maybe if i just talked a little more…

since when have i become timid? is it timidity? or is it cynicism?

i realized tonight that i have to start letting go of things; things that i thought i had previously released from this clenched grasp of self-pity. i keep telling these same stories, with the same emotions, when really my perspective on them has changed. so shouldn’t my presentation of them change as well? or am i still that 15 year old girl that needs her mom? because i use bigger words and wear prettier dresses and sometimes let my hair down but that depth in my soul is still filled with the water of bitterness.

but i feel so much older...

and i suppose the maturity has started to take a more significant effect. i am able to see the good, to see the way that i’ve sprouted from a child to something much more. i still resemble one, don’t get me wrong - i wear silly bandz and run into fields of wildflowers - but now, rather than that precious oblivion, i see. this mess of mistakes is uncovered, exposed, and it simply makes me…sad. angry. cynical. i don’t know what you could call it, but i keep searching into the mess deeper and deeper, finding the foundations. but is that healthy? because then i start to despise people. i get to the point where i don’t want to interact with those that i once found so intriguing. i start hanging my head, looking more at my new vegan shoes than the man with curly hair and a crooked smile. i can’t continue this pattern of secluding myself from society if i’m ever going to have an authentic relationship with christ, thus ever going to have happiness, because those two are synonymous. i have to have both.
so maybe if i just started talking more, and listening more, not for the sake of listening but for the sake of learning. and then maybe, just maybe, my searching into the mess of mistakes will actually produce something fruitful - maybe it will produce healing and perspective and…better than anything else, something i’ve lost sight of in this mess…love.

love. love. love.

tangible love.

bona fide love.

honest, proven, credible love.

not just a word, but so much more. julie, you were right - it’s a love that only comes from a father. and when i stopped seeking the earthly version of that, i only searched for god. and it was refreshing, but almost exhausting. so i stopped. i stopped searching for -any- type of love. i thought it would be easier. but it’s even more draining.

your heart says not again.
what kind of mess have you got me in?
but when the feeling’s there,
it can lift you up, take you anywhere.
the gravel beneath you and the limbs above,
if anybody asks you where you’re coming from,
say, “love.” say for me, “love.”





i would like for every night to end with national geographic, the avett brothers, an old apartment with high ceilings and zero doors, singing sweetly under my breath to my favorite ingrid michaelson songs, and an oxford comma.





there’s only one thing here worth living of…
say, “love.” say for me, “love.”