because fate is a wicked tease

I ran into Sol tonight.


My heart skipped a thousand beats


and then I had to remind myself to breathe.


All I wanted to do was look at him.

Not stare.

Not leer.

Just look at him.

Look in to him.


So deeply that he would feel the race of my heart beat

and look up

and our eyes would meet.


And I would just know.


Our eyes did meet.


I saw him steal a glance.


And then another.


And then he was gone.


I walked home, arm in arm with Johnson, and we talked about how we always expected that one day everything would finally settle. But that in reality turmoil will always be around and within us, but that doesn't mean we aren't at peace or content. And Johnson said something that hit me in my now weakened heart: that our reality never becomes our fantasies.


And I guess I just thought he would be there when I got home.

because it's so much easier when they're jerks

I have spent the whole summer defending him.

Believing in his goodness and everyone's ability to grow.

I don't think I pined away. Yes, I spent many nights asleep in his shirt, but I still put myself out there.

I dated, I flirted, I teased the emotions.

And I found hope in me and the idea of someone loving me for the mess I am.

There were some nights I cried, missing him, but as the days and weeks and months wore on those memories faded.

Only now when I read through past texts and remember him whispering in my ear as his hand found mine in the dark do I cry again. So maybe as long as I don't let that bittersweet taste of moments past linger I may not cry at all...

Or maybe the truth of it all, the truth that nothing has changed for him (that he still feels like breaking up was the right choice, that dating me isn't right - a new thought) hasn't fully sunk in.

Confusion still creeps in.

I'm forever baffled at how easily people can change.

I thought so highly of him, trusted him, believed those tender moments and sweet words he said.

In a way I never really understood until now, my heart breaks anew as I see someone I cared for so immensely change to something less than what I had hoped they were.

And yet, that little part of me, the one tucked away in the corners of the heart beneath my chest, the shy girl who hides there waiting...that little part of me who had fallen in love with him still might have wanted something different to have transpired tonight.

She still mourns her loss: a short-lived relationship that held more joy than any of the others. A beautiful possibility so near "what should have been."

But the logical voice in my head notes the almost 4 months of nothing. No note, no text, no call. And with that thought, the process of moving forward continues, almost at a breakneck speed.

Because it's always so much easier when they're jerks. When you tell yourself there's no way you would want to love or be involved with someone so thoughtless.

It's always easier when the person you cared for confesses to making it all up, to lying. That really they never meant any of it, because in your heart you want someone who would love and choose you and they are bluntly admitting that they are too rude and unkind to even stoop to that level.

And by some miracle, our hearts confront this truth and, like a slap in the face, wake up.

The rose-colored glasses fall away, all the signs we ignored begin waving their red-stained hands, and with that...suddenly it is so much easier to let go.

Because we believe we deserve better.

And we do.

We deserve someone honest.

And mind you, that person, that jerk may one day change and become that honest person. But not for you. For someone else.

And that's ok.

So though I may mourn the loss of what-ifs and maybes, I find myself content in understanding and facing the truth (and remembering that there is nothing wrong with me, sometimes it just doesn't work).

I just hope I looked damn beautiful as I walked away.

this is not one to trifle with

It's been a rough couple of days.

A song line keeps playing over and over again in my head, "when you think of love do you think of pain."

I openly admit to the fact that I am not perfect.

This weekend I realized how disgustingly bossy I can be, especially when frustrated. I can be snide and quick to anger at times; sarcasm flowing from me like a molten river of destruction.

There are times when I am not kind, when I am too stubborn and proud to admit my mistake or own ignorance.

Other times when I am so blindly selfish I do not realize the hurt or pain I cause to those around me, most especially the ones I love and the ones I am meant to help.

Jacob and I had an interesting conversation the other night, in which these two thoughts came to me:

1. I am tired of being selfish. I want someone else's problems to deal with and I want someone to help me deal with my problems.
2. We date to fall in love.

I've grown weary of friends calling to update on life and their first question always posed to me: "Are you dating anyone?" When do they start asking me about my writing, or my babies? Oh duh, I don't have any babies.

I don't date to get married. I'm looking to fall in love, marriage tends to just follow...

Marmee and I spoke last week. She told me my brother's concern was that I was desperate to be married and that because of that I was driving the men away.

I wrote to my sweet younger sister, serving a religious mission in California following that conversation and I write here some thoughts I shared with her. Please bear with me, it's the most exposed I have been:

"Marmee and I spoke the other day. She mentioned my brother's worry about my need for the next guy I date to be the one, but how can they worry about that and then turn around and stress the importance of marriage and its influence in our faith?

I have such a lovely belief that in the end it is only the two of you: your children will have their own spouses, and their children will have their own, and so on.

No, you cannot take the search for an eternal partner lightly, and no marriage does not solve any problems. It is only a new set, and I may one day miss having the struggles of single-hood. But how often I feel such a strong desire to be in love and to give of all this love I have.

I think loving someone is one of the most sacred, beautiful things - the ability to love unconditionally  might be one of the rare times we come to being Godlike.

So then why am I judged for wanting to fall in love? Why am I looked at as a crazy heathen for it? For speaking of it so often?

My patience is wearing thin. I feel my prayers becoming more and more shallow and small. I know that I will find someone I love and who loves me, but when? Why have I not been blessed with something I so righteously desire? What more can I possibly learn?

I hear the voice inside my head tell me the cure for my loneliness: service. Yet sometimes I do feel that there is a tiny little hole that can only be cured by the loving touch of someone you love embracing you. And I am ok with that thought."

I finally called Sol.

I told myself back in May that I would give him the summer.

As of today, summer is over.

He wasn't sure how he felt about meeting up, so he will be dropping my things off later this week.

I expect the worst, yet I'm not sure I would even want the best at this point.

My fight was ignored.

All those small feelings that could have been something so much more never had a chance to grow.

I was never acknowledged.

No thank you was ever given for the small tokens I gave.

I deserve more, do I not?

I want to believe that I only seek closure. An explanation, even a bogus one might sate my need.

I think I just need to hear it. To hear that there is no chance fall from his lips and allow me to completely and finally walk away.

And no longer feel the need to hope or even want it anymore.

But if that is so, why do I still dream of him kissing me so firmly and intentionally?

A phone call.

A text.

A message.

An email.

A letter.

A single word.

Anything would have been better than nothing.

as long as you're mine

I finally had the chance to go see the Off-Broadway production of Wicked in Salt Lake last night.

I went alone.

Hitched an early train up, spent a couple hours doing some school shopping and eating, and then headed over to Capitol Theater.

It was as wonderful as I had expected, with a few twists on a plot I thought I knew so well from so often listening to the soundtrack.

Seeing the characters perform the songs also brought me a new perspective on those words that I could almost perfectly sing a long to.

Most importantly was the relationship between Elphaba and Fiyero. I mistakenly had believed it was always a moment of unrequited love, and that in the song As Long As You're Mine Elphaba had cast some spell on him. I never got to see his transformation, his love for her, that began from the start.

So as I sat watching them kneel there together singing about a love they knew couldn't work ("say there's no future for us as a pair, and though I may know, I don't care"), but it didn't matter because in that moment they had each other.

And suddenly I realized how very brainless I can be in relationships. How very brainless everyone can be.

Because even if there's the smallest chance that our tiny or momentous relationships might work out - the relationships with that the boy from the coffee shop, the best friend you've always known, the one who came back - if there's a sliver somewhere, or if there isn't, we should enjoy it.

Enjoy every tiny and big moment. It doesn't matter if it might end in a week, or three months, or three years, because in that moment you are his and he is yours.

I do such a good job at spending more of those precious moments wondering and worrying and sometimes even being immensely frustrated because things aren't going how I thought they would.

But wouldn't it be so much more magical to be in awe that he is there with you? That your "wildest dreaming" could never have imagined lying there with someone who cares about you?

And when you're lucky enough to meet the one who chooses to stay you can make up for all that "lost time" when you were both floundering around in the swamp of single-hood.

Yes, this is a sappy post, a call to action, a call to enjoy the little things.

And I apologize.

So maybe don't think of it that way.

Maybe just be grateful that you're lucky to have the chance to have someone. That you're lucky to love and be loved.

That somewhere there is a place (whether here and now or in the future) where someone who knows your name loves you and cares for you.

And in that place you will be holding each other.

As long as you're mine.

Image via katenikolas.tumblr.com

It would have made a great love story

possible stress fractures & possible fears

Ever since running down in So. UT over 4th of July weekend, my right ankle has been bothering me.

I didn't roll it, never heard a pop, nothing. But it's continued to hurt and be a bother. So I finally went in to the doctor last week seeing as our half marathon was coming up on Saturday and I didn't want to really damage it.

I'm not a regular at doctors' offices and going always makes me nervous. I always worry that I'll be going in for a broken arm and they'll discover that I have an incurable disease and only ten days left to live.

I had only gone in for my ankle, but I suddenly felt like every move I made was being put on review and this man in a white coat had the power to alter my lifestyle with nothing but a look and the word sorry.

"I know that's not probably what you want to hear, but you have to stop running."

Yes, that is exactly what he said.

They put you in those rooms, alone, to wait quietly pondering over all the things you've done wrong. Giving you enough time to rethink your decisions so that when the doctor comes in you're just a mess, fragile and weepy, sorry for the smallest mistake: skipping breakfast, running on a bummed ankle, not sleeping enough, and from there all the other life decisions start to come into question.

It's miserable. I was miserable. I started to cry as I waited to get an X-ray and then again walking home.

I'm not sure why I was so heart-broken. I had my heart set on training and accomplishing this great thing, something I probably wouldn't have chosen to do except in the heat of the moment, which it was. My sister had called me 3 hours before registration closed (and since it's a lottery there was a chance I wouldn't even get picked) and I thought, what the heck?! Why not? What are the chances? Sure. No problem.

I was determined that this great, big goal was going to define my life this summer. It was the thing to keep me going, the thing to keep me distracted and busy from dating and waiting for Sol. And suddenly I wasn't going to be able to do it anymore. I actually had a doctor tell me to stop running until I heard back from the radiologist and even after seeing a podiatrist.

But the tiniest part of me was ok with it, ok with not having to push myself to do something really hard, to not go outside of my physical comfort zone. Pushing yourself physically is hard enough, and I've done it before with rock climbing, but running felt different. It felt different because it's a "single's" sport for me. I've never had someone right there next to me, pushing me, encouraging me, telling me they believe I can do it. So this tiny part of me was almost relieved to have a good excuse that I could pull on to bow out gracefully, and I was almost more disappointed with myself and feeling that way than actually having a fracture.

My sister was sweet and reminded me that there would be other marathons as I cried over the phone, but I knew this was something I didn't want to do alone. I probably couldn't do it alone, and the thought of having two sisters as a support system when the big day came was comforting. I knew I could do it if they were there beside me, but to imagine going and doing it alone was disheartening.

I would have though, if I needed to. Maybe because the vain woman inside of me was determined to not suddenly go to mush after finding out about a stress fracture. I was going to continue to cross train and exercise and not gain anymore weight and stay thin and be beautiful! The vain one was panicking, I'll admit it. She was quite distraught, and that didn't help my disappointment (I'll speak more of her one day).

I spent the rest of last week resting, no running, no cross training. Taking the prescribed naproxen from the doctor helped seeing as I took it for one day and spent that whole day dizzy and sick and in bed.

By Friday I was again worried because I hadn't heard from the radiologist and was loathing going to the podiatrist the following week. But as I walked home I received the voicemail saying my X-ray was a negative for a fracture.

Remember Christmas mornings as a kid? That's what it felt like. It was wonderful and scary at the same time, though because that small part of me that was ok with bowing out suddenly had to wrap its head around training again. I couldn't back out anymore, not without admitting my fear.

So instead I have 7 miles to run tonight; alone.

I'm not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to the after part. The part where I get to text my two sisters and tell them I did it, and it was great (even if it wasn't).

missing...

Love letters in the mail.

Secret notes.

Gifts, just because.

Wearing his t-shirt around the house.

Staying up late together because we don't want to stop talking.

Making dinner together.

Setting reservations for a night out.

Holding hands in the movie theater.

Or as we're crossing the street.

Getting dressed up to go to plays.

Knowing what his favorite drink is.

Watching movies on the lap top, snuggled up in bed.

 Reading books out loud.

Good morning texts.

Kissing pictures.

His hand on my knee.

Surprise work visits.

Camping trips.

And roadtrips.

Sharing a bowl of ice cream.

Stargazing.

Him.

image via

because letting go

It's been a long time since I've written late at night. I try to avoid it since I discovered that most of what comes out in the wee hours tends to be shredded chunks of my soul spat out in a frenzy of desperation to remove the vowels and consonants that seem to be rattling about in my brain.

I'm not good at giving up hope.

It should be seen as a virtue, but some nights it feels more like a vice.

I've been told it will be a blessing when I am married - that I'm not a quitter. But until then I should be ok with walking away if I'm sacrificing too much of myself holding on to wisps.



I've often given advice to others to walk away, to let go, because unless you do you live in a state of false security.



Six years ago I fell in love with someone.

In the end neither of us was willing to make the sacrifice necessary to be together.

We stayed in touch though. A year after the first severing I asked him one night if there might be a chance for a second try. He didn't know.

Two years after that, he came back to me, but by then I had moved on. Still, I was too afraid of not having something, anything, that I gave him false hope.

I didn't give him the truth because what if I told him no and he walked away and for once in my life I was completely alone with no one loving me.

I couldn't do it. I pulled him along for some time until I came to that realization. And with that I finally gave him the truth.

It was scary and hard. But I knew that I wouldn't be able to give of myself fully to someone else until I had let him and the fear of being alone go.




This last week has been a small explosion of little somethings. New discoveries, new vibrance, new sounds, new smiles and faces.

And because of those shy smiles and whispers behind hands, the idea of letting go of Sol didn't seem so scary anymore.

I've waited. I've been patient (to a degree). I've grown, I've learned. I've enjoyed and I have continually waited for that phone call.

It hasn't come. And my faith and hope has waned.

But rather than demand of myself to be more constant or patient, maybe it's time I demanded my eyes to open.

Maybe I received my answer already.

Because of those shy smiles and whispers behind hands, I'm not so scared of walking away.

Because of those shy smiles and whispers behind hands, I have hope in someone else: me.

Maybe I can be loved by another.

And maybe it won't be that face I saw from across the room, the one who made me feel as if I had been waiting for him to notice me all my life. That if I just turned around he would be there waiting, wondering what took me so long.

Maybe it won't be that face. Maybe it will be another new face in a month, or two, or six.

(a new face that will make me feel the same - that he had been waiting for me all this time)

But remembering and believing in that has made the fear of walking away disappear.

It is no longer the hook in my back, pulling my heart down every time I think of Sol's face; the words he said.

Maybe I can be loved. For all the hopeless mess I am.

because of Caleb and tiny boxes

About this time last year I was suppose to be on a honeymoon with Caleb.

I think he and his wife are expecting their first baby in a week or two.

You do the math.

There is a tiny place in my heart that sometimes twists and kinks when I think about him and how he handled everything. How he hurt me. Sometimes the kink sticks around for a day or so creating a painful ache and sadness that seems as if it will never leave.

But it always does. 

Those moments come less often and are less painful now.

Often on those hard days I have to remind myself of what I learned from him, from that relationship, that journey.

Through him I met Jacob.

And through Jacob I met Sol.

And through it all I found a part of me.

Even though everything didn't work out, I still have to be grateful because each of those relationships molded me into a better person. Each of them taught me something about myself and love as a whole.

Some people close to me haven't been as forgiving toward Caleb as I have been, and I wonder if I should have been angrier. I don't think I ever got angry. I cried, a lot. I spent nights on end at my brother's place filling that hole in my chest with unconditional love from family.

I don't believe Caleb ever meant to hurt me. I believe he was unsure, and I greatly believe that he was also overwhelmed by panic and anxiety. But in truth (when it all came down to it) in the end he had a choice. We both did.

And he chose no.

The last time I saw him was when we stood in his driveway - my brother in the car for moral support, Caleb there in his pajamas, and me holding a small box that I hoped as it left my hands would remove any resentment that might grow. A small box that had held something so beautiful and precious. A small box that held a future, a past, memories, and forgotten love. A small box that still held a part of my broken heart.

In that moment all I could think was "You took my heart, you took my hands, you took my whole body, my whole soul, all my love, and now you are asking for this one last thing and I don't think I can give any more."

That tiny box was the end.

I don't pray about it anymore. I don't wish on stars for a second chance anymore (not really possible anyway). Instead I just give thanks.

I give thanks for the lessons he taught me and the respect he gave me. I give thanks for meeting someone who showed me I can be loved and that I can be with someone who would go down on one knee, someone who would ask my father's permission.

I give thanks for the hope he gave me in a tiny box.

because i'd rather start over with you

I know that at this point that it has been long enough that I am going to have to start over again with him, or with anybody. It's been long enough that I've grown just a tiny bit different, and I hope he has too. But despite that...I'd rather start over with him than anyone else.

because i wasn't being honest

I wasn't being honest with you or with myself, and it wasn't until yesterday that I admitted that maybe this has meant more to me than I have let on. Maybe I fell a little bit harder than I expected to. Maybe I opened my heart up a little too quickly. Maybe I did daydream a little too much, wished a little too hard, ached a little too tenderly.

But where is the error in that?

Everyone is always told over and over and over and over again to live. Live. Live. Take risks, go and do, just do it, believe, reach for the stars. How many slogans tell us to take life by the horns, get back on the saddle, jump in head first, go for the high dive? So where was my error?

I spoke earlier about how I wasn't going to listen to all those other voices, how I was going to accept the bumpy road that I chose. And yesterday as I sat in a room full of friends and strangers I admitted to myself that part of this struggle has been the fact that I wasn't being honest. I wasn't being honest with anyone about just why this has all mattered.

So let me be honest.

Let me tell you why I'm fighting for me, for him, for a chance.

I'm fighting because there was something in the way he sang. In the way he expressed his dreams in song. The ones he wrote and the ones he just played. We sat forever on his bed thumbing through the whole Beatles Collection, picking song after song after song just for him to play and sing to me with his raspy voice that scratched from a weekend cold. And then he would play a song that he had wrote for someone in his future and I caught a glimpse of the man he is, and the man he some day will be.

I'm fighting because it only took him 5 days to tell me how he felt. Not 5 months. And after a long time of not having someone in his life, I felt pretty special that I was the one he picked. That from that first night of just taking me to dinner we moved through months of silence to end up in my hallway scrubbing floorboards after a night of him going out of his way to just be there for me (someone he barely knew), during a time of transitions and endings.

I'm waiting because of all the little things he did. The drives home, the hand always on my knee, the wait before I let him kiss me, the late nights of just holding me, the reservations at restaurants, the defending me to his best friends, the reading books out loud as I fell asleep on his chest, the crazy stories, the silence as we laid there - a mess of limbs and blankets.

I'm waiting because of all the things he said. And I won't say all the things he didn't say, because he said everything. He was honest, he was open, he was unabashedly exposed during it all. And I guess it's my turn to finally be exposed too.

I'm waiting and I'm fighting because I saw something that could be. Because I saw a chance to do something good, to make something good of me and someone I cared about. I'm fighting because I kind of wanted to tell people I was his and he was mine. Because I wanted to see if I could maybe, actually, possibly, fall in love with him. And see if maybe he could love me too. Because I saw someone who wanted what I wanted. Someone who treasures family and love and life as I do. I saw someone who struggled, who felt pain, who felt joy, who felt frustration, who felt ecstasy. I saw someone I wanted to make smile. Someone I wanted to bug, to be bored with, to be angry with, to cry with, to kiss. Someone who could understand me better than I did.


I saw something.

I guess that's why I'm here. Still wondering, still waiting.

So please tell me where my error is. "Where was my fault in [wanting to love] you with all my heart?"

all the love you can give

I recently read this post on a friend's blog (I say friend but really he's an acquaintance from The Porch who I told the first time meeting him that I wanted to meet his mom). Aside from that, and the fact that I have been blog stalking him endlessly during my down time at work.... this specific post was about The Sound of Music and all about our dreams, our situations, our realities. It was about looking inward and being honest with ourselves.

I got to this specific part of his post:
"Mother Superior tells Maria to be willing to climb every mountain and do all of the hard things and self-reflection she needed to do to find her dream, 'a dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.'"

And it struck me that I haven't given my dreams all the love that I could give them, and then I wondered what that even meant.

He went on to talk about how Maria has to be brave and strong enough "to do what feels right and true according to her capabilities and life circumstances."

I feel like I've done a good job in always being honest with myself, in admitting my fears and in knowing what I want. But I got to thinking about this past week and the discouragement and frustration it has been and maybe I haven't been brave enough to do what has felt right to me all along.

I've been raised to say a prayer every morning and every night, but lately I've really only been good at the night part. Most times when I remember in the mornings, it's during my walk up to work, so I stumble out a quick thank you and please-bless-us. But it just so happens that the morning before I read Eli's post I found myself mindlessly stitching together something to resemble a heartfelt plea. And as I stuttered my way up to work, I found myself really talking to my Father in Heaven. It was then that a groggy lightning bolt hit- I've always felt that my Father in Heaven has faith in me and trusts me to make good decisions (despite the years of making some really dumb ones, He still believes in me). But even though my Lord trusted me, I didn't trust me. I didn't believe I had it in me to make a good choice. Especially when it came to love because, well, I've done a fair job of always making what seems like the wrong choice. I've had moments where I have selfishly told the universe and my Father in Heaven I was going to love someone despite all the red flags and signs, I've had moments where everything felt right and good and in the end that person made a choice to not continue forward, to not love.

And then I've had moments like now, where all the goodness and hope is staring me in the face and all I can do is get defensive and worry about what others must think of me because I chose the hard way. I know I chose the road of heartbreak. But the fear of judgement and worry from others has almost paralyzed me. I find myself lying in bed asking what to do, what to do. Someone pick for me, someone choose for me because I don't trust myself to make the choice you all want me to make.

But that's not what life or love should be. I should be making choices on what I want, I should be following my dream. And even if our dreams are similar, my journey there is my own.

I need to do what feels right and true to me, depending on my capabilities and my heart. Because I am the one who gets to love that dream "every day of my life, for as long as I live." So even though it may seem stupid and wasteful to others, I've chosen something I believe in and something I could maybe love. If my God can trust me, then I should be able to trust me too. And trust that I can make not only good decisions, but ones that I want and love and that really are good, even though it may not seem like it to those on the outside. So I'll keep praying for my personal miracle and courage in myself. And I'll keep trusting and believing in that person and hoping that maybe he'll come and prove everyone wrong. And if not, I'll find a new hope (wow, didn't even try for that. Too much Star Wars lately).

And while I patiently wait I will enjoy my life now. Because it is good, and all is well. And all the worry of what I feel others might be thinking won't make the empty nights any easier. Being me and enjoying what I do have is what will help me up that mountain.

to someday

There was a calendar on the ground, a full month. And the last week consisted of

Today

Tomorrow

One Day

and

Some Day.

So here's to Some Day. Some Day in the future when all the wonderment will be understood.

Some Day full of new beginnings and new uncertainties.

Some Day destined to be full of mishaps and bruises, untucked shirts and giddy adventures.

Some Day where all the daydreams come true.

Some Day where we'll be bored together.

So here's to that day.

And here's to still waiting and hoping for it.

because art

Meg, Court and I ran up to SLC for the Dream Press Dreamathon last week at the old Granite High School. It was spectacular. Whole rooms completely taken over, lockers turned into murals, classrooms turned into dark rooms. So wonderful to see the varieties of art and the whole community's contribution.

It was so much fun seeing where people's imaginations took them...

The Jungle Room.

I loved the butterflies. They were EVERYWHERE!!!!!!

The stairs = rainbow-bricked road

One of my favorites was the lockers turned into a Sendak story

Near the end they had a huge "dream banner"

Everyone wrote down their dream on a vinyl sticky note and placed it somewhere on the banner.

Today it hurt too much. So instead of missing him I just fell asleep.

because this is the best album

I would disagree, but as I have been informed several times Emotionalism is in fact the real, best album of The Avett Brothers. It is not without its merits, I will not deny (though my heart leans more toward I And Love And You).

The song titles are delicious enough that I have found great pleasure in just reading through them.

They make me want to write a story. One about two people on opposite sides of the world who love each other without even knowing one another.

I haven't decided if they will ever meet yet...

because pretending is good for the heart sometimes

I pull his t-shirt out of my dirty laundry basket and put it on. I slept in it that first week after things changed so it needs a good wash. But I don't care. I'm off to take a nap and I want to pretend that today is actually 3 weeks ago and he's going to call me in a couple hours to plan dinner and tell me he can't wait to see me.

I climb into bed and snuggle his sweater that I've had since the concert in my arms, and pretend it still smells like him.

Before my eyelids droop I tell myself that if this was all over I wouldn't still have these things.

My heart rests for a minute with that hope and I finally drift off.

Dear Sol

Dear Sol,
I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you today, like I do every day.

But especially this evening. I went to a meeting only a couple hours ago and when asked a question you popped into my mind on your own volition. I took it as a sign. And then I thought about Meg Ryan as Annie in Sleepless in Seattle and how she says she doesn't believe in signs but then proceeds to spend the rest of the film chasing after "a sign" - Tom Hanks. 

Can a person be a sign?

Is looking for signs bad?

It made me realize I still haven't seen An Affair to Remember and that I don't know if you can even stomach a chick flick. You probably can't, seeing as the last film we watched together was In Bruges, which don't get me wrong - I loved. But would you watch An Affair to Remember with me? Then I realize you probably could, because there's something special about you and love - like you have a reservoir of it waiting to gush over from the edges. You seem to feel things deeply, which is why I like you so much.

I thought of you earlier too, while in the shower. No, not like that. I wondered if you and Asher were going to watch Game of Thrones tonight and how I might skip out on going to the boys' place since they remind me of you. Plus they're watching Moonrise Kingdom tonight and I'm not sure I could handle it since Wes Anderson was something we shared. Does Asher still give you a hard time about me?

Then I remembered how just the other day I found the ticket stub to when you and I went and saw Her in Salt Lake for our second date all the way back in February and how stupid I was to not go home with you that night. And then I thought of all the things I've wanted to tell you in the last couple of weeks and they seemed so unimportant when I realized that all I truly wanted was to curl up next to you and be bored.

I remember you once saying you were a boring person. It made me laugh.

Can I be boring with you?

I found a blog that I love - Bon Iver Erotic Stories (so saucy, I know). I envy their life. I want to have it one day. I think you would be fun to share it with, and we could share our erotic stories about living on a farm and loving each other passionately. Then I stopped myself from thinking further since I was getting way too far ahead of myself because, well, I'm still waiting for you to call. I know you will. I just don't know when. 

Maybe I should turn it into a game to make the time go by quicker...

I really wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you - every day. I can't seem to get you out of my mind. I think it's a sign.

Mia

vacation from my problems

I stepped onto the elevator today and found myself wishing it would break down. Wishing that I would be stuck. I don't really know why, just that I was tired.

Tired of being strong.

Tired of believing that everything was going to be ok, because in that moment things weren't ok.

I wanted to break down, just like I wanted the elevator to break down. Just fall apart in a metal box hidden away from the world for a few hours, not having to be accountable or answer to anyone.

There is a joke that no one really thinks about running away from home until they're an adult. It's not that I want to run away from home, although sometimes this town just about sucks the confidence and vivacity out of any living thing. It's more that I just want to run away from my problems, my responsibilities (thank you Bill Murray and Peter Pan). I  know that you are suppose to carry them with grace, but some days it's just too damn hard.

And other days, I just want to be left alone. Stuck in an elevator with no one to touch or talk to me. 

Often times I get sick of my own voice, hearing myself reiterate to the tenth person that day what I'm feeling and going through. But you know something? I made the decision and the only person I am accountable to is me (and my Father in Heaven). So stop telling me how to do things, stop giving advice, stop trying to protect me.

I can handle it. Probably better than I realize, but let me figure that out. And if I'm going to get hurt or get my heart broken... let me.

I'm at peace with who I am and the choice I made. And I'm just so tired of having to give anymore explanations.