Don't Take This For Granted.

Don’t take your health for granted, that flighty thing. Anyone who’s battled with their own knows how temperamental a body can be. That humans are imperfect machines, short-circuiting beneath our skin a tiny bit each day. Once the health goes, it leaves the door open so that many other things can go with it.

The taste of love in a homecooked meal, your eyes reuniting with something you’ve missed, the scent of a former fling, the sound of dancing piano keys. Use your senses, use all of them in ways that enthrall and embarrass you. Leave nothing untouched.

That buzz in your brain, that vibration you feel when your ambitions have been awarded, when you finally succeed where it matters most? Hold on to it tightly; recall it when the champagne giggles of accomplishment fade into a content sigh, when the high of recognition wanes. Never take the electricity of achievement for granted; you will have been lucky to experience it in the first place.

Don’t take for granted your freedom. The freedom to create, the freedom of thought, the freedom to imagine because these are the freedoms no one can take away. Be thankful for the people who protect the freedoms that can be retracted, the ones we take advantage of most, the ones that didn’t exist 20, 50, 100 years ago. Realize you’re entitled to speak, to vote, to assemble because someone long before you put in the grunt work; realize that others might never see a day when they can express themselves in public. Understand that freedom is fickle, that we could lose it to apathy at any moment.

People should not be taken for granted — not the ones who raised you, not the ones who ground you, not the ones who love you. Not the stranger who chased you for a half-block to tell you you’ve dropped something, not the one who holds the door for you, not the one who asks you if you’re feeling okay or the one who asks you to dance. Their actions are not inconsequential; they are what it means to be human, a state so common that it’s rather easy to forget how extraordinary it can be. Don’t. Remember it always, remember how bland and unsatisfactory and meaningless life would be without humanity.

The time someone stood in front of you and nakedly, candidly told you how they felt about you; the time someone let you cry for minutes, hours, because you couldn’t do it alone anymore; the time someone asked how you were and wanted to listen to the answer. Don’t take this for granted, because moments like these don’t come in bulk. Acts of love can’t be bought on sale or saved for rainy days — they come when they come and the best you can do is recognize them for what they are: flashes that make life worth living.

Don’t take for granted the small things: the last time the sun kisses your face before three days of rain or having a pair of eyes to look into, hands to hold. A warm bed to collapse into at the end of a long day and an illuminated sky on a clear night. Embrace the people you can sit in silence with, and the ones who make you laugh for hours with little effort. The small things add up to big things, the big things add up to everything. Don’t take this for granted.

Universal Roles.

Let’s play the Universe game.

I’ll be a star cloud because that’s what your presence reduces me to. A mass of luminosity and in those moments, I’m impossible to measure mathematically. Not with the naked eye, anyway. It’s simpler than that: you say my name and I’ll glow.

You can be the North Star, burning bright and hot. You’re Polaris because you stand out, because you’re a fixture in my sky. Because when I’m lost, I can find you and be okay. You’re my point of reference.

Speaking of Polaris, we can be the Big Dipper and Little Dipper, the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, the Big Bear and Little Bear – whichever name you prefer as long as we’re partnered together in perpetuity. Our bond will know no lingual or cultural or geographic limits. No matter where two people stand on this Earth, they’ll look up and see us and know that we belong together.

We can be whichever constellations you like, at least in the beginning. In the beginning we’ll be all starburst and Andromeda and other striking sights that’ll inspire envy; but it won’t stay that way.

This is when the game loses its sheen.

Maybe we’ll stop communicating. I’ll grow distant; I’ll grow colder like Mars. And you’ll grow angrier, volatile like Jupiter. A mess of rock and metal and discarded things will separate us, an Asteroid Belt of our grievances. But I’ll overlook it; I’ll still sit by your side and will your storms to quit brewing. Anything to make them stop brewing.

Or maybe you’ll grow distant first. Perhaps you’ll become the Sun and I, the Earth — turning in on myself to revolve around you because you are the light and what keeps me warm. Me rotating around you. Your selfishness so belittling that one day, I’ll become too small to be the Earth. So you’ll take my place, and I’ll become your moon. This is a better fit because some days I’ll appear to be whole but others? I’ll look like I’m half, or a quarter, or just a tiny sliver of who I was. On rare occasions, we’ll still align. I will pass through your shadow and bask in your sunlight; my face awash in gold and red and I’ll remember the way things were. But lunar eclipses, they’re few and far between and they’re not enough to save us.

Perhaps one moon won’t be enough for you, eventually. Eventually you’ll want what the others have, you’ll want eight moons or sixteen moons or more, so you’ll become Saturn. You’ll have more rings, more moons than you’ll know what to do with. And I will have no choice but to take the hint. I’ll be Pluto: downgraded and disregarded and cast aside. “You’re not even a planet anymore,” you’ll say, and I’ll know we’ll never be the same again. I’ll feel really, really small.

Finally it’ll become too much, the heartache. So I’ll be a supernova, one who was once a star but is now explosive, exploding, exploded. And it will be spectacular, you’ll be impressed by the amount of light I had inside of me. You had no idea just how much.

But it’s of no consequence. Because you are all of the planets, and all of the moons, and all of the matter; you’re all that matters. You are the sun; and you’ll just keep spinning and spinning and spinning. 

Lurking Shadows.

Yr ghost still haunts me.

He's always
ruffling
my bed's
sheets.

Yr ghosts still pulls my hair and leaves

patches
of
it

I do not take the alley ways at night
for I know yr ghost will sneak behind me
cleverly trying to hide himself
when i turn my head

'you still have a shadow, ' I say

yr ghosts pulls up my floorboards

searching

for what he lost

'you're not going to find it here, ' I say

and then he mouths that he'll leave
but he never completely goes away.

It's Time To Let Go.

It’s time to let go. I know: it’s scary right? I’m about to let go too, so let’s just do it together and maybe the whole process will be easier on us both. No, no, you can’t stay, it really is time to walk away — you’ve been holding on for too long now, and so have I. I know it’s simpler this way — just, shhhh, OK, listen to me — great now I lost my train of thought…

What I’m trying to say is that whatever you’re holding on to is holding you back, and it’s come to the point where you can’t hold on any longer. You’re like the picture of that adorable kitten on the string saying “hang in there!” except that you’ve been hanging for so long your paws are bloodied and gravity has dislocated your arm sockets. You’re a rag doll, a limp and impotent version of what you need to be, so quit your bitching and release your claws. It’s time to fall, whether you’re ready or not.

It’s time to be a grown up (what an awful concept). It doesn’t mean all the stale things you think though, like wearing cravats and only having one glass of wine over dinner. It just means you have to let go of a few things. You have to let go of the baggage you’ve been carrying around since high school. Sure you have your insecurities, we all do, but it’s time to put them down in a place where they can’t hurt you anymore.

You have to let go of all the childish things you see in the world, and start understanding limitlessness for real. let go of your anger, and all the stored up rage inside you (just let it rip if you want, scream and break things, but be sure to let it all go). Let go of the detritus of all your failures and of all those who have failed you. Let go of your adopted cynicism because maybe being a grown up is really just about accepting that the magic has been there all along, and you’ve just been too immature to let it happen to you.

It’s time to be less afraid, because all those broken hearts only amount to as much as you allow them to. If you don’t let go of them now, let them fall to the ground and actually shatter the way they were supposed to before you so greedily scooped them back up and held them to your chest, you might miss out on love. So drop it now — your mistrustfulness, your obsessive, unhealthy relationship with your wounds — yes, it really is time to Let Go.

It’s time to fall — yeah OK, when you let go, you’re going to fall. I’m not going to lie; it’s probably going to hurt like a mofo. If it makes you feel better I can go first, and I’ll wait at the bottom to catch you. Because we’re doing this together remember? We’re going to let go because holding on to this wire is cutting lines through our palms and if we hang here too long they’ll scar and every time we look down at our hands we’ll remember we’re just prisoners.

So, here we go. On the count of three… One… Two… Ready?… Three. LET GO. Now we’re falling, and all the things we kept wrapped around us, all the spikey, nasty, ugly things that we thought made us safe for so long are just specks in the sky, becoming smaller as we fly away.

-by Kat George

a self-indulgent letter for every little girl who still holds on to their excess load of crap baggage of fears, inflicted wounds and whatever  that is prohibiting you from enjoying the present

The Ticking Clock.

' No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary. '

-Steve Jobs.

Words Authorization.

Words seem to hold a certain power behind them that is often overlooked, don’t they?


 They can turn your cheeks cherry red
or the corners of your mouth slowly upwards. 


They can make you burst into a fit of tears 
either from laughing so hard the pit of your stomach hurts, 
or from how much it hurts to hear such cruel things, 
when they feel like a knife straight to the heart, 
or the unexpected sharp pain from one behind you. 


They can carry the empty weight of promises that they can’t ever keep,
 keeping you awake at night and stirring you from sleep (when you can’t help but still believe). 


But with the promises that they can hold,
they can sometimes promise a whole world full of beauty 
that only causes you to fall even harder and much more easily, 
making you want to wrap yourself with all the imagery presented in every sentence spoken 
like a blanket or a fortress they pulled together with string, built just for you to safely live in, all warm and cozy.


Words, if used wisely,
can say so much, 
without saying anything or very little
to mean everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. 
Or they can say a lot and mean so much.. of nothing at all.


The power of such simplicity.


And we yet we abuse such freedom of speech 
uttering whatever foolish, abrasive thoughts  that pops in our supposingly insightful minds
forsaken its dominance of the human emotion
snub and neglecting the harsh remarks that would inflict on one's heavy heart.

4.

There's one sad truth in life I've found
While journeying east and west -
The only folks we really wound
Are those we love the best.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Liking Is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts.

 by Jonathan Franzen.

“The simple fact of the matter is that trying to be perfectly likable is incompatible with loving relationships. Sooner or later, for example, you’re going to find yourself in a hideous, screaming fight, and you’ll hear coming out of your mouth things that you yourself don’t like at all, things that shatter your self-image as a fair, kind, cool, attractive, in-control, funny, likable person. Something realer than likability has come out in you, and suddenly you’re having an actual life.”

“When you stay in your room and rage or sneer or shrug your shoulders, as I did for many years, the world and its problems are impossibly daunting. But when you go out and put yourself in real relation to real people, or even just real animals, there’s a very real danger that you might love some of them.

And who knows what might happen to you then?”

Mask of Social Acceptance.

' Maybe it was fitting in a world of insecurity, where curly haired kids wanted straight hair, heavy kids wanted to lose weight, skinny kids wanted to gain it, and everybody wanted to be somebody else — the one true beauty was the girl who simply knew herself and was happy with what she knew. '

- The Wonder Years

We live in a time where flaws are to be hidden, mistakes forgotten and pain concealed. Our thoughts and imaginations and ambitions are overshadowed by appearances: the facades we plaster to our beings with cake makeup faces and false friends meant to disguise our true selves.

Our hours are riddled with technology and texting and multitasking. We have shortened attention spans that just worry, worry, worry and because we hear so often how we’re different or disappointing or less attractive or better or wore than everyone else, few people stop to realize we’re all really the same. 

Take It Or Leave It.

' I know who I am and I am always me, although I can be really intense at times…sometimes I’m shy, painfully transparent, sharp at times, at others silly. I am one intense adjective at a time, and while I’m there, I don’t resist those feelings. I rest in those moments. I call it freedom. Maybe I’m nuts (probably,) but I notice that when I fight myself, suck myself in, I lose all the stuff, the fruit, the core of me that I enjoy the most. Some find me off-putting, but here I am. Take it or leave it. Being honest outwardly and most important inwardly is terrifying. Maybe they won’t like you. Maybe they won’t understand you. Maybe you won’t get the job. Maybe all that is true, but not every chance belongs to you. ' x

Upon Written Pages.

"To many it is obvious — I’ve got the likes of you written all over me, in ink no less. And the string of words and phrases you’ve got me wearing feel never ending, going from line after line to pages upon pages, to the point where you could no longer see the pale of my skin, but only the goosebumps you manage to draw from just the ticklish edge of your (finger)tips. And no one understands why you I let you use me like an open canvas for your needs, because they don’t understand how it feels to have all of you blanket over me and they don’t know about the softness that’s in each stroke of your movement as you press up against me and they don’t know easily fulfilled I feel whenever I am full of you. But it isn’t about that — it’s about how just the touch of you makes me my corners curve up into a smile and how every time we get together, we have more than enough chapters to add on to continue our love story. Because as silly as it seems, I guess there just isn’t anyone else who’s got me penned like you do."


A love letter from paper to pen. x

Stating The Obvious.

Thou Shall Never Be Blind.

Scary.

To me, “I love you” means “I accept all of your parts, as they are.” But I was becoming obsessed. And obsession is the antithesis love. It is the anti “I accept you as you are” because obsession accepts all—it is blind.

-The Frisky

The Gray Matter.

"She ended with a paragraph on the fact that everything people do can be used for good or evil.  Good and evil are like a white and a black thread that make up a single strand. Sometimes they're so closely entertwined that it's impossible to entangle them. "

-Gaarder

Attention To Details.

' This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture.

So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the details. '

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And these moments, they might end.

And then things might get boring.

And it might get a little quiet.

And it might all end horribly.

And you might hate each other at the end.

And you might walk away from each other one day and never speak again.

But that’s just how it goes.

Life, I always rebut.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the first time you kissed her in the park wee hours in the morning.
She’ll remember the first time you shed a tear. 
She'll remember the time you stayed up all night talking about each others hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities.
She'll remember the time you both basked in the dim candlelit in each other's embrace.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the italian accent gone wrong. 
She'll remember the long nights that flew by mocking and laughing at the most random things. 
She'll remember the time where you bought her to her favourite cafe simply cause she had cravings. 
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends.

And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, when time passes by and perhaps old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile.

Everything you ever did together

every second

every moment

every beat

every morning spent in bed

every evening spent together on the sofa

 all of that - gone.

Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin.

She won’t remember your name. 

She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. 

She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. 

But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain.

There is no more. There is nothing else.

There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what?

That’s all that really matters in the end.

Fool Again.

"DON’T BE AFRAID TO BE A FOOL. REMEMBER, YOU CANNOT BE BOTH YOUNG AND WISE. YOUNG PEOPLE WHO PRETEND TO BE WISE TO THE WAYS OF THE WORLD ARE MOSTLY JUST CYNICS. CYNICISM MASQUERADES AS WISDOM, BUT IT IS THE FARTHEST THING FROM IT. BECAUSE CYNICS DON’T LEARN ANYTHING. BECAUSE CYNICISM IS A SELF-IMPOSED BLINDNESS, A REJECTION OF THE WORLD BECAUSE WE ARE AFRAID IT WILL HURT US OR DISAPPOINT US. CYNICS ALWAYS SAY NO. BUT SAYING YES BEGINS THINGS. SAYING YES IS HOW THINGS GROW. SAYING YES LEADS TO KNOWLEDGE. YES IS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. SO FOR AS LONG AS YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH TO, SAY YES."

A Gleeful Moment.

She said, 'I'm so afraid.' 

And I said, 'why?'

And she said, 'Because I'm so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' 

I asked her why and she said,

'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you.'

— The Kite Runner

In And Out.

' I don’t believe in love. I believe in fucking. It’s honest, it’s efficient, you get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. Love is something that straight people tell themselves they’re in so that they can get laid. And they end up hurting each other because it was all based on lies to begin with. If that’s what you want, then go and find yourself a pretty little girl and get married. '
- Queer As Folk


;O

If there's any truth to it no wonder the human populations are fucked.