Oh, here we go bluebird.

Word came through in a letter,
one of us changing our minds.
You won't need to guess who
because I usually do
not send letters to me that are mine...

This pair of wing's worn and rusted
From too many years by my side
They can carry me, swear to be sturdy and strong
But see, turning them on still means goodbye.

This is so hard, the back in forth of feeling fine and then just missing you. Missing that. Missing something that really did mean the world to me for so long. You gave me back something I thought I'd never have again. And I know that everything you said was true, and I probably should have realized that a long time ago. But I guess I can't help being optimistic, always believing that things would change with time. It's just in my nature, and it always will be. I will love totally and completely, I will put everything into the next love, just as I did in this one. Maybe it will run its course. & Maybe I'll find myself somewhere down the road in some different apartment with another glass of wine, reflecting again. But I won't regret it, just as I don't regret this. You respected me enough not to let me do that anymore. I am not angry, I do not blame you. It's just a matter of a love I can't carry anymore. And the realization that I should never have tried to carry it alone.

That said: I'm hurting.
My heart is not quite mine again.
Right now it's a little lost:

in starry nights and camping trips,
in Dave, in Ingrid,
in DC hotel rooms and dance floors,
in the capital building, the white house
at a costume party, in a parasail,
& city hall (or just across the street where it won't fly...)
in shower songs, in little movies
in picnics and presents, kittens and peasants
on a rollercoaster, in a scary movie,
in one tree hill & sports I'll never learn
in that feeling that made my love burn.
in an apple orchard, in laughter,
in not working towards a happily ever after
but a happy here and now.



I'll just find that ever after a little later.
& guess I've just got some livin' to do first.

Unfinished--Like its Author

I am who I am.
My hair friz is a crime,
my gas gauge is on empty
for weeks at a time.

I listen to showtunes,
and watch HGTV.
My jokes are generally funniest
to those under three.

Admittedly, I am a little crazy.
It's normal and natural,
but it can make my judgment hazy.

I can cry myself into laughter
and laugh myself to tears.
These things will not change,
not in all of my years.

It's true: I'm not perfect.
But I must say on my behalf:
there are things I can offer
if you'll just make me laugh.

I am not good at sports,
just watch me run.
But you'll never find me
not appreciating a setting sun.

I'm helpful,
I'm hopeful,
I'm endlessly cheery.
My unfailing optimism
can make an average man weary.

I can't promise perfection,
(I trip a lot).
& I can't help thinking
I'm ridiculously hot.

But I am who I am,
it comes naturally.
So take the time to chase me,
cherish me.
Believe me, I'll do the same.

I'm worth it.
You're worth it.
Every last quirk.
If you can't see that,
this ain't gonna work.

It's the little things...

& everything returns.

As quickly as things fall apart, they come right back together in new, better (& stronger) ways.

This is my favorite time of year, the sweet piece of summer right before school starts. I love being back in the Valley, I love that all the people I haven't seen all summer are just a short walk/drive/bike/skip away.

I think maybe part of the reason I love this period SO MUCH is because it is so fleeting. In a flash, we'll be sitting back in the classroom, studying our nights away. But right now, right this moment, everything is just perfect.

My heart is very happy.

& that's at least partially because my kitten is so cute.

It has been a pretty awful day. My head hurts and I am tired. I'm confused. I don't get it. I miss something that's not yet gone, but somehow I can't hold on to it anymore. I am scared to be a grown-up. I am scared.

I wish things didn't have to change.

But I guess, if we never changed, we would never learn.

Happy Birthday to Me

This girl

has given me

the happiest birthday

and the prettiest ring

I have ever had.

Goodnight, Moon.

Oh, just tumblin' along..

Not a replacement, merely an addition: http://somethingbeany.tumblr.com/

Fiddle waddle

Write it down.
Write it all down.

That's what I do, it's what I've always done. And I'm so glad, because every time I stumble upon something I wrote, it brings me back. All of a sudden, life-exactly as it was-is within my grasp. Because, the truth of the matter is that if you can bring your self back into the mindset of your heart (heartset?), everything else falls back into place.

Allow me to slip into a Harry Potterism yet again: My journals are my own personal pensieve.

I think I write so much because my memory sucks. If it weren't for the journals that chronicle my life, it's possible that I would have forgotten my life. And yes, alright... the first journal may be covered in butterflies and glitter, but it doesn't make what's inside any less relevant.

But what do I do with all the stuff that's written to me? Notes? Birthday cards? Love letters? I am so blessed to have been surrounded by love. I just don't know what to do with the tangible papers and cards that fill my room. I like to read through all of them in context with the stuff I was writing at the same time. It's the best kind of retrospection.

That's my goal. A little life time machine. I'm basically Dr. Who.

Speaking of time machine: I'm reading Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, I'm working my way through the first season of Ally McBeal. That combined with the picture my girlfriend sent me last night of FROGGY FLEECE PAJAMA PANTS, I think we actually created a vortex to 1996.



...I should get a job.