Photograph, by Arcade Fire.
It’s strange, to think that this piece so reminds me of you that I see you on a beach, doubling over with mirth and giggles… I’m there too and it’s a touch before sunset. We end up in a heap, squinting at the speck of burning red. We close our eyes as we lie on the sand, weightless in this dreamscape. I see your silhouette still, lids pulled shut. “Let’s go. I’m hungry,” you say. Yes let’s go.
Dean Koontz, Life Expectancy (via observando)
Agree. Disagree. Let’s discuss.
Obama ticks his “decision memos’ tacked on the bottom of each document that passes his desk. Wouldn’t that be glorious?
I’m tired. Worn, figuring out tactical, strategic ways to proceed, halt, pull out - all. Day. Long. Which compress the hours to minutes, full weeks rearing their ends, taunting me.
I can’t quite make another decision tonight. Except the one to drag my shell of a body into bed.
I yearn for something more than drink or tastes or lust can satisfy. In my mind’s eye I find myself drowning in a white froth of treacherous current, but suddenly realising the floatation ring has long been tossed within fingers’ reach.
God, I see so clearly and yet I am still a child. So much I’ve yet to uncover about the mysteries of you. Let me sit at your feet; let me now.
Oh child, Oh child. Why do you worry? Why do you weep?
Am I not enough for you? Am I not strong? Look at me! I move mountains, I care for the weak, and I love you O precious one!
Be soft my love. Stay gentle, meek as a lamb; shrewd as a serpant. Be kind still. Laugh! Be joyful always.
When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It’s not our home
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?
It’s all so much, bordering too much.
I don’t know if this is a plea for help, or just me writing cathartically. I’m just tired. More than I’ve ever been, or remember. You know when people say they’re tired, exhausted, beat, can’t do it anymore? I’ve said all those things before, but This. This is Tired.
Not just physically right. I’m a true all-rounder.
People tell me how great I’m doing. I don’t know. How do I know if people mean great, good, bit above average, or just not bad? Great is watered down these days. So is Awesome.
There’s too much stimuli. This morning I found myself turning away from the mirror as I brushed my teeth, and facing the door instead. And that was comforting. Not having to look at my face, the face people expect to look a certain way, to crease a certain way, to blush a thousand roses. The Door had no such expectation. So I faced it and was happy, if just for a moment.
I understand, a lot of expectations are self-inflicted. I wish I could run away from myself too. Why am I the perfectionist? Why do I carry so much pride? Perfectionism is afterall, to me, an insidious socially acceptable term for Pride.
I dream of happy places. Not with people I know, just with strangers and oceans. Depths I need not save or be Melodie to. I dream.
Theodore Roosevelt (via observando)
… Who is made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions; who acknowledges the strength of others.
Mother Teresa (via observando)
How do I love thee? Truly, love can send hearts racing, or break a spirit for the eventual betterment. Love is not always grand, but it should always seek to place others’ needs above one’s own.