Soulmates

Do you believe in what people call ‘soulmates’? I, for one, do not. I’ve been told my way of looking at love is cynical but I don’t think so. I believe that a person call fall in love with anyone, given the timing is right. People fall in and out of your life, I don’t believe in destiny, things happen for no reason and you are left to try to control it – although you know you can’t. I only try to convince myself things are meant to be when something negative happens. But in the end, I don’t think it works like that.

My friends are not my friends because they are better than other people – I’ve learned to love them by being around them and getting to know them. If I spent time with most people, granted they weren’t extremely rude and had no interest in me, I could probably love them just as much as I love my friends now.

But some things I find harder to explain, like the way you can meet people who just feel right for you. But then again, this might also be coincidence – and timing.

But do not mistake me, if there is something I believe in it is love.

It’s Like…

The sound of a heart breaking isn’t poetic. It is hollow. It is tragic. It calls for rituals – the denial, the shock, the anger, the disappointment, culminating in hopelessness. Just like a shrinking white star slowly collapsing inwardly, with memory drawn from every breath a blow. It’s like death without the sleeping part.

A Broken Heart

The danger of a broken heart is not the pain.
Not the tears, or anger.
Not the ache, not the loneliness,
not the quiet, the empty seat, the bed now much too big.

The danger of a broken heart is what we have to repair it with.
Mistrust, hopelessness, faux comfort.
Independence.
The oaths we take. What we swear to ourselves.
The danger is self-reliance.

The danger is that these stitches in our heart don’t fall out.
That they are there to stay.
Because they must.

The danger is that we know it isn’t about love anymore.
and,
it isn’t about how perfect we are in our world.
It’s about how perfect we are in theirs.

The danger is that two became one.
And a half of one…
well.

Half is not whole.

But now we must make it so.

-Lauren 

The Real Thing

“I do know that if I don’t ask you to be mine, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
[Runaway Bride]

“I love that you get cold when it’s seventy degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts. I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes, and I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night.”
[When Harry Met Sally]

“I think I’d miss you even if we’d never met.” [The Wedding Date]

“You had me at hello.” [Jerry Maguire]

These are all lines from a genre of film I affectionately refer to as… Chick Porn. Why chick porn? Well, when put into context of how we, as women, view “regular porn, ” as unrealistic portrayals of a man’s idealistic view of a woman, it’s exactly the same. Chick Porn is a woman’s unrealistic view of an idealized man. We watch these movies (currently Runaway Bride is playing on my TV) and develop these subconscious expectations of our boyfriends, husbands, or future spouses. When life is less glamorous than breakfast at Tiffany’s, we blame the guy, when really we bring this upon ourselves. I’m not implying we should all swear off romantic comedies and dramas (obviously, I’m watching one even now), but I do think that we should be aware of how they affect us. I know for some friends, this means that they literally cannot watch movies that make them lust after a fictional scenario and for others it means bringing the knowledge of reality to the forefront of their minds and not holding anyone accountable to ridiculous expectations.

Life is not a movie, much to my dismay. You don’t always meet your soul-mate dancing in the rain or on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, but who wants to be in love with a story? The real thing is better.

Life

 

Life is about making decisions and not looking back.
Life is about living, loving, and laughing. Don’t forget that.
Life is about learning from your mistakes, and from others.
Life is about never giving up, even if you’re afraid.
Life is about going through your life, happy and content.
Life is about helping the people who need it.
Life is about caring, and sharing, and daring to dream for hope.
Life is about voicing your thoughts; even when you think nobody’s listening, they are.
Life is about taking the time to give someone some hope.
Life is about being the best you can be, but never forgetting who you are, or what you believe in.
Life is about living up to your own standards, not to others.
Life is about taking care of the people you love, and who love you.
Life is about standing up in a time of despair, and being there for those who have no one.
Life is about whatever you want it to be.
Life is about never losing sight of the future.
Life is about always shooting for your dreams, whatever they may be…
Life is about living.
Life is about problems and creating solutions.
Life is about finding something out of nothing.

A Day For Lovers

“Hate doesn’t work like love.
You have to remind yourself to love.”

-Iain 

Message

This is my last attempt to reach out to you because my voice won’t hold up.
My last attempt to reach out to you … in a little plastic bottle.

Have you seen my soul lately? I think you took it with you.
Have you seen my heart lately? It left without a clue.

My message in a bottle … floating with the current.
My message in a bottle … all that I can’t cry and scream.

Going around the globe, swimming among boats, floating through the big seas, in an unsteady motion.

Will it reach out to you my message in a bottle? It’s the last time I’ll cry out.
Otherwise, I might lose myself.

-Source Unknown

Reckless

“Maybe it’s because you’re one of those people that believes that sometimes, the most reckless thing you can do with your heart, is not being reckless with it.”

-Iain 

Uneven Waters

Ever have a day where your perception of the world completely lacks coherence? When all the people, all their hustle and bustle sound like the too loud volume of someone else’s iPod on the bus?

Everyone and everything melds in and out of clarity, like someone turned off the normal flux of reality… or switched life to one of the snowy channels? Even when someone you know interrupts your aimless journey through the faceless, diluted massed, you only recognize them as though some distant, recurring dream? Like a memory half-formed, which you respond to in a voice not your own, when the auto-play button is switched on inside your head? Your head…detached, yet anchored despite itself to the rest of you, inevitably, but drifting further away from your shore of consciousness than it’s ever been… It’s an orange buoy, a dot on a foggy horizon of slow, uneven waters… tussled in the lazy automatisms of reality’s fuzzy wavelengths. Everything’s faded, pointless, yet ongoing, like a carnival ride of no passengers… and you just know that it should all stop, because it’s not going anywhere. A running engine without a frame or purpose, a clock without the occurrence of time, such things just shouldn’t be, and the staggering realization of it instead makes you stop, to contemplate it in its glorious uselessness. But it doesn’t bother you. Somehow, it’s supposed to be that way, and you feel nor sadness or confusion at the diffusion of logic surrounding you… And in fact, you feel nothing at all really, except what might be felt by a faulty bolt, whose bicycle has kept cycling on without it, after it has fallen to the ground. And like the bolt, though you’ve never felt so alone and useless, you don’t feel sad, because all at once, you’ve never felt so free, either. Though now, you’ve no one who could possibly understand that, to share your sentiments with.

Have you ever had a day when everything made sense, and didn’t, all at once?

The Glass

Let me ask you a classic question:

Is your glass half-full … or half-empty?

This is a difficult question to answer. The logical answer would be “The glass is at 50% of its total carrying capacity”. But we know this is a question of perspective. If you answer “half-full”, you are happy. If you answer “half-empty”, you are sad. Those are the only choices … right?

Wrong. For some people, “half-full” and “half-empty” don’t describe how they feel. For some, their glass is more than half-full, or full or overflowing. And for others … their glass is less than half-empty … or empty … or broken.

But you can’t answer, “my glass is shattered into a million pieces on the floor”. That’s not one of the choices. Nor is “my glass is empty”. And you can’t answer “half-empty” because then people assume that you’re attention seeking … or something else.

But it seems to be acceptable to answer, “my glass is full” or “my glass is overflowing” … even though they’re not the choices you are given.

So my answer to the question would have to be “my glass is half-full”. It’s the only one people want to hear.

What’s your answer? 

Hurt

Everyone I know knows I have “problems”. I’d rather they know than not but the problem is then you have to define “problems” and I don’t know quite how to do that.

I can tell you I’m angry with my parents and you can nod your head and sympathize but when you ask why I can’t tell you that, I really can’t tell you. And, even then I can’t tell you why I can’t.

I can tell you I feel sad and don’t really know the why of anything anymore
but I can’t tell you why I don’t know the why. And, I want to tell but I can’t.

Because sometimes specifics hurt just a little too much.

Because it’s one thing to say I fought with mom but it’s another to tell how I slammed the car door and I walked inside crying and you wouldn’t answer me no matter how loud I screamed. And how I threw curse words across the house and hated myself for doing it because I didn’t even know if I was screaming at you or at me and either way I didn’t know why I needed to scream so badly in the first place.

Yeah it’s one thing to say I feel like crying it’s another to tell you all the reasons why. Because sometimes I don’t even know the reasons and other times I do . . .

But like I said sometimes specifics hurt just a little too much.

A Time

There was a time,
When tears weren’t enough,
When my words failed me,
And all I wanted to do was ran away,
Forget all I’ve said and done.

There was a time,
When I didn’t want to breathe,
When all I wanted to do was curl up and never come out of my shell,
When I was so angry that I wanted to cry,
But was too angry too cry.

There was a time,
When I should have spoke up for myself,
When I let people call me names,
I pretended not to care,
And a smile to hide my pain.

There was a time,
When lies trapped me in a deep pit,
When my hyperness was a sign,
That if I was pushed any further,
Then I wouldn’t be there any more.

There was a time,
When no one knew who the real me was,
When even I had no idea,
When my tears were silent,
In a bathroom or in a bedroom.

There was a time,
When I didn’t even know if tomorrow would come,
When sunset meant another day,
A day full with my fake smile,
A day no one should have to deal with.

There was a time,
But that time is gone,
For today,
But tomorrow is another,
And who knows,
If that time will ever come again.