such a feeling,
They suffered and fought for the rights of people they would never meet.
I am thankful for my freedom, made from their blood, sweat, and tears.
My most precious possession, a basic civil right, an heirloom I will protect and that future generations will inherit.
🇺🇸
Honey
From the moment I walked up to say hello, your eyes lured me to your side.
Your irises were golden brown, the color of the honey I love to add to my chamomile tea on a cold winter night.
As I leaned closer, I could smell the fragrance of your skin and I breathed in your scent before whispering my name into your ear.
When our lips touched, it was as magical as the process of converting nectar to succulent syrup.
The taste of your kiss sweetened my bitter life, leaving behind an insatiable desire for more.
Awakening
The sun has risen and my cocaine dreams are over.
Nightlife has finally taken its toll on me; I was not meant to be nocturnal.
Waking up, frightened in a room I do not recognize, I look around for you, only to find a stranger laying beside me.
Heartache strikes and I realize the nightmares that haunted me were real. My eyes are filled with tears and my mouth is dry. I drink the drops of guilt and sadness that fall down my face.
Consumed by shame, I sit and mourn the loss of a friend and prepare myself for the changes to come. The night has passed but it has left behind a veil of darkness around us. I only hope for you to see me in the same light again.
The Void
The Void
You can see it in the horizon, where the sea and the sky merge to become eternity.
We stretch our hands, hoping to grasp it, but it’s intangible.
We will fade like a sunset, and our spirits will disappear into the nothingness.
Our restless souls know this and cannot wait to escape our bodies; they are curious to know what’s there.
In our minds we imagine it, in our sleep we dream of it, and at our deaths we are finally transported to this place we have been dying to discover.
No mortal knows what awaits us there, but we live our lives aching to know what’s at the end.
Yeux
Yves Klein, “Untitled Fire-Color Painting” c. 1962
Yves Klein blue eyes curiously gaze at me from across the room.
I perceive innocence and naiveté: inexperienced youth.
I want you but I am afraid to submerge in the deep unknown that lies beneath those azure pools of your soul. There is a void within you.
Your eyes yearn for affection, but is it me that you’re looking for?
Your scarlet lips are a symptom of a fever that rises as I approach you.
I exhale, and every breath I take fans the flame of desire that burns inside you.
How I would love to quench the spark you have ignited in me, but it is too late.
The brief second that we kissed has set my body ablaze.
Scars
Each line is now the actual experience with its own innate history. It does not illustrate—it is the sensation of its own realization.
—Cy Twombly
Cy Twombly, Untitled (Bacchus) 2008
I am sometimes embarrassed by the scars on my body, but similar to the lines that Twombly painted, they have an innate history that is not evident to the viewer. The scars are the remnants of the experience, each with a singular story that has shaped who I am today.
Maxed Out And Overdrafted 