everyone seems to be obsessed with their faults and flaws. in the spirit of self-celebration, i've decided to compile a small list of a few reasons to love myself, as said by both myself and others.
1. i've had my heart broken, but i haven't let my heart break me.my heart is made half from steel and half from gold. i've been left by the wayside, but i have found the strength within myself and with the help of my few true and sweet friends to pick myself up and continue on. my father left before i had even learned to walk, before i could support myself physically, let alone emotionally. soon afterwards, my mother left because her mind left her. this vicious domino effect has ridden on my back like my shadow for the past twenty years, but i have somehow been brave enough to tackle each day as it is given to me.
2. "you are one of the most precious people i've ever known."
t spoke those words to me one night before we went to sleep. we were both lost in a haze and were barely awake, but as soon as the words escaped his lips, it sent a jolt through my heart. so many men have said so many sweet things to me, but that is one of the only things i've remembered.
3. i'm pretty good in the sack.
or so i've been told. i don't know.
4. i'm a real life betty crocker.and i'm super thoughtful for bringing orange juice as an alternative to milk for my lactose intolerant co-workers.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
my dad and i have the same big toes. it's taken me twenty years to notice.
i moved into my apartment on wednesday. i'm almost positive we have ghosts. the doors contantly slam by themselves, and about fifteen minutes ago, my tv turned itself off. the ghost left my xbox on though. good lookin out, casper.
life is so short, and witnessing a close friend's brush with death last night verified that. i've been thinking too much today.
the first came to my apartment for a few hours, after a lot of convincing on my part. faked love for an hour or so. i don't care if it didn't mean anything. he was mine again, even if only for a little while.
the second tried to fill his shoes the very next night. had me tangled in his legs and in his dreads and in his kisses goodnight and in his sleepy sighs and in his arms and in his words, but none of that could have ever compared to the way the first would have had me tangled. i can't forget him.
"love is so short, forgetting is so long."
how very true is that? three years are gone. where did they go? will i ever find them? no, i won't. the searching for the years that have flown by is all a part of the forever-long process of forgetting. the process of learning to live without half of your heart, half of your being. the splitting of us into me and you. the acceptance of the loss of mutual friends. the learning to deal with the aching in your chest every time you smell his cologne or hear his name or see a green jeep riding around town. the disappointment you feel when another touches you and their hands don't feel the same as his did. when someone kisses you and their lips don't feel the same as his did. when someone makes love to you, minus the love, because you know that the only real love you will ever know was his. the going to bed alone. the "goodnight"s and "i love you"s whispered to ears that will never catch the words.
e.e. cummings is a wonderful man, but i need to find me a j.r. cash.
i moved into my apartment on wednesday. i'm almost positive we have ghosts. the doors contantly slam by themselves, and about fifteen minutes ago, my tv turned itself off. the ghost left my xbox on though. good lookin out, casper.
life is so short, and witnessing a close friend's brush with death last night verified that. i've been thinking too much today.
the first came to my apartment for a few hours, after a lot of convincing on my part. faked love for an hour or so. i don't care if it didn't mean anything. he was mine again, even if only for a little while.
the second tried to fill his shoes the very next night. had me tangled in his legs and in his dreads and in his kisses goodnight and in his sleepy sighs and in his arms and in his words, but none of that could have ever compared to the way the first would have had me tangled. i can't forget him.
"love is so short, forgetting is so long."
how very true is that? three years are gone. where did they go? will i ever find them? no, i won't. the searching for the years that have flown by is all a part of the forever-long process of forgetting. the process of learning to live without half of your heart, half of your being. the splitting of us into me and you. the acceptance of the loss of mutual friends. the learning to deal with the aching in your chest every time you smell his cologne or hear his name or see a green jeep riding around town. the disappointment you feel when another touches you and their hands don't feel the same as his did. when someone kisses you and their lips don't feel the same as his did. when someone makes love to you, minus the love, because you know that the only real love you will ever know was his. the going to bed alone. the "goodnight"s and "i love you"s whispered to ears that will never catch the words.
e.e. cummings is a wonderful man, but i need to find me a j.r. cash.
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