Fairytale.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of being swept off her feet.

A dashing young gentleman would see what everyone else failed to see and wouldn't be able to contain his feelings for her. 

He would triumph many obstacles in pursuit of her.

And in turn, she would love him because he first loved her. 

Once upon a time, I wanted that.

That's all I wanted. 

But the charming man I perceived as a prince was actually a cleverly disguised pauper. 

And at every chance he had, he took the route that bettered him over all else in the land.

That's when I discovered that all the things I ever wanted, the only dreams I dare dream, were not really the biggest dreams I could dream.

I need space to roam.
I need obstacles to climb.
I need something bigger than myself to live for.
And I will not settle for the smallest dreams I can dream.
That just isn't meant for me.

I'm writing my own fairytale.
Full of crazy turns, bountiful laughter, thousands of tears, millions of footsteps, nights of exhaustion, people from all walks of life, and beauty few ever truly see.
And I am beyond excited.

Recoil.

Intimacy.

What makes us hide when we show too much?

Why do we recoil? 

Is it fear?

Insecurity?

Is insecurity simply the fear of intimacy?

I want to show myself, but I hate the recoil.

I hate the recoil, so I work against it.

The more I work against it, the less I recoil.

The less I recoil, the more intimate I can become.

But it's still hard.

Showing yourself requires that you allow someone to possibly critique you.

It requires that you let down every bit of your guard, that you give away the rights you have to your secrets. 

It requires that you simply be who you are.

And that's difficult beyond imagination. 

But I will let you see.

I will not look away, even when you're looking at all the junk. 

I will look you in the eyes and stare back at what you see.

And I will be stronger because of it.

{After all, it's only awkward if you make awkward.}

Carnal.

There's a point when everything becomes carnal.

Your mind lets go.

Your joints move with an unknown intensity.

You feel every little twitch of every muscle. 

The sound of your heartbeat pulsates through your finger tips.

And it's moments like this that you know you're alive. 

It's moments like this that remind you what's really real, what's truly important.

They can take away your pride, your reputation, all the things you hold dear, all those you love, but they cannot take away the realness of your carnality, the ferocity of your innate will.

And unless you let them, they cannot remove your humanness. 

Don't let them.

Compassion Lost

I think I've lost some of my compassion.

Or maybe it's just that I need to see someone hurting to really feel it.

But hearing about things doesn't do it for me anymore.

I wonder why that is.

I think I have an idea, but it's sad all the same. 

Not so long ago, I was moved by things I'm no longer affected by.

Have I become a cynic? I hope not. 

Like a couple days ago at work, a co-worker found out her mom needed to have extensive tests done because at her five year remission check up, things looked a little abnormal.

She broke down at work, and all I could think was, "At least you've had a mother this long; a lot of people don't." 

I didn't feel anything for her in the least bit. 

I know this is awful of me...

When did I lose that softness? 

I want it back. 

I need to go spend some time in Africa or Haiti or something.
Where do we go from here?

Those Who Quit::Those Who Fight

It's been quite a while since I've processed my life in prose.

But I think it's due time to begin again.

In the words of Robyn, "The only way her heart will mend is if she learns to love again."

I must love again.

This is the rawest I've been in four months. 

I'm beginning to realize just how messed up my life has been.

And just how blessed I am to be given the opportunity to sort it out. 

Growth hurts. 

It sort of sucks, actually. 

But I'm a fighter. 

And as much as I sometimes wish I could, I cannot give up. 

I will fight.

I will feel.

I will love.

I will live.

I will.

Running.

The time has come.

You know you need to do it.

But you just can't.

You can't bring yourself to follow through.

You keep running.

Before you know it, it's been months.

Months of hiding, of pushing it further into the deep.

Months of bitterness, of anger. 

Months of build-up.

Before long, the build-up solidifies.

It can no longer simply be wiped away.

It has to be chiseled away, bit by bit, section by section.

Moment by moment. 

It's now a slow, meticulous process instead of the quick, less painful process it could have been.

It hurts.

And the longer you wait, the deeper the wound.

The longer you wait, the harder the build-up becomes.

When it could have just been dealt with it at the beginning.

When it could have been made it simpler.

When it could have been much less painful.

Yes, facing the music hurts.

Yes, looking into their eyes can be petrifying.

But what's more terrifying: dealing with your junk right away or waiting and discovering yourself ten years after the matter still running?

Person. Place. Thing.

"I just gotta leave this damn town..."

"Man, I need a new girl..."

You know those people.

The ones who always talk about leaving but never do.

Or the ones who keep leaving, never staying in the same place (or relationship) for too long.

They blame the town for their ill-fortunes, for their sad eyes, for their blurring thoughts, sleepless nights, restlessness, dissatisfaction. 

They blame their lover for their own inadequacies.

They "need a change."

So they dip.

They stop talking to their lover, usually with little or no explanation.

They pack up and move.

And you know what?

For a while, all is well.

For a while, things seem like they calm down, they get more exciting, they go like they're supposed to.

But soon enough, it begins to resemble what it did before.

New lover, same old thoughts creeping in.

New city, same old life.

Changing the scenery has a way of fooling our hearts into believing something has actually changed.

New relationships fool our hearts into believing it's going to be different this time.

But that simply isn't the case.

People are still people.

You are still you.

And while a change in scenery can be a good thing, and changing a relationship can be a good thing, neither of these things will be the answer you're looking for.

Your dissatisfaction comes from within.

It's up to you to change it, to push through, to be the change you seek.

Otherwise, you'll end up running your entire life.

It's tough to admit that the problem lies within and not on the outside. 

It's tough to admit to yourself that things are not the way you want them to be.

It's tough to admit that you aren't as strong as you try to appear.

But it's necessary if you want to really live. 

And it's infinitely beautiful.

{Let love in.}

Lines.

We create them.

Then we cross them.

The funny thing is that when we make them we think they'll keep us from going somewhere we "shouldn't."

But most of the time, the lines just taunt us.

All we think about are the lines.

All we want is what's on the other side. 

Sometimes, we fool ourselves into thinking we've got it all under control, but we know that's not true.

So we create more lines because somehow more lines equals more control.

And pretty soon, we're trapped.

{So. Many. Lines.}

But what if there were never supposed to be lines?

What if our lives were supposed to be simple? 

What if Love was the only thing that mattered? 

Once your heart is captured, you don't need lines.

Lines will eventually trap you, box you in, close you off.

But Love will guide you.

If you let it.

Residue.

People get sick.

Opportunities get missed.

Lotteries get won (but not by you).

Things get lost (usually in translation).

Love is ignited and quenched in one fell swoop.

Sadness, gladness, passion, and lust.

Ignorance, arrogance, bliss, and mistrust.

And all of this is sealed with a kiss.

It's sticky.

It's tough.

You can't explain, so it must be God's will... right?

Stuff happens.

Life happens.

There isn't always a reason, at least, not in the sense that we think of reason.

Sometimes, it just is.

God absolutely works things out for the good for those who love him.

But that doesn't mean we won't have to go through life.

It also doesn't mean God singled us out and decided to go on a mission to sabotage us.

He's simply letting his creation do its thing, letting the machine work the way it was intended to work.

And all machines leave behind residue. 

It's called {life}.

Truth.

It can be blinding.

It can be startling.

It can be offensive.

It can be hard to spot even when it's right in front of your face. 

It's easy to deny yet undeniable.

It builds cages and sets captives free.

It keeps us from loving but shows us how necessary love is.

It leads us to the water but doesn't make us drink.

And just like almost everything else, it simply is. 

We must make something of it.

The question is: what?