just thoughts

One day you wake up and that person you thought was your future isn't anymore. No more than a faded feeling.  Tired of writing about him and exhausted from living around him.  You wake up and you realize that you have endless energy for everything else that isn't him.  

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Quite frankly, comfort zone you can fuck right off! 
As a self proclaimed introvert this scares me and instinctively I want to say it and then retreat back into my self.  Just throw it out there and not particular have to do anything about it. But my internal wires are fraying and I know that if I do not re-wire myself I'll short circuit my life. A small implosion, almost undetectable but for the burn out, the faults and the lack of electricity.  In the comfort zone I can function but it's dimmed and it's dutiful.  I need to get out. I need to push my own buttons and I need to grow. Fully aware that I've got energy that needs to travel and touch much further than the switchboard I keep playing with. There are darkness's I need to light up in the world and there are flames I want to feel. 

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A love that can keep their hands off me.  A love that can board a plane before me.  A love that can shake their gaze at me.  A love that can stop contemplating with me.  A love that can stray too long from me.  A love that can sip victory champagne without me.  A love that can set foot in foreign seas across from me.  A love that can use humor as armor against me.  A love that can bear to break fairy-tales around me.  A love that can easily say goodbye towards me.  A love that can put up their feet and focus ahead of me.  A love that can do all of these but doesn't. 

(no title)

Where the sky meets the sea and all the cloud formations in-between, I scream with everything that has tortured me for you to come back.  Coarse sands, every pebble, rub through me exposing an hour glass of waiting. Trying every second to be less abjured by gravity I cannot feel this world without you in it.  Trying every second to be more blinded by reality I cannot see this world without you in it. Despite the daily hues and nightly embers allowing me to forget momentarily, the bigger picture lacks the flame.  God do I want to burn my hands!
     amidst fog, unclear a path towards holding
    There, the deer stir and leap with no king
Coolness, that of damp yet growing, awakens the leaves
osmosis deepens the air and lowers the light but for the rays of

        glitter and fairy-tales 

Wondering shrieks echo, echo off the timeless canopies, echo down the twisted vines, reverberating the roots with psychosis through the forest. 

A dew drop changes to molten love 

as it slips from its flower

Igniting the stem, the leaves and the friendly fauna. Asphyxiating clouds replace the mist like an enchantress scorned has commanded toxicity and torture to spread lustily. The psychosis spreads like the fire burning, prior lulled animals turn frantic and demonic as their rushed paws and the like are licked by devouring fervent intensities. What was timeless crashes in seconds with cackles, infernally possessed in the cracks the trees argue and lose, overwhelmed they meet the pit of hell. 

      braised behind, with a wall choking

   the beetle, frets for haste his own thing 

       No, gold ring takes all movement 

Swallowed by a tunnel of blue tint 

A small pop, unheard in the blazed

    So, heat till, depress untimely death. 

What is a forest erased but devastation and ash? All because a drop of dew thought itself something warmer in fluidity. All reality obscures for a single moment in time which causes havoc then smoking remnants. My hands can hold neither ash nor devastation for longer than kept sorely shut, eventually I open them and both dissipate with the breeze. 

Then do my hands dig deep, into the soiled, undergrounded still warm with hope yet dark still with the unknown.  Digging repeatedly enough for

Less covered there,

  a contrasted lesson of life with its humble beginnings and smallness

                        a seedling emerges. 

It all cycles back to you.  From the forests to the shores to the skies to the stars, where not one thing is not touched by an undercurrent not of you. A world with you in it is worth the world burning my hands. 

Storms precede

There is wind on the horizon which turns the sea darker shades of grey in fits of waves unsettling the surface.  I can feel the change on my skin and it has yet to hit me.  The air no longer still nor light it moves its way towards where I stand, promising to knock me over with forceful effort and whirling whispers of transformation.  The approach is too fast to fully grasp and I lose my balance.  Knocked into the wall behind me, I fall without breath to the floor where gravity appears to be pulling.  Blonde hair in my face, head low and blue eyes squinting to focus on my hands, white knuckles and red finger tips I push the ground away from me. Managing to sit on my haunches I gasp for the breathe to come back, fill my lungs and remind me that I am alive.  The wind cannot steal my breathe again, I purposefully reclaim the air that is mine, frantically I inhale it back into my body.  Dizzy now I keel back over onto my side grabbing my knees towards my heartbeat that is thunderously loud.  The floor is softer than reality, the floor is calmer than my convulsing body, it soothes me and I can feel its stillness being absorbed by my skin.  Thin lips pulled in even tighter to stop the trembling, my eyes burn dry with the longing to see more of what is ahead of me.

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"It's sprint time!" the instructor warns the class.
I very ungracefully get up off the mat, soaked sweat towel in one hand, asthma pump in the other and robotic-ally move towards the dread-mill.  
"Be careful, your treadmills are flying" he warns again.
Without hesitation I change the speed to slower, fitting my level of perseverance and amount of expenditure committed.  Knowing full well I could do better, I hop on for a thirty second jog.  On either side of me are people running for their lives, keen and head strong.  With two sprints to go I up my speed each time.  
"... three, two, one.  Shut the treadmills down and make your way back to the mat" 
Well I certainly didn't die and could have probably run faster, to be honest I never really want to get off the treadmill at this point.  It's the point where I actually want to do better and persevere a little longer but I miss the fucking boat every time.  Metaphorically for my life as well.  The ship sails and I'm ashore with what if's, could have's and should of's.

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Eyes adjusting to see leaves and sticks and feathers, all swirled up and wasted around me.  My right cheek is now ice cold from the floor and my hip numb from weighted lying.  To move would mean to differentiate myself from that that is wasted around me, but sometimes I want to be a leaf, a stick or a feather only moved by wind.  Sometimes I only feel deserving of movement when it is not I that is moving me.  Can the wind come back, either to sweep us all away or to make us into something different?  Would the wind know how to create something using leaves, sticks, feathers and me?  I would forfeit my breathe for it to move me once again however lying on the floor for a bit longer is an alternative not worth living for.  The aches get too unbearable, my short legs and their muscles cramp, shoulders built from swimming and surfing can no longer take the stillness.  So unlike all that is static around me I heave my body up off the floor, standing sorely and somewhat lifelessly.  My eyes blink slow and any facial expressions left when the wind did.  When my mind decides to reclaim its position the rush of thoughts just about topple me over again.

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Drenched and stretched, feeling healthy and important to myself I leave gym happy.  This lasts well through the first, second and third cigarette I chain smoke upon getting home.  Gulping water like I don't know what wine is, sitting outside to cool off my body and its elevated awe, I book upcoming gym classes while I'm riding this wave of elevation.  Just like that, after the classes are booked and my phone turns back into a platform for comparison, longing and superficiality I lose my muster.  Between the images of couples in love, the singles who explore and the world at war I become so very tired. 05h45 creeps closer as I routinely shower, eat and try to sleep.  I think to myself how much better or worse is it to receive a goodnight text or to share my bed with someone?  To have someone there or right here... I couldn't choose so perhaps I have neither.  To chase love and not know what to do with it when you get it is reflective of human nature.  Always choosing misery and misconception over getting to really know oneself.  Why during that time of night all appears discernible, like I'm running for my life, keen and headstrong?  Sprinting through thoughts, deciding directions and concluding relationships.  Metaphorically I need my asthma pump, working my thoughts up to a suffocating amount I lie in savasana, corpse pose, and channel my focus to breathing.
"Inhale for three two one, hold for three two one, exhale for three two one..." repeat.

Only to be reminded at 06h30 when it's sprint time again. 

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With my mind leading my body I walk away from the storms remnants, the air is quiet again and the sea has no horizon.  Nothing is clear but at least my pieces have moved themselves in search for something.  Aimless but movement nonetheless.  Configuring themselves into a human shape, five foot two with small feet matching small hips, we become a little more useful.  I talk like I am fine, even with high pitched expression and curiosity.  My words appear to be off the floor but I am actually standing on them, kicking them and wishing they weren't cutting me with every sharp contact.  Entering the room my heartbeat is muffled by other sounds and my eyes distracted by other sights.  There is a busyness about the older bodies that I struggle to relate to and there is very little connection to the younger body that sits idle with itself.  Although the room is warmer with us in it, with hot breathe and amicable sighs, I rarely feel avidity with anyone.

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It's been three days and four hours since I last went to gym but who's counting?  It's been weeks since I last stilled my mind and body in a precarious yoga pose, it's been months since I last immersed myself in saltwater under, over and on waves and it's been almost a year since I rode through sugarcane on a horse that can sense me better than any person could.  So I am counting but not all of it literally, I count on these things to feel less of time and more of myself.  You know the feeling of immeasurable warmth and rightness that seems to beam from and through you?  That's what these things do for me. 
"The sun will set without thy assistance" Talmud says. 
Yet I continue to say that time is at fault not I.  Without asking when, because time is actually irrelevant, rather asking why do I let these things slip away from me?  Half of which are free and the other half carry on without me anyway.  Uncertain if this is another excuse but perhaps I rebel against what I know I need in defiance for having to need anything at all. 

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Sitting on a couch that is heavy to move and positioned for lethargic purposes, I lift my feet up off the floor to distance myself from it further.  That cold steady floor seems unfamiliar and frighteningly contrasted to what is burning inside of me indefinitely.  There is superficial lighting making the night darker and the people inside brighter, the home of people and things with dysfunction and dreams.  I sit wondering if the lights should fail and the television turn off would the family know what to do?  With life and love and the bridge between them.  I rub the tip of my thumb over the edge of my nails and fingertips, making one OK hand symbol per hand with index finger to thumb, ending with three solid Nil, Zero hand symbols with the remaining fingers down.  I sit doing this motion for quite some time, in reverse and repeating.  Noticing that this family go from okay to nil just as frequently.  Becoming overwhelmed with my hands and the nail indents I had made I grab the television remote and change the channel. 

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Continuing with my rebellion to activity and the things that make me feel good, I seem to be otherwise quite capable of actively doing things that make me feel, for lack of a better word, bad. 
"You get rid of that boyfriend of yours now, no good" said by my quirky new gynaecologist.  I laugh a little in politeness to his peculiar Polish-ness. Also because although my legs are widespread it's not my normal situation. Disease free apart from an acute case of sleeping-with-men-I-don't-really-know.  Neither the gynaecologist nor I have a sensitivity gauge, so we go about our own business in a matter of fact manner.  Of course my personal business only becomes his when I'm paying for it.  He's a professional and gets the Mirena in place quickly and for the most part painlessly.  Genuinely I feel very little down there and more in my mind and heart. It's as if my ability to physically feel down there is measured on the same level as my connection to things, people and the universe connecting me to them.  No doubt that is the only pleasure I seek, that connection.  But whilst my legs may be open my heart is seemingly otherwise impenetrable.  My mind is fully aware of this to my orgasmic detriment.  I leave his office feeling only slightly better in the fact that mistakes can't happen for the third time. 

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It's bedtime so I peel myself off the couch, feed my dog treats and shuffle to a room which is far too large for its lonely requirements.  At least it's pretty enough, even with the mess of heaped up clothes on the day bed and the hoards of empty pill packages under the bed.  Pretty enough when you don't look too closely and if the lights stay off and I navigate blind all that mess is unseen.  The moon filters through on the left of my bedside as I roll over to face it and sink my hurt organs deeper into the mattress, which under the sheet is surely stained with tears, sweat, semen, coffee and blood.  Life-sources for the body of a twenty eight year old female who wishes she weighed less than the fifty two kilograms trapped by her skin.  Hearing the television continually entertaining my parents I shut my thin eyelids to the world only to be met by a parallel universe behind them.  Night escapes from my clutches with tense hands relaxing their hold on my second favourite pillow.  Without wondering where my favourite has found itself because that requires more tears and a reality I'm trying to fall asleep from.  The after hours, when time ticks down the hall on the Grandfather clock compelling all to be silent so it can be heeded, obscurity is heightened.  Rings of the scene in The Nutcracker where evil mice come out to torment and taint all that is charming, the hourly chimes contending for morning to come and dreams to be discarded.

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Abandonment, what I let myself do to things and what I expect people to do to me.  When I focus on breathe, without clouded thought while asking what it is that I feel about feeling, this is the word that pops up from the crevasses.  Instant gratification exempt of commitment and endurance is by definition how I have treated most things.   Manifesting to include but not limited to my hobbies, my loves and relationships, my body and if I'm being really honest, my spirituality.  Rooted to a four year old with a short albeit significant time without a father, losing brothers in the process.  Branching to an adolescent having to detach from her sister as countries and oceans separate, but gaining a brother-in-law.  Flowering into a woman that gives her heart to another, who relinquished it all and returned it back to her forsaken.  Imaginably, because I acknowledge my flaws and own them completely, it's now time to change them.   
"Be prepared each day to confront your own self sabotage" unknown. 
There comes a point after sitting in limbo for days that I seem to snap back to getting shit done, that point is reached when stewing deeper into wounds only brings about ineffectiveness and stupor.  Frustrating myself so, that productivity and action are the only answers to questions of inner awareness.  I refuse to abandon myself and the soul that has purpose within me, having dreams and goals with the ability to reach them and beyond.  It takes the low point to reassess, reassure and redirect with keenness and to keep running, less likely to miss the boat this time likewise to do better.  

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Between seasons the birds aren't chirping when I wake as they're far too comfy in their nests to search for the early worm that too sleeps soundly.   Internally I wake up first, blue veins startled with a subservient craving for inhalants, a concurrently numbing and stimulating placebo to me.   This is done in the dark with habituated hands.  If it's a good morning I wont see the pigmented skin that is usually under my mask, that which is my face without the need to impress.  Mostly because the light has not surfaced and neither have my insecurities.  Given that, I'll perceptibly make-up my body, especially the chubby bits in fluctuating workout clothes.  Dressed, first cigarette and black coffee as my fuel, followed with toothpaste I leave the home into the dawn alone, bewildered slightly yet convicted.  The desolate streets are interrupted by high heart rates and strangers I comparatively relate to simply because we have the same attire on our bodies.   There is an alertly cold eddy of air that flows into my car, prickling the hair of my unguarded skin and plunging to my bones.  Should the dimmed stars see into my sunroof they would view me writhing, conflictingly sculling undercurrents of inertia and persistence.  I bid the obscurity of night adieu as persistence wins and it is now 05h45, almost sprint time.  If the horizon looms of wind and transformation... let it as I'll do better for longer this time. 

Letters to myself

Growth of a flower

When trying not to cower

It's harder than I thought

Should I not be sought 

While the fresh dew dries

Heats of a dry gust guise 

It's harder than I thought

Should I not be sought

Bird-songs and beauty dimmer

As scandal and silence simmer

It's harder than I thought

Should I not be sought

Off to their own time

Offended if or not a crime 

It's harder than I thought 

Should I not be sought 

Roots up-heaved so haplessly 

Above that soiled matchlessly 

It's harder than I thought

Should I not be sought 

Crumpled petals of purity diminish 

Strewn leaves of lies finish

It's harder than I thought

Should I not be sought

The Flower and its stance 

Do it not stand a chance? 

Reservation?

Excuse me while I go be important to myself.  In fact, don't even excuse me because there is nothing offensive about it.  At this stage of where we are, we owe each other very minimal.  There is little invested in making us work and there is even less attached to how we make each other feel.  That may sound hopeless, selfish and isolating but the truth is I can't give any more than I get.  And neither should you.

So instead of forcing something that in reality doesn't consume our hearts and minds, I'm backing off further.  For now.  Yes, I like you. Yes, talking about a future with you is nice.  Yes, having you in my life may make it a little better.  But I can like you without a focus on future and at no expectation that my life should change.  The main catalysts for this thinking and feeling are both distance and time and their ability to keep us strangers for longer.

Perhaps that is my issue here.  Perhaps I would want to give more of me to you, for you and with you if you weren't still such a stranger to me.  I know I would end up doing that if I saw you more often and if you were to see me, at all.  When distance is gone and time is here, we're foreigners mapping each other out and arduously navigating blind.  Too quick and of basic quality I see you seeing me, too brief and of lowermost quantity.

It takes moments, memories and magic to open myself up.  Right now these are not on the table and instead of reserving a seat for you at this table I am turning it over and using it as a shielded fortress. Neither of us are presently hungering for this to work and I'll ensuingly be starved if I don't.  

And it is okay.  We will be okay because neither of us are a priority to each other right now.  The times that we are do not override the times that we aren't, the seats at the table are pushed in and out mindlessly.  What is the point to hunger for a candlelit feast upon this table if it's treated like a fast food diner booth? A phone call every third day or so, a morning message followed by an infrequent goodnight of vice versa, a hotel room of suitcases, sensations and sighs. I choose to topple this table until further notice.  

The table is light to push and with little assistance it falls onto its side. On edge of little substance. Surface levels of thin balance and unequally pressured instability. The table is unequivocally of no syn-chronic purpose for us, it will just lay there off kilter until there is a presence to willfully lift it and us together. I alone am too capricious to forcefully put it up right, so it lays. You alone are too solipsistic, should you move the table it would crush me. 

I feel it best to not even invite you to dinner anymore. And that is okay because we don't have a date planned anyway. There is no place nor time for what we are currently, to each other and to the world. All I want is to give something to the world but all that I can is by not trying too hard to be with you.  So, enjoy your meals inadvertently without me as I go be important to myself. I'll continue to nourish myself even if it means I eat alone unconventionally behind a table.

dirt roads lead to clear paths

How you interpret the world is what will ultimately make me fall in love with you.  I care so deeply about creativity, intuition and connection that if those things aren't in your interpretation I honestly don't believe we should, or could ever, be lovers.  

I may not have all my ducks in a row or an internet banking app on my phone, not yet.  I may not have the tidiest room because I am a gypsy and have been uprooted recently for reasons and friendships bigger than myself.  I most certainly still want to backpack third world countries and sip a cocktail or three watching sunrises with no intention to shower that day. Unless the shower is a waterfall I have hiked to, whilst chatting about collective consciousness, emotional intelligence and lyrics of a song.  So although I lack a lot of down the line practicality, and one could confuse my child like optimism as naivety and foolishness, that does not bother me. If it bothers you, you're not the one for me.  I can very easily download the app, I can very easily clean my room and I can very easily shower three times a day if I needed to, but I don't need to.  My interpretation of the world is bigger than convenience, than set norms and outer shell obsessions.  I can do the mundane, I can do the budgets and I can do the responsible. But they are not my world and will most likely never be.  
Lover, do not walk in front of me, as I will not follow.
Lover, do not walk behind me, as I will not lead.
Lover, walk beside me, as We are in this world together. 

The details are vague but I was deadlocked in hot sticky, black molten tar.  It dripped thick from my limbs and the fumes burned raw with every breath.  I woke up suffocating and scared. 
Why?  because I feel stuck in something that isn't natural. That paves the road for a misinterpreted world. Appearing fluid at first, constructive and even necessary but tar turns rigid and unapproachable at the midday sun and appears as black ice under the moonlit blankets.  A road to nowhere good. Nowhere great and nowhere true. 
Fuck I want great.  I want extraordinary.  I want a dirt road and dirtier pairs of dancing feet to walk it with.   Should there be signal, I'll download the fucking banking app if I have to while we talk about how we care so deeply for interpretations of the world and that there are endless reasons as to why yours made me fall in love with you.  Falling not down and scraping hurtfully lodged tar off my knees no. Falling up and up to something more spiritual and almost other worldly. 

Set off with no particular directions

Oh heeeey today and more acutely tonight.  I've felt you before, worse and myself weaker.  Been a while though, what was it that set you off? Simply a seed planting thought, a song lyric singing and a gut wrenching feeling of course.  To describe you would be to know you fully, I am not there yet.  You're familiar enough to acknowledge, more than just an acquaintance.  Still your existence, your very root cause is a stranger to me.  I cannot know more to you than what I have only chosen to see.  But you're here today and tonight and I cant ignore it.  With every time you surface I change.  Feelings take hold of my mind and a direction is set, either slightly stronger or much much weaker.  That is the end result however, getting there are the hours and minutes of pure confusion.  Lost.  For now, that's all I have to call you.  So lost it swells my eyes with unchartered waters and hollows my stomach to unfathomed caves. You appear on days like these which remind me of the miles and the crevasses I need to cover. Unable to tread the water, I sink.  Unable to keep the cave vaulted, I stray.  Absent and not in the room because I am so far far away from everything.  Set on automatic forfeit you replace me.  You used to take over all of me for weeks and that is how I recognise your antics and your results.  Albeit frightening at times, in opposition to hiding or running away in avoidance, I'm glad to have met you.  Your visits are becoming less frequent because your lessons are more prominent.  So I sit with you all day and now at night as almost friends.  But I get to choose my life, love and friends, this you also remind me of.  Lost but capable to change directions.

Cease Fire, the war is almost over

Darling, it's just your head playing tricks on you.
To illude yourself into thinking you're not only capable of but are in fact letting go of attachment.

For far too long I have battled the war between head and heart; it consumes me, it propels me and it injures me. Wearing an armor of schedules and then nakedly falling into trenches of moments without you.  Where is that connection to you? For me, it's everywhere and it is in everything.  I need him but I want you. Because you, my love are so deeply imprinted on my heart that my minds futile attempts to conquer this war are seemingly fatal. Ostensibly doomed are relationships I wage for interception of my hearts longing.

And it is not due to any lack of love for myself, no, I have owned that shit and work internally hard to overthrow any form of self-sabotage. I am my own enemy or patriot and ultimate commander of the two. However without your artillery I fight with extremism and a suicidal bomb strapped to my heart. Without your heroic engagement I sit in neutralized camouflage amidst land mines and fields strewn with debris and casualties.

So yet again I find myself on the front lines, with all and with him that isn't you.  I don't mean to compare but when you have swam in the sea a lake will no longer do. You've set a ruling standard so high with your laughter, your facial expressions, your hands and your connection to the world and me. I want that and I want you. But I need him. You've gone MIA in my life and you have abandoned the revolution of our love.  My heart is becoming more subversive to my growth and my survival as it is in constant defense of your actions.
I will never admit defeat, yet I am a refugee in another mans arms.
Displaced, disarmed and deployed into a world that sounds, smells and sees different to you.

The struggle of war compelled by the love of peace, I want peace too. So I wake each day and choose to fortify the now.  As it currently stands my mind is making allies with him. A coalition is forming and there is little I can do about it, or rather should I even do anything about it? On the front lines faced with the option to accept his sounds, smells and seeing as a new world treaty rather than a cataclysmic war.  Prowling at what depicts as his flaws does not make me truer to you, no it makes me cruel, cynical and delusional.  Hush my heart passive enough to allow it to be conscripted and entrusted to him, for currently I have no reason to give it to you.  No other reason than a secret campaign to be by and on your side of the war.  

But there will be no more suffering due to the battle of head and heart.  I do not want retribution nor for it to be misplaced onto him.  I go into this knowing that I wave no white flags and I am riddled with bullet holes of past wounds.  I also know that there is a powerful beauty to him that disengages my fight or flight response, putting me at ease.  His hands are warmer and his touch unwavering.  He's a veteran in his own battles, unequivocally having faced fears and standing with valor.  He is elite in capturing my attention.  

And while my heart has you as its vanguard, quickly is it learning to love more than you, to love a little less dependently and to love a little differently.

Let Him Go, Let Him Be

His eyes smiled at her with the warmth of a home and a sweetness of thousands of hello's.  The wrinkles in the corner whispered years ahead of encouragement in learning. Eyelashes fluttering continuous waves of love and tenderness but mostly protection.  Capable of tears, yes, capable of closing yes, capable of irritation redness diseases, yes.  But these eyes were looking at her, really looking. She met his eyes with hers and they were locked in commitment, compassion and both curious at the comfort of each other.  
Oh how a girl can dream.  
My eyes have been closed far too long, that when I do make eye contact with anyone I actually break out in sweat, buried alive in social anxiety and begin to burn my cheeks red with doubt.  To avoid the concluding give away, an awkward panic, a glazed distant shell, I look away.  In the hope that the focus will be taken off my transparent infected soul. 
But I am so aware of this, almost too aware, that I am now able to treat it before the outbreak becomes contagiously unbearable.
It is not my eyes but my mind.  It is not my seeing but my thinking. Much like breathing soothes my thoughts, much like sitting stills my heart rate, efforts are required to break this bad habit and unbind and un-blind myself.  I am a lovingly strong woman.  My eyes should display this in a single glance to whomever I see.  Gateway to the soul they say, the only person who says my soul is broken is me.  On the other side of my vision is something completely different to my inner thoughts. It's about time I see myself that way. 
To the ex, the stranger and the familiar.  To the intimidating, the less fortunate or the potential date. 
Figuring out why I am still struggling to heal is a daily awakening. 
There have been beginnings to an understanding that keep arsing.
Signs, symbols and pelvic yoga poses catching my thoughts and emotions
I need to let him go. 
Saying I have or I can is the easy part, it's the wanting that keeps my eyes shut tight.
Engaging in a new possibility makes me feel like I will lose my past possibilities. And I'm still quite attached to how I wanted my life to be back then, nothing and no one new coming into my circle.  My mind screams that I cant let anyone in, from acquaintances to friendships, because it will take from me what I had on reserve for him. 
Extremely unhealthy and utterly depressing.  This way of thinking has left me crippled. In actual fact I have nothing in my reserves and I'm only fooling myself if I think I can share something that is not there. Delusional.  Even if he had looked, the sad thing is that, he wouldn't have seen anything.  
So I must make eye-contact and I must simultaneously let him go.  As hard as it gets because then it can only get better.   I cannot force him to look at me, to see me with smiling eyes and I cannot change what he has, currently does, or ever will see when he looks at me.  As those are his eyes not mine.  
The same goes for everyone I meet.  I sweat and get social anxiety because I panic at the thought of not being in control of what the other person sees. Forgetting I am a lovingly strong woman who can only control her own eyes. 
So are you listening eyes?  Not to my thoughts that spew doubt but my heart of strength and resilience.  Not to my thoughts that stage me in a certain way but my core center beaming out through my eyes with an abundance of and for always love.
I blink but now my eyes are open and they cannot un-see life this way. 

Author: Elyane Youssef

Title: Let Him Go, Let Him Be

I know how hard it seems to be without him,

and I know how awful it is to let him go.

He was your home, your soul mate.

But sometimes, we need to evacuate when the fire alarm goes on,

we need to leave our home or else we’ll die burning.

Leave your home.

Leave your soul mate.

You came into each other’s lives so you can slap each other awake,

so you can awaken and open what’s been closed inside each both of you.

Now that you have accomplished your mission,

let him go,

let him be.

Don’t you claim that you love him?

If you really do, you must unlock your chain that’s wrapped around his soul.

I know it’s difficult to believe that you won’t ever again be present in his life, but

sometimes love means letting go.

Are you in love with him, or do you love him?

because if you are in love with him, you will need him, however,

if you love him, you will set him free.

Sometimes love means letting the other person be and live the way he desires.

Don’t let your love be the cage that will stop him from flying.

Go and open the door for him so he can roam the world,

and if you two are meant to be,

he will know his way back to you.

Until time shows you what’s meant to be and what’s not,

let him go.

He’s not yours and you are not his.

You don’t own each other because love is freedom,

happiness,

and kindness.

Go build your own home now and decorate it with flowers.

Set yourself free and let yourself be as well.

You deserve to be and you deserve to taste joy and comfort.

I beg you to stop serving yourself the plate of misery.

Although you don’t realize it, part of your misery is refusing to let go,

you’re still clinging to him like a mother clinging to her own baby.

Love him, do not hate him,

but let him go, let him be.

Thank him for the experiences and lessons that you needed and then,

let him go, let him be.

All is happening for a reason,

you will soon see.

My core's list.

Immeasurable amounts of love for the ones in my life, how I choose to start and end my day, the glossy sea and the being that is within me.
Abundant feels of joy for the way the sun warms my skin, even when it almost becomes unbearable, the infrequent smiles seen on strangers and the ability to run my feet for miles.
Unbounded moments of peace in the stillness or beat and rhythm of the sunrise, kisses from my dog's spirit and the expressional release in writing.
Unlimited belief of faith in those that are distant from me, body, heart and soul, for my life to be as it should and the purpose of the world and all in it to be fulfilled.
Inexhaustible muster of strength to learn lessons, to learn them well enough, for my self restrictions to be realized for what they aren't and the capability to push through or let it go and move on.
Unending promise of growth for my vessel and mind, the collective consciousness to come in closer and for the emotions of my life to be healing.
Infinite ventures of awareness of the environment, a walk in nature or the present moment wherever it be and the option to choose differently.
Countless stirs of wonder for the soldiers, the survivors and the unconditionals, gravity keeping me grounded, both balanced and falling but mostly humble, and the wishes on shooting stars.
Uncountable times of happiness brought by music enjoyed, unexpected connections and the Sunday morning newspaper collection by my dog.
Timeless memories of essence that which has made my lifeline, of laughs with friends and family, and the smell of boat fuel and distances traveled.
Eternal flows of gratitude making even breathing easier, clothes and hugs warmer, food and water tastier and the future life of all souls kindly truer.

wake up calls

I'm cashing out.
A dear friend of mine says a prayer to God on her drive to the day, she prays to ask for the lessons to be hard.  So very hard so that she learns from them once off.  I think God answers her every time.
I too have said this prayer and have been answered.
So I'm cashing out.
I'm saving my soul and I'm taking the lesson and leaving.
Lord knows I tried, Lord knows what is best for me and Lord knows that I am now listening.
When you get that phone call you have been fearing for the last 3 years of your life and are whiplashed out of bed with fear, confusion and shock, you tend to take it pretty seriously.
"I've just written my car off" at 01.30am.   Nothing good ever comes from 01.30am.
"He's drunk" I had said to another friend 4 hours earlier.
I go to sleep, it's initially a deep good sleep but it gets weaker and distantly not real with the hours. When the call comes I am awake.  I am a live wire and I am livid.
Without the anger I go with comfort and care, without the needed rest I go with 3 years of unfortunate preparation for this very task.
It's dark but the blue lights set me on a one-way path to destruction.
Slowing down like an innocent bystander to see, although I am neither innocent nor a bystander. The car is brutal. The nature around it shredded by the tyres that are no longer there. The windscreen cracked, the air bags deployed and the bonnet broken and misplaced beneath the body. It's brutal.
The dozens of police are too pre-occupied with the missing driver to see my tears as I drive in slow motion.  It was slow and it was surreal.  While the police were thinking of the driver, I was not.
My tears were not of fear, confusion or shock.  My tears were that of gratitude.  Seems misplaced and brutally apathetic, and perhaps it was slightly.  However every cell of and in my body was overwhelmingly grateful it wasn't him.  It wasn't him because he is in recovery and he is well and he is living. I was succumbed both with gratitude and an enormous amount of honour for and of him.
As the blue lights got smaller behind me my prayer was answered.  I drove there and from with compassion and comfort but I would never drive back there again in search for love.  I had cashed out of that that morning at 02.00am and perhaps a bit earlier than that I just needed to learn it.

"You have a type hey Rox!" my sister says to me later in the morning.  But she is wrong, I don't.  I was under a different impression and that is the very reason I will not stay.  I will not have a type and I will not subject myself to thinking this way.  One begins to question not them but oneself when a negative habit appears to have formed. One begins to doubt if there is any positivity in oneself and that is utterly destructive.  There is no benefit of the doubt in this situation, there is only what is and what that is, is not what I want.

________________________

In two weeks time, to which I have committed to, begins a challenge.  Albeit a physical one, the goal to get fit and ripped at the gym, it's more of a self challenge in the form of commitment, perseverance and some intense soul searching within myself. 
I am excited to do this.  To connect again with what is inside and to strengthen that connection unbreakable.

don't go chasing waterfalls

Emily Townsend

Jan 3

This year, I suppose,

perhaps I can finally lose

every thought of your name

every memory of your eyes blinking

slowly, trying to hold back the waterfall

certainly willing to spill

had I not made the promise to stay alive.

What is it that disconnects a soul tie?
The truth, there is almost nothing that can disconnect it completely
But there are ways to weaken it. 

With synchronicity devoid of timing - it weakens
With love devoid of action - it weakens
With acceptance devoid of hope - it weakens
With time devoid of presence - it weakens

It appears after a flood, a consistent flow, a fluid motion from the sky to the earth. It channels, it engraves its path and it does so with both ease and turbulence. It takes with it debris, new life and a gravitational purpose. And then there is the overflow. The free fall over the edge - when there is no other option. It can be a slow almost unnoticeable trickle of change in direction.  Or it can be consistently average in size and strength. Without being too strong it allows a lot more to be. Sometimes miles long and tonnes heavy, a momentous sight of spectacular power only to be admired from far.  The best kind are the waterfalls of balance. The waterfall you get to explore with your body heart and mind.  Cleansing yet adventurous. Cool yet inviting.  Slightly daring yet spontaneously natural. I do go chasing waterfalls because all the rivers and lakes don't reflect rainbows and magic like they do.  

"What would you ask for, if you knew the answer was Yes?"
Not being able to place exactly where how and why, I know my question instinctively.
However the answer is bigger than me.  It's bigger than all I can see and understand.
My question is an illusion I've either learned incorrectly or I've been foolishly too partial to its idea. 
Individual versus shared feelings.
I truly believed for a long time, most times still do, that my partiality was not conclusively one sided.  I truly believed for a long time, most times still do, that if all the stars aligned and fell from the sky they would do so solely to illuminate that the galaxy was for us.  A meteor shower.  But not one short-lived streak of amazing light made of dust and dirt.  No.  All the stars falling.  Continuous light, wonder and debris that makes it a natural phenomenon. 
Their purpose for us to put back into circulation of the universe all that we have, are and I forever wish to be. 

This thinking will not weaken the soul tie.  This thinking will not change anything.  Yet I do it regularly and often without even realizing. 

With purpose devoid of attachment - it weakens
With acquiescence devoid of imperfect contrition - it weakens
With focus devoid of obsession - it weakens
With forwardness devoid of recklessness - it weakens

Farewells and soul spells

Deeper than my feet can ground
Tighter than my heart is bound
And louder than any heard sound
I'm still a wave making my way back 
To the mountain, to the sea and to the stars
Further than I can foretell
Shaken in the realm of hell
And pulling with every cell
I'm still a soul making a track
To the mountain, to the sea and to the stars
Losing, my mind to be undefined
Listening, my heart never will be apart
Loving, soldier with heavy shoulders
I'm still just a girl looking for her knack
To the mountain, to the sea and to the stars
And so 
I want the war to call you
I want this to bore you
I want so much more for you
The mountain 
The sea
The stars 
All of you and all for you. 

______________________________________

Maybe it's better to fall in love slower
Yeah, maybe but the face you're pulling when you say that tells me otherwise
Ah shit man
Yeah, you need to work on either being a better liar or less of a best friend

When you know yourself. Because you've been given 28 years to figure that shit out.  You know what is better.  You know that if you're in doubt you should probably go without.  But you also know you learn the most when you step out of normality.  When you do things a little different.  So you give yourself the credit to figure this out.  Credit in the form of time and reserve - when the credit is gone and you find yourself in debt, debt from who you are to your core - then you cash that lesson for what it is and you spend no more. But for now I've saved enough to be able to spend, just enough so I'm spending wisely. Without infatuation equals less inflation and more exploration.

song

BISHOP - RIVER 

How do we fall in love, harder than a bullet could hit ya?

How do we fall apart, faster than a hair pin trigger?

Don't you say don't you say it

Don't say don't you say it

One breath and it'll just break it

So shut your mouth and run me like a river

Holy hands oh they make me a sinner

Holy hands oh they make me a sinner

Shut Your mouth baby stand and deliver

Like a river, like a river

Choke this love till the veins start to shiver

Shut your mouth and run me like a river

One last breath till the tears start to wither

Cursed is the fool who's willing

Like a river, like a river

Shut your mouth and run me like a river 
Tales of an endless heart

One kiss away from killing

Can't change the way we are

Decals and denials

What do I know about signs? You use your senses to see them.  You use your mind to understand them.  You use your heart to learn them.  What I don't know about signs?  They simply appear because you want them to. Your senses, your mind and your heart create the sign for you to see, understand and learn. Paradoxically, the signs’ very existence is purely reliant on you? 

The signs are there, what is reliant is their meaning – their cause-and-effect relationship.  The indexical signs.

All things, tangible or not, have a life span.  All things change.  Progressively, instantaneously, unknowingly and sometimes in the form of your car catching on fire.  When the latter happens it’s almost always catastrophic and inconvenient but completely crucial to walk away, and by walk I mean RUN for your life.  Leaving behind the things you cling to; cellphone, wallet and wakeboard and escaping with just your self-body and nothing holding you back. A flame, I mean a flaming car is a sure sign that what was once functional, reliable and adventurous is now no longer.  My car however, was not a flame, it was a 10 year relationship.  My car conversely did not want to go to anyone else either and so politely wrote itself off.  

So what do you do when this happens and you still need to move on? You expend all your savings, your muster and your dreams to travel and you get a new car. A new relationship.  Less mileage, better specs and the complete opposite colour. Because something has to be different.  Now back to my new car, and only about my car, I love it!  It’s fast and it’s fierce and it’s small and it’s got a sunroof. It’s like me. I don’t want anyone else to have this car either.  So what do I need to do? Decal the back window of course.  Cheesy for sure but when even your father thinks it’s a good idea, then well I guess it is. It’s not ✯NorCal✯ as before, but it’s NorCΔl with an open side. The things is I can’t name it NorCal like the last, so I’ve been brainstorming a new name. Δ  Delta = Change.  But Delta seems far too feminine right? With a lightbulb moment I google translate the Greek word for strong. Ισχυρός.  Okay that looks great but how the fuck does one pronounce it?  

This is the moment before the moment. When you think you’ve got your shit together and you’re merrily life-ing. The moment before the fucking sign comes out of nowhere and klaps-you-in-the-face-moment. Cause and effect signage.

A female voice responds when I click the little speaker next to the word and she says: “iss-he-ros”  or asks.  The biatch derisively asked I’m certain. NO THE FUCK HE ISN’T. Thanks for reminding me.

I continue to search for different worlds, I mean words.

In fact that’s a lie, at least literally.  I gave up on google and my car is currently nameless in the reliant hope that it will just appear – like a damn sign.

force feeding

_______________________________________

It's already in my stomach, filling it to the brink. These feelings are my food and my insatiable hunger for him are not false substances. Appetite gone along with the options to choose anything else. I'd even be happy with a drive through, a doggy bag and a tonne of weight with him, brief and harmful. But he is raw food. It's the type of food I am most naturally attracted to. He's all the vitamins I want, nurturing or not. I'm so full up on him I couldn't eat another thing. Gluttony comes when you want more, I want less of a menu of choices because he is always my first choice. I'll bite off more than I can chew just so I can share it with him. The chewed bits. The way a baby bird is fed - a little more used, a little more softer and a little more loving. But I don't place the order as my stomach is sickly full and his plate too full to add another thing or too content to be shared. So I don't, can't and won't eat. I'm in a deficit life without him, and I'm losing.

the difference between coasting and driving

"Oh, you're so-and-so's girlfriend?"

woah... I am no longer strapped in by a bar on that roller-coaster relationship. 

"Was, I was his girlfriend."  

I say it out loud, firstly, to correct her.  Secondly to correct my mind that has already raced to a thousand different thoughts.  This is a daily thing, to re-affirm myself that I am indeed no longer on that ride of whimsical misconceptions and non-reality.  Sometimes it's not only my minds thoughts I have to remind, but also my hearts'.  I won't lie, it's hard and it's unpleasant and unfamiliar at the best of times.  But it is the truth.  I've consequently grown too much to even scale myself on a roller-coaster ride's potential.  My mind may wander to the theme park, and the theme of my life for the last couple of years, but it dare not enter in the giddy reckless manner it used to. 

Somehow after that initial exchange I unfortunately obtain the information that she had seen him just a week before... a week!  My mind screams that this is recent, my ego expands on its whereness, howness and whyness. 

"Oh no, we haven't been together for a while now" 

I walked my mind, my ego and my heart away from that.  Right then and there, I tore up my bottomless ride ticket and was undeniably hoping this amusement park would just shut down forever.

The theme won't ever shut down, 
but the amusement can.
As I have a good friend that lives in that park, one day at a time.
But the thrills of going with a partner are gone. 

_________________________________________

It's not my car, it's hired, the drive is different
It's not Sunday, it's the day before, the drive is different.
It's not for us, it's for someone else, the drive is different, 
It's not to see you, it's to see myself, the drive is different.

Surprisingly the drive down the coast was a lot quicker than I remembered.  This may be because the last time I went, I was scared, love-sick and living a treacherously still life.  Albeit that, I still became overwhelmed with emotion to the point of not knowing how I was physically driving.  Short of breath and long on thought, I kept my hands steady but my eyes streamed.  What was both a lived and non-lived lifetime came back to me in seconds.  A trip down memory lane.  Even the memories that weren't even made.  I couldn't even name half the emotions I felt, could not even label them into what if's or should have's or even as is's, for they came heavy and then fleeting and then dissipated into something so much different. I felt them without consuming them.  They were real but they were no longer my reality in the sense that the reason I drove that route was no longer the same reason as before.  
The south coast drive.  Amazing how life changes when you're driving you.