The world around me is changing so rapidly,

as though the ground beneath my feet is cracking and shifting.

Chasms are opening, bidding me welcome,

horizons are changing, hope blooming from the unknown.

So many things are different, which casts in ever so stark contrast the things that remain.

I am the same as ever in a messy myriad of ways, and it seems I always will be the same.

I’m not so scared anymore.

Magic sparks out the ends of these fingers, my tongue leaves trails. I know what I’m capable of.

I just need purpose; I just need inspiration. Inspiration has been absent for so long I’ve forgotten what I feels like.

The last lost loves have been nothing more than red herrings, fleeting distractions. Weak. Shallow.

I remember, what more felt like, like a hazy fantasy. I know what it’s possible to feel. And I want to fucking feel it. Like a fucking calamity, a natural disaster, impending doom, I want to drown in it again. I need that fucking intensity. I lose myself in passivity, my own or someone else’s. I need fucking fire.

still moving

She grabbed me, told me I was beautiful, and and meant it. And, it meant a lot to me.

It was, in and of itself, a beautiful moment.

I pretended like I didn’t want it, only because I felt I had to… not from her… I couldn’t simply accept it.

But the truth is it’s all I ever wanted. It’s exactly what I have been aching for, and it came as such a surprise, caught me off-guard and knocked me off my feet a bit.

It was powerful.

It’s all I want for myself from life, but it terrified me.

It felt pure at the time; it felt like she meant it only as genuine goodness that she wanted to share with me. My internal reaction to it is what didn’t feel pure, is what terrified me.

In a single moment, a single sentence, something within me shifted so sharply.

I was shattered by the intensity of it, shattered by the purity of it, shattered by the temptation of it.

Why is it that everything good that enters my life, also seems to come with a crisis of morality attached?

Only because I make it so.

It’s really simple, though.

Just take the good and cherish it, and expect no more, nor any less than simply what it is.

That is what I need to work with myself on: expectations, presumptions, reactions.

Something Pretty

That’s what I want….

to be.

to have.

to learn.

to admire.

to cherish.

to explore.


I miss a great many things. This is what I miss most… something pretty.

It’s crazy, the intense bitter-sweetness of the sensation when you involuntarily recall something sweet, or something funny, or cute, or even something ugly about someone you once loved.

It takes you back. It overwhelms me with the same joy and euphoria I’d felt witnessing it the first time, but there is a noticeable void in the center of that joy. There’s like this tiny black pit buried in it. And it just feels like a gut punch.

I miss all the pretty things.

I miss all of the ones that ever happened, and are now lost to me.

It’s weird but my impulse is to do my very best to avoid creating any new ones. I don’t want to miss them too, and I know that the departure is inevitable. Everything goes. I’m so sick of missing more and more things and people in my life, and never being able to fill the voids left behind. I don’t want to make any new rooms in my heart, just to feel even more hollowed out.

I don’t want to, but I’m sure I will anyway. Because pretty little things draw me in.


11:30PM – Just got invited to a party. Impulsively, I will probably end up going. Haha see what happens.

The Hard Part

So, this is it, every time.

I find someone, kind and sweet, and she wants me.

I’m gonna ruin her. She is too innocent, too untouched. And I am all these jagged edges.

I am doing better. I’m seeing it sooner this time. I know I won’t love her, but we can be friends. I won’t ruin another person, and take all their purity and toss it to the winds. I can’t bear to see a broken, shattered soul sobbing and wailing, devastated. Not again. Too many of those haunt the corners of my memories, and sour the promise of hopeful dreams.

The thing is, I am so good at making someone feel special, like no one ever has before. The problem with it is that I only do it because I want them to feel special, but not because I truly believe that they are special. That is where the disconnect occurs. That is why I sabotage and shatter the pretty little things I build.

I build it up so big, but it becomes impossible to maintain, and inevitably it leads to collapse.

It’s so cliche, but it’s true… I have a vendetta against commitment.

I am searching for a friend, a confidant, not a lover.

I can’t give her what she truly wants. I see it this time, so this time I won’t be taking what I want. I’ll step back.

It’s better this way, but this is always the hardest part. Impulse control. I can’t make her feel special; it’s not my place to do so. I’m like a pied piper, a false lead. Not this time.

Better, better, better. Always steps forward.

Moving Forward


The hardest part.

I lose myself in anecdotes and reveries. I fall apart in the tales of the worst parts of me.

It’s hard to find joy when all of my favorite things lay wasted behind me, but the fact is, it’s only my favorite if I believe it to be such. I don’t have to.

I am not alone.

I am loved.

I am not lost.

I am wandering.

In my wandering I have happened upon the best and the worst this world has to offer. The best things come, and fill you up, and then they are gone. The worst things are always there, just within reach. And as I live my life in never-ending nostalgia, I yearn for the things long gone. Unable to reclaim the joys of yesterday, I recreate the worst things.



The problem is getting stuck trying to figure out the problem. No one has the answer. There is no single answer.

All I have to do is keep moving forward. My heart is a moral compass. All I have to do is follow it. Trying to silence it has been the slow and painful death of me. I have gotten much better as a person over the years, but never given myself any credit for it. I still scour my worst memories, constantly. Let it go.

I know what’s right. Now I just have to live by it. The past is written, but the future is unclaimed.

You can’t move successfully forward with your eyes focused on what’s behind you.

Lift ’em up,

and move on.

I don’t talk about her

I can’t let her go until I can talk about her. I can’t talk about her because it would be painfully obvious that I still love her.

I do still love her, too much perhaps.

I always tell girlfriends, “I don’t want to talk about her. Let’s leave the past in the past.”

The hidden truth is, “I don’t want to talk about her because I don’t want you to see how much I love her.”

The thing is, I really don’t mind being alone. I always thought I’d be alone forever anyway. That is, until someone else convinces me that I shouldn’t be alone, and that they can show me the wonders of life and love and companionship. I fall for it every time.

They make grand, pretty promises. They fill me up with hope. They invest themselves deeply.

The sad fact of it is that they don’t ever measure up… Don’t get me wrong, every single one of these kind and lovely girls are beautiful and deserving of the best in life. But, they can’t even hold a candle to the radiance of the one I don’t talk about. There’s always something so simple, yet so intimate that is lacking. And as a result, I can’t provide what it is that they need and deserve from me.

And the pattern goes like this:

I start to fight.

I start to fade away.

I start to sabotage.

I disappear.

All because I don’t talk about her, and because I won’t let her go.

I’m happy with this choice, though. I’d rather be alone and love her from afar, and simply cherish her existence in this life. I was lucky to have ever known her, I was unlucky to have ever lost her, but it is worth it to me just to treasure her for all that she is. And the fact that she’s gone now, is also a part of who she is. I don’t begrudge her any of that. I love her. I adore her. I cherish her. And I truly hope she is happy. That is just a part of who I am, and it is a part of me that I don’t want to let go. So, I won’t.

I know who I am, I’ve always known. And now, I will stay true to it. And I will stay alone. It’s always been better this way.


I did a good thing today.

An old friend reached out recently, her life in shambles. Her struggles have been getting the best of her. She’s been lost.

I reminded her that she is beautiful and worthy and strong. She had forgotten herself. I raised her back up, and I was reminded how incredible it feels to be able to fill someone with love and hope and see them smile.

Helping others helps me more than they could ever know. And that is a beautiful thing to me.

It’s encouraging and fulfilling and beautiful. I feel so full. I just want to help.

I’ll help her see it through.