to be thought of

What's it like to be thought of?

I know in my daydreams I imagine conversations, moments in time and how I want them to go.

Other daydreams involve more intimate moments, hands touching. Kissing.

When someone says they've been thinking of me, do they mean the same thing?

Do they daydream of future days spent in bed together?

Or adventures, hiking boots strapped tight, soaking wet from rain. Miserable together?

Are they good thoughts? Indiscreet? Warm?

Is there love and respect somewhere lost in the folds?

crush

Oh what ticklish frenzies bubble up in my skin when that seed of possibility is planted.

Daydreams of stolen kisses and chance meetings are feasted upon as the day's hours pass on.

This idea, this delicious hope of...something...fed with tiny slivers of bashful maybe's. Blushing behind hands of timidly needed affection, teasing the mind with thoughts of brushing fingertips.

Memories of school-girl embarrassment envelope our bodies into a renewed, awkward jumble of limbs and gaits and nervous laughter.

Glimpses of him from across the room, eyelids fluttering with conscious fervor.

Knowing that any chance is held within his grasp, far from the control of my slender fingers.

Content though in that knowledge, willing to stake time and affection on lady luck in this crowded room.

Foolishly walking toward abandoned territory, praying that when our eyes meet they both flicker with mischievous wonderment of having a childish crush.

Come on skinny love, just last the year

image via

kneeling

Sunday, 12:16am

kneeling, face to face
vulnerable and broken together
hearts open and exposed
scars  fresh to see
fingers touching
closing the space between

image via

last night + the wind

Golden stalks of grass quiver as purple clouds float across the pink streaked sky.

Tiny mushrooms bloom at my feet as my toes sink into the fresh planted sod.

As I sat on the rickety, wooden chair in the middle of the lawn, my wet hair teased dry by the warm wind of July, I got lost.

Rogue fire crackers cackled a few houses down as I set my head back and watched the leaves of the trees dance across a power-line trapped sky.

If I was not human I would want to be the wind for she is both dangerous and wonderful.

Her voice is powerful, most often bringing an ominous cry of change.

Something is coming.

She pulls in darkness, pushes forward light.

She brings fresh air and storm clouds heavy with rain to wash all clean.

She teases our hair and tugs at our clothes telling us to look and behold.

Look there - look here.

Look everywhere at what has been created for you.

She never boasts of herself. Her movements always place another in front - the coming thunder, the majestic trees, the forgotten sun, the missing moon.

Her story is forever attached to another's - the pages of a book that rustles, whispering of the secrets inside.

She is strong and gentle.

Elusive, yet tangible.

Beautiful and mischievous all wrapped into one.

because maybe i understand a little bit

My British Lit professor this last semester pointed me towards this blog: Meg Fee.

She's wonderful, and has been such an inspiration toward my own writing and willingness to open up and be so very exposed. I often find myself understanding her thoughts and feelings a little too much. But maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's a good thing to actually, truly, fully relate to someone.

These are a few of my favorite posts of hers:

on wanting (and not needing) a man

procreating + puzzles / guest post: alisha giampola

Say yes. and yes. and yes again.

attraction and expectation.

the fundamental truth / guest post: chelsea latimer

advice + attraction + many muddled thoughts

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.

That last post might have been in response to reading this:

http://www.megfee.com/2014/03/11/notting-hill-movie-turned-day-around/#.U7R3cPldV8E

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?"

dream life

A week ago yesterday, Em and I were headed home from beautiful San Diego. As the conversations of a 22-year-old friendship and roadtrip music had died down and as we drove through sleepy Utah, she asked me what my dream life would be.

When my sisters and I were younger and we played The Game of Life, I always wanted to have the Country Cottage with its white picket fence and two cars full of kids. I was going to be an artist with a paycheck of $100,000. I had a great imagination then.

Over the years that dream has been reshaped often. In the beginning years of college it was often formed and carved upon by whoever I was dating, with a few small parts of what I had wanted as a kid. I was easily swayed by what they wanted. Maybe not swayed. I formed who I was based on them. I hadn't really found myself yet. All I knew was that I wanted someone. And a family. And a house. I didn't really care about the details.

But as I've gotten older and found my own footing. As I've discovered all the parts of me that have been hiding, the parts that will be forever here to stay, the parts I love, I've started to recognize the value in having some insistence on the details.

I don't think I'm picky, most importantly I want to marry and start a family with someone who loves me and if what comes with it isn't exactly how I had imagined, I don't care. As long as I'm happy and he's happy and our children are happy.

But as Em and I drove through the soft light of dusk, the green hills of central Utah twinkling with farm light, I told her what I wanted my dream life to be, because I finally really knew what I wanted. I finally knew the lifestyle I desired and hoped to create...

I'll marry someone who's fitfully, patiently, warmly in love with me, and I him. We'll have kids, four or five. Though maybe we'll give ourselves a year to travel and just be the two of us taking on the world.

We'll have a house with a big porch and a bit of land some place green. There will be a garden, maybe a barn, but definitely a shed with a worn down old VW bug for the kids. A pair of dogs and maybe chickens.

We'll have a studio split in two with one side for my writing table and another side for his desk for whatever he does. My heart still yearns for a creative soul, but if he's an accountant I'm sure I'll manage.

We'll go on adventures as often as possible. We'll conquer mountains and explore the deep waters. And every now and then we'll go live some place exotic for a year while I research and write a book.

We'll raise our children to love God and the earth and all that is in it. We'll nurture, guide, and protect them to the best of our abilities. We'll start our own family traditions and give them some place safe and cozy to always come home to.

And we'll continue loving each other and doing good in the world. Kissing the scrapes and bruises, wiping the dripping ice cream from our chins, and forever holding hands. Fingers intertwined.

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.

poem : miracles

Remember when I spoke of miracles here?

I had included those same thoughts in a response to my sweet sister and her letter that had sparked that realization.

She wrote me back this week. With her letter she included a poem she had written, combining her words with mine and producing a precious piece of beauty. She said it needed some work, but I didn't dare touch it:

"I've often overlooked

or

perhaps ignored

what a

miracle is.

Assuming it to be

merely

the stuff of angels,

where I'm sure

a trumpet

sounded

and mayhaps some

heavenly light

was seen.

However,

miracles are quite

different.

Miracles are

loud.

Ones that make

men weep

and demons

hide

for fear.

Miracles are

quiet.

Ones that bring

more later.

Be it a simple prayer.

Miracles are

personal.

I can't say for you

and you can't say for me.

Personal miracles

are naturally 

more sought for

and

more appreciated.

These are loud, quiet,

big, small

and all things

in between.

And

most important.

It's a miracle

I've made it

this far.

It's a miracle

you have

risen from

the ashes of

all things

unexpected.

That cause emotional

storms to

subside."

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.

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

sun rise

This morning I watched the sun rise
White whispers exploded before my eyes
As the darkness was swept away
And yellow rays did herald a new day
That peace that waits to be born
Grew inside my chest with the coming morn
But oh, what fathoms did it fall
To come just before my heart did call
Those speckles of innocent light
Bringing warmth after the long night


Written at 6:30am right before taking a final

because kerouac

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars"

I'm drawn to the creative type. The ones who burn, the ones who pine.

Maybe it's because I feel like they understand.

It took me years to finally realize what it was I wanted to do and where I wanted to go with life and my career. And those years were a mess.

A beautiful mess of disaster and chaos. But it was worth it.

It was worth it to question and wonder and discover. To pull everything apart, including me, to find out who I am and what I want. To dig down deep and find my foundation.

So maybe that's why I like the mad ones. The ones who have rough edges and create beautiful messes, too. The ones who don't know all the answers but can read Wordsworth and kiss you with meaning. 

The ones who see beauty in the imperfection and still love passionately.

it reminds me of the first time i met him

A poem.

A poem I wrote in that romantic poetry class where we first met. Met? Noticed each other. It reminds me of him. Reminds me of the first thought I had when I saw him across the room - "I want to know him." And how I was never brave enough to go sit next to him at the front of the room.

Speckled light through green
sets upon my dreams
there I below and
he above we stood
waiting out the day

The river full and
cold, sat there between
the mountain and our
path, calling out to
me waiting below.

No fear or worry
edged into my mind
just peaceful wanting.
So there I did sit
looking for what could
come, in that shade of
speckled light through green.

because...

I am starting this blog because as a single 26-year-old living in a culture centered around marriage and families I felt like showing the inside parts of all the struggles and turmoil we suffer through just to please the masses (well, our families really, and ourselves). I want to show the other side of the heart breaks, the late nights, the college experience, and all the in between's that eat us up and spit us out while we desperately hope we manage to walk away with some of our limbs still intact. But most importantly, our hearts and who we are still intact and functioning enough to say we are still human.

So this is for those of you who may not understand the pressure, the frustration, the worry, the stress, and all the joy that comes from being young. Being the round pegs in the square holes. Being hopelessly romantic and totally crazy all at the same time.

And I start this too because I've always wanted the chance to pour out my soul to the world, but mainly to you. To the person I may one day call completely mine. Because sometimes I can't seem to say everything I'm feeling or thinking out loud, but maybe one day you will stumble upon this and realize that there was something there, something always hiding away. And it was me just being unsure and insecure of it all.