The feeling of when you start liking someone. You get butterflies, and you get all these emotions. You miss them like crazy and you just wanna go up to them and tell them how you feel, yet at the same time, afraid to risk it all. And the feeling of fresh love. Ah, it’s so sweet. I miss the feeling of waking up in the morning, looking forward to seeing their face. And smiling when you do finally see them. And when they do smile back, your day has already been made before it even started. I miss the feeling of old flame getting renewed and old fire getting replenished. I miss the days where you would sit there and imaging how it feels like to be with them, even though they have no idea how you feels.
myelephantine: The more I try to understand this thing called love, the more I fail. I’d like to think of it the way society has illustrated it - by a union between a man and woman, but I know this isn’t always so. Love doesn’t seem to confine itself between opposing genders. Then I turn on the TV and find more demonstrations of love on sitcoms and reality shows. I’d like to think that love is perfect and so easily developed as it is on these shows, but who are they kidding? Love is rarely as bubble gum pink like The Brady Bunch and it surely doesn’t come of way from an easy fuck like Jersey Shore. Then you have Christianity that tells you to wait until matrimony to marry love and that it is a bond that can’t be broken by none other than God. But really, what God in his right mind would allow certain individuals to even attempt to love, let alone create a life?
I’ve come to believe that love is niether straight or gay, rather spiritual. It is not superficial or made up of ideas, rather grown and nutured. It cannot be set to a religious standard because it is older than religion itself. I know that it is a beautiful an destruction thing. It builds hopes and dreams and brings them crumbling. It is desired and claimed by everyone but it devastates us when it leaves. I’ve come to believe that we don’t make love out of anything. It makes us. It controls us but remains elusive. I don’t believe we will ever capture love, rather it will capture us when it pleases and when it’s done, it’ll bring us down on our knees with our fractured hearts in our palms. This is what I’ve come to believe. What I’ve learned, however, is that I know nothing about love for it is never concrete. It’s immensity is far beyond elementary and paradoxically out of reach.
imsayingblah: It’s a large world out there, through the eyes of the young and timid. Discovering its contents requires the will of one to take the steps. We live to penetrate the formidable wall which stands against us all. We live to triumph our incomprehensible emotions that controls us. Must we withhold? No, let us grasp all to liven our senses.
Pain and suffer can be defined differently through one’s mind. It can be simple yet a burden, like the absence of a love. It can be complex yet adaptable, like the absence of a love.
One may plead for the aid above us, from the man that watches. One may be left dissapointed and helpless, another may find hope and guidance. We must tolerate the intolerable…though… nothing is intolerable. We blindly place restrictions on ourselves. We are bombared by the regulations of the ‘true’ way of living. Thus, we dream. In it we conquer, we become numb to our fears, we dream of doing the impossible, we dream of doing the unspeakable…
We are only human. Give us the time to watch this globe revolve. Give us the effort to walk on this earth without hesitation. Conscious or Unconscious we are living…
It’s a large world out there. Let us be our own guide.
So why don’t I ever show the side of me that cares? The side that would do anything for that one particular person, the side that would run across red hot burning coal naked just for that particular person?
Why don’t I ever show the side of me that is sincere, that is nice and that is actually caring? Why don’t I ever show the side of me that would stay awake til’ the morning because my friend is having issues? Why don’t I ever show the side of me that would pick up every single piece of hurt and humiliation that was thrown at a friend and throw it right back at the motherfucker’s face?
I’ll tell you why.
Because every time that I do, my trust gets abused, I get taken granted for and I get fucked over.
I never really been the type to be superstitious. And I wouldn’t say that I’m super religious. But lately I’ve been praying and hoping and wishing. Is anyone out there willing to listen. I’m kind of worried about the world that we live in. It’s time to stand up but everyone’s sitting. Mothers are crying all night long, waiting for their kids to come home. Does anybody see that something’s wrong. The earth we live in today. Is never ever gonna be the same. If we don’t wake up and make a change.
What good is a heart if there ain’t love in it. What good are your eyes if you ain’t got vision. What good is the world if we can’t all fit in. See all along, we ain’t that different. All tryna get by and raise our children. Love and pain, yeah we share the same feelings.
vintagememoir: As writers the hardest and easiest challenge for us is finding the right words to capture exactly what it is we’re feeling at the moment… and even once we make it past that hurdle our next challenge comes in the form of self doubt. As we go over our pieces, in hopes that everything we meant to say was written as we had intended it to be. But through it all, through the writer’s block, headaches and self doubt we reap the best reward of all… and that reward is the ability to unveil the words/emotions many struggle to express, along the way inspiring others to do the same.
The following is an excerpt from A Writer’s Book of Days by Judy Reeves
These ten daily habits that make a (good) writer are excerpted from the book:
1. Eat Healthfully. Give your body what it really wants so it can support you. You may think it wants caffeine, sugar, or alcohol, but it really wants broccoli and spinach. Eat healthfully for stamina, good health, and the sensory experience of it. (Notice your carrots when you eat them, their color and crunch. Smell that onion; look closely at its layers and textures.) Eat several small meals throughout the day; begin with a good breakfast.
2. Be Physical. Remember when your mother warned you about making faces (“your face could freeze that way”)? If you’re sitting at your desk all hours of the day and night, your whole body could petrify that way. Move it — stretch, exercise, work out. Breathe. It roils the blood and feeds the brain. When you walk, run, bicycle, or swim, you’re in touch with the earth (unless you do it in a gym, and in that case, get outside). Do it alone so you can pay attention to your body and notice your environment as you glide along.
3. Laugh Out Loud. You take big breaths when you laugh out loud. Laughing helps rid the body of toxins. So lighten up. Take a break from work, and play with your puppy or your child or your neighbor’s child. Look at cartoons; tell a joke; share with friends. Find something funny in the world and let loose belly laughs. Create a playground for the Muse.
4. Read. Read as much as you can of the best writers. Read on two levels: one as a reader and one as a writer. Study how other writers use language, how they construct a piece. Notice what you love about certain writers. Try reading aloud (especially poetry) before you write.
5. Cross-Fertilize. Experience another art form — music, photography, dance, painting, sculpture, film, theater. Keep open books of art in your writing space, a basketful of postcard art to leaf through. If music distracts you while you write, listen at other times when you can absorb the music and it is not just a background sound. Visit a museum; walk in a sculpture garden. Let other art evoke your own.
6. Practice Spirituality. Take time every day (or several times a day) to consciously go to that place you name Sacred — through prayer, meditation, or simply being mindful and present in the present. Make time for whatever you do that keeps you in touch with your spiritual self.
7. Pay Attention. Notice the quality of light, the heft of air, color of sky, faces, clouds, flowers, garbage, graffiti — all of it. Slow down and pay attention. Stop during your walks and examine a leaf. Read the writing in shop windows. Observe people getting on a bus, the bus driver, the stink of the bus exhaust.
8. Give Back. Do something good or kind for someone or the planet. Speak to someone you don’t know, smile, help a friend (or a stranger), plant a flower, reuse a paper bag, wrap a gift with newspaper, walk instead of driving. Be generous with whatever you have to give.
9. Connect with Another Writer. Meet a writing friend for coffee, write a letter to a writer whose work you admire (email counts, but not as much as a real handwritten letter in a real envelope with a real stamp that will arrive in someone’s mailbox), make a phone call to a writer friend. Attend a poetry reading, a book signing; take part in a workshop. Write with someone. Go online to a writers’ chat room, join an online writers’ group, respond to a blog, email a poem to a friend.
10. Write. Sometime, someplace, every day, honor your writer-self and spend some time writing.
“The terrible thing about love is that it takes away your safety net, your balancing pole. Even the tightrope you walk upon will disappear beneath you, yet love expects you to keep walking anyway, arms outstretched, one foot after the other, on nothing more than air.”—
pseudoperfection: I write on the rainbow while I meditate over the splendor of colors, it will trigger smart choice of words and perspective variation to escape monotony, to refrain one sidedness and to not bore my senses. I write on the shore, where my passion to explode is as intense as the giant waves’ roar. And I’ll leave mark on people’s heart like how the constant slap of waves weather the hard rocks or carve them into intricate molds overtime. I write while the birds sing for they give me rhythm to incorporate melodies in my verses. I’ll write on the moon for my solitary will able me to write the most beautiful tragedies, and my ideas will be as infinite as the universe laid before me. Not even a lifetime is enough to unravel its mysteries.
I will know no restrictions with this pen. And my love for the big words comes naturally in the most spontaneous manner after devouring million pages of books. It is an insult to the thinkers before me, to the great poets, the essayist and the novelist if I don’t apply the learning styles, the words and the beauty of literature I learned. At the very least, they can say, their works have been worth it.
One of these days, I may be laughing real hard on the pieces I made. About how shallow or emotional I am. About how I made my life an open book or for wearing my heart on my sleeve. But that smile will turn into gratitude and contentment because I express and show how life goes in my perspective and inspire some souls.
Everyone has two sides to them. The good and the bad. Some people choose to just show one side, and others show both.
For me, well, I tend to just show whatever side I’m most comfortable with. And with that being said, it’s rare to see me at my weakest, most vulnerable point because I don’t like being seen like that. Yeah, maybe I used to cry occasionally at school, get angry and frustrated at people. But that is not my weakest point. My weakest point would be at night, lying in bed, reminiscing, thinking, hoping, wishing, missing, needing, wanting, and feeling utterly lost. What should I do? What do I want? What do I need? And how long will this last for? These are my weakest moments.
You may find me raging to you about certain things, you may find me talking trash about people, you may even find me violently abusing an object, but you will never find me at my weakest. No one ever will and I will never allow that.
I have problems with almost everything in my life. Family, friends, school, etc… you name it. Although I don’t talk about it, does not necessarily mean I’m O.K. Putting on a show isn’t that hard and smiling doesn’t take much muscle either. Although what keeps me going is this place I’m at. The place I call home. My home. I know I’m safe, I know I’ll be covered and I know that I am alive.
I am breathing.
The person I am at the end of the day is far from the person I am the next morning.
Worship: It is the song of the heart that is grateful to God. Work: It is the secret of success. Play: It is the symbol of youthfulness. Read: It is the source of knowledge. Think: It is the strength of the mind. Love: It is the sacrament of life. Dream: It is the soul of aspiration. Help: It is the secret of happiness. Laugh: It is the song of experience. Pray: It is the source of strength. Plan: It is the secret of being able to have time for all of the above.
It’s amazing the things you realize when you lose someone: you get mad at yourself for not saying the things you could’ve a million times, you take for granted the days spent doing nothing when you could have been with them. Anyone can be taken, at any time in our lives, but we always wait until they’re gone to say the things we never had the courage to say before.
If you're in a relationship, married or none, read this. You'll know why at the end.
When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.
Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the topic calmly.
She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why?
I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Jane. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!
With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.
She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Jane so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.
The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Jane.
When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.
In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.
This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day.
She requested that every day for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.
I told Jane about my wife’s divorce conditions. . She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully.
My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mommy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.
On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.
On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.
On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Jane about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.
She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily.
Suddenly it hit me… she had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head.
Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it’s time to carry mom out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.
But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.
I drove to office…. jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind…I walked upstairs. Jane opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Jane, I do not want the divorce anymore.
She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Jane, I said, I won’t divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives, not because we didn’t love each other anymore. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart.
Jane seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.
At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us apart.
That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed - dead. My wife had been fighting CANCER for months and I was so busy with Jane to even notice. She knew that she would die soon and she wanted to save me from the whatever negative reaction from our son, in case we push thru with the divorce.— At least, in the eyes of our son—- I’m a loving husband….
The small details of your lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Do have a real happy marriage!
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. I want to know if you will risk looking a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Goodbyes are meant for lonely people standing in the rain. And no matter where I go it’s always pouring all the same. These streets are filled with memories, both perfect and in pain. All I wanna do is love you, But I’m the only one to blame.
I’ve struck out more than I should have. I’ve failed more than I’ve succeeded. I’m always trying to find an excuse to cover whatever mistakes I’ve made. I always refuse to accept that I’m to blame. I always refuse to accept that I’m not trying my hardest. Lately, all I do is find a different reason as to why I fail. Recently, I figured out that it’s my own laziness and pride that intercepts me from reaching whatever goals or promises that I’ve made. I’m to blame…
Some people don’t understand that your friends aren’t just your friends. They’re your family that you pick yourself. They will love you, hurt you, scare you, and help you. They make the person you were meant to be. But the people that you share your secrets with and actually trust is a completely different story. They’re more than family, they’re your other half.
It wasn't suppose to go this way. He was suppose to be another game to play.
I’m falling for you. I can feel it. Every day I wake up and I just can’t wait to see your face. And every night I go to bed, I picture that smile of yours and it makes me smile in return.
You make me feel all bubbly and happy. You make me enjoy school and you make me feel bloody great when it comes to friendship. I haven’t felt the way I feel about you for so long and I really do miss that feeling.
It was one of those feelings where you know someone out there is looking out for you, and will make sure that you are ok. They will do anything and everything they can just to make sure you survive the day and continue on with the next.
Sometimes things fall apart so better things can fall together. Sometimes people change because they feel the need to find their inner self. Sometimes things happen the opposite way of what you expected it to be. And sometimes… things gets hard and you probably will feel hopeless and utterly lost.
The monster under your bed isn’t scary anymore. It has become a part of who you are and it has finally been unleashed. Be prepared for the worse. It will definitely bite. If not, leave scars.
Right now you're probably thinking, "Aw, she's sweet."
It’s tadore. You’re at camp now and I hope you’re having a great time. I was looking at a picture of a triangle and it made me think of you. I’ve read Sid’s letter to Debbie a thousands times. Every time I read it I find it even more amazing how someone like Sid could love Nancy so much. Makes me wonder. And you said I was gay for liking things like that. Admit it, you’re just as obsessed as I am! Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I am not writing this to you because I miss you. When clearly I am. Don’t get a big head. You love me too. Triangles & Vagina!
There is irony in love, is there not? That to engage in such compassion, one must endure the pain and suffering that comes with it? The kind of pain and suffering that comes from the struggle of maintaining with each others existence despite all differences and despite all malfunction and despite all misshapenness and despite all irregularities and despite all happenstances and despite all tears. I want to mix alcohol with a strip of your passion and blend it with maraschino cherries; it would taste fuckin’ superb, I believe. To drink in your unyieldingness for me. How is it that we are compatible? You are virtuous, I am virtue-less. If you die one day and wake up in heaven, don’t be alarmed if you find that I am not there. My punishments will proceed as planned; I will receive my just rewards. In retrospect, I have been a heartless sonofabitch to the world. I watched people die in front of me, heads turned in melons split by axes, necks turned into broken stems as a bullet strikes the cranium. It is all perfect ingredients for an imperfect nightmare. My sanity eludes me. I’ve never been to a prom in my entire life, but I know I’d be the adolescent in the back of the auditorium, farthest away from the dance floor in the darkest corner of the room where no one would find me. Befriending the corner, I know no one would ask me to dance the night away. No one would take the time to acknowledge my existence just once or ask me if it would be okay if they could throw their arms around my shoulders, fondle the back of my hair and star gaze into each others eyes as the honeyed opuses of musicians encourage our footwork. Pledge to me that your love is for real. Your love has so much meaning, I doubt its existence. Why would a meaningful heart adhere to a meaningless human being as I? This irony of love is distracting to me. I try not to be a total skeptic about love, but how can I not? Love is a blossom that blooms in the most awkward of moments; its roots obtain nutrients from the most bizarre donors like fate and destiny and spontaneity and karma and contemplation. You are just a majestic doe that lives effervescently in the wild, dancing among the herd, galloping inside the cathedrals of forests and patches of cultivated meadows and prairies. I am the fawn still learning to find his legs, stumbling upon the earth, wandering on my knees as my life plateaus. Why do you await my maturation? Why do you love me? You once told me that if one is called a romantic, the word hopeless usually precedes it. Love is more than just being romantic, albeit stories tell otherwise. Romanticism is damsels and knights in shining armor, but to be in love means a key and a padlock. It is gender neutral, never diminutive. Lovers choose who will free who. Independence in each other is the outcome. I long for your presence more than I long to write these sentences stating how much I want to love you. I would like to show you how much I love you more than just this statement of beautiful words. Not write. Just show.