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?

music on a monday pt 6

I'll take the mess you are
And you'll take the mess that is me
And together we will live in beautiful chaos.

Vance Joy

because i forgot what it feels like to feel beautiful

We trudged up into the wilderness a couple weekends ago and camped.

It was miserable and wonderful all at the same time: miserable because sleeping in a hammock is a nightmare and let's be honest, I'm still a little afraid of the dark. Wonderful because nature is a love affair of mine.

Jacob put up with me complaining, tossing and turning all night. Eventually switching hammocks just so I could get some semblance of sleep.

He repaid me for my crabbiness with some beautiful photos.

I often look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I've gotten here, wonder if I'm pretty, wonder what other people see, wonder if anyone would ever want to keep me around.

Sometimes photos catch me by surprise. I was exhausted, moving on a couple hours of sleep after running 18 miles the morning previous, and was now making breakfast for a whole gang of ragamuffins.

I credit all of this to Jacob- because of his talent he captured a moment of me that has never felt more true to how I feel lately. And it wasn't because he told me I was ok to look at despite the grass and grease stains.

Despite all the exhaustion, smelling like smoke, the crankiness, stress of school and work, and all the turmoil hiding behind these eyes he uncovered some beauty that I have forgotten about:

That somewhere deep down I am ok to look at, because somewhere deep down I'm an ok person.

Even if no one tells me ever again, I can still believe that.

photo credit

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?

music on a monday 5

"I will remember your face, 'cause I am still in love with that place"

I do not know where to begin or end. So many tiny thoughts are erupting inside of me.

Words dance about in my head as I think about love and the future.

Where has this excited wonderment approached from? Such tender feelings toward someone I hardly know make me wonder how desperately determined my heart is to fall in love.

But is that aching desire something to be so ashamed of?

Oh no! Love is all inspiring. Should we not be praised for our wish to give all to another human being? Does not loving another soul bring us closer to being godlike?

Seeing past all imperfection, loving unconditionally despite sins and mistakes? Taking someone for all that they are: the rashness, innocence, folly and insecurity, passion and forgetfulness.

It cannot be a dreadful thing to want love so fiercely. And it must be accepted that love truly is the way to happiness.

Oh even just the idea of it makes me feel as if my body does float above the ground. Tingling with such ardor.

Is not loving someone a way of giving them wings? To know you are loved, that someone has so severely and wonderfully latched themselves to you forever gives one such a feeling of security and vigor. That anything is possible, even the chance to defy gravity and all laws of physics and soar above the earth.

What delight there is to know of a force so perfect in the world that it not only grounds us with sturdy foundation but also opens the heavens of flight for our souls.

What silliness, I know, but never have I been so eager as to say those three words to someone (when all the timing is right) and put their heart at ease as I confirm to them my ever-present desire to be theirs and have none else, as they so earnestly feel for me.

Oh what exuberance, what youthful folly has slipped into my blood. Such excitement for thoughts and feelings unknown, so premature in nature yet so intentional in purpose.

Though such tiny seeds have been planted, I yet find myself embraced in excitement. The same kind I feel as I get to that part in a book where one must flip through to the end, begging for a glimpse of a word or sentence that confirms that all hope is won and love has conquered all.

But oh the journey there is just as delicious and I find myself longing to be in the middle of it, rather than the beginning. To be past the divide between the sure unknown and the birth of emotion and love.

Oh that I could jump that chasm and fall into the arms of assurance and routine. To find my hand constantly lost in his. My name breathless on his sleepy lips, our lives so clumped together that to unwind ourselves would create a mess and be foolhardy.

Oh to have that all again - dreams that we've painted together with the hope of our words. A future built with sacrifice and frustration and the knowledge that without one another we would cease to exist.

"May you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days

And out of that love, remake a world."

~Ray Bradbury

"love is not a fickle thing"

Love is not a fickle thing

to brush off with time

or the age of ease.

Love is not a weakness,

laughable, nor demeaning.

Love does not explode in immediation,

does not shut off with the lights

or escape away with a fancy.

Love does not twitch

or fade

it is not a kiss

to be wiped off.

Love is not a pillar of salt

to be washed away or forgotten,

shoved aside or gagged.

Love stands for always,

crumbling only when the physical

vessel that protects our vulnerable hearts

begins to decay.

Love is a mountain that falls

only when the waters of forever

have washed away the memories and pain

the heartache and shame.

Love continues to grow

in patterns and forms unrecognizable.

Limbs of souls stronger than our mortal imaginings,

roots of creatures more corrupt

than our most feeble moments.

Love is forever changing

with a bitter taste

or crooked smile.

Into resentment.

Or acceptance.

(I've never been good at revising poetry. I tend to just sit and do, scribbling it out as fast as it will come. Never really thinking to move or fix. All my poetry is rough draft poetry).

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

because he's married

I've thought of writing about him before. But it never felt like a hill I wanted to venture up (and I'm sorry this is a very raw post).

But then last week I found out that he's married.

The boy who broke me.

The one who completely ruined me has been married for over a year.

And he has a baby.

After all he did, all the crap he put me through, he's married and has a baby.

And I'm disgusted. Disgusted at myself for how I feel.

I guess I had always thought he would be miserable for the rest of his life to pay for how he treated me.

It only seemed fair.

But suddenly all these photos of him and his family flash before my eyes and scrape open old wounds. Feelings of such inadequacy, all the lies, the hurt, the late nights, the road trips, meeting his family, his cheating and other dirty secrets, falling on my knees to do anything and everything for him, the love and affection that I gave and wasted, compromising my whole being. It all came charging toward me like a full steam train packed with nothing but coal for the black heart I harbored for so long after him.

Yes, I rarely think of him anymore or what happened between us, but at the time I remember it being the hardest thing I ever had to go through.

It wrecked me for years and relationships to come.

I lost sight of my worth, my value.

I was nothing more than a pair of arms, and lips, and breasts. I was a bookmark in a boy's book of endeavors.

And for years to come that's all I saw myself as to any boy who ever paid the smallest attention.

There were times where people have asked if I have ever regretted anything in my life, and the only thing that has ever come to my mind was him.

And yet, as I think about who I have become since all of that, I've realized I can't regret it.

So much of who I have become, what I had to force myself to do in these last 5 years has been because of all the pain and destruction he caused in my life.

But without it, I would not have learned to become the strong person I am today. I believe that from it I learned to see the red flags a bit quicker. I've learned to not give in so easily.

To not give favors for love.

To demand respect.

To not compromise myself.

To see my worth.

But most importantly to love myself.

So yes, he's married, and he's probably happy. He may even be a good person.

But rather than begrudge his happiness, and still be angry for the disaster that we were, maybe I can start to forgive him because in the end all that matters is that I am a better person now.

And that I learned something from it all.

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

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

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.

cheap goodbyes

I might begin a Music Monday thing or something (yes today is Tuesday, but maybe I'll start it next week).

Nicole showed me this song after we spent most of the weekend together fidgeting over life and love.

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.

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.