“A soul connection is a resonance between two people who respond to the essential beauty of each other’s individual natures, behind their facades, and who connect on this deeper level. This kind of mutual recognition provides the catalyst for a potent alchemy. It is a sacred alliance whose purpose is to help both partners discover and realize their deepest potentials. While a heart connection lets us appreciate those we love just as they are, a soul connection opens up a further dimension… seeing and loving them for who they could be, and for who we could become under their influence. This means recognizing that we both have an important part to play in helping each other become more fully who we are. A soul connection not only inspires us to expand, but also forces us to confront whatever stands in the way of that expansion.”—John Welwood (via bodhisol)
“It’s funny. When you leave your home and wander really far, you always think, ‘I want to go home.’ But then you come home, and of course it’s not the same. You can’t live with it, you can’t live away from it. And it seems like from then on there’s always this yearning for some place that doesn’t exist. I felt that. Still do. I’m never completely at home anywhere.”—Danzy Senna (via mrs-enjolras)
You’ve never seen my dorm room. I realized this as I got in a few minutes ago, and frowned at the lack of hospitality to a dear friend. It is, after all, an extension of me: my Abbey Road poster taped to the north wall, my zebra-striped blanket covering my comforter, my closet filled with clothes. My desk is littered with sticky notes everywhere- seriously, everywhere- some have fluttered down from the wall, and others are peeling off. Mostly they contain snippets of information relating to possible drafts, movies to watch, lyrics, an explanation of predestination, and a drawing I attempted at sad eyes- but these are just a few. There are more.
Anyway, I do wish you could have seen it. You could judge my music posters, which I know you probably would have. Ha.
So, this week has been thrashing with emotion and a shitload of drafts. Thanks to a movie I watched, I have been dabbling in writing nonfiction. It’s marvelous, really, how creative you can get with truth. I am noticing how much truth and authenticity my writing has been missing. For the past few weeks it has improved, I believe. I don’t think I am writing as much bullshit as I used to.
I saw your post on Facebook about your relationship with Abbigail, so I would like to wish you congratulations. The way you described her on the phone made it obvious that you have a thing for her. When I saw it, I stung a bit on the inside. Or, more than stung. It was like someone lit a match and I swallowed the flame, and a bonfire resulted in the pit of my stomach. Nevertheless, I congratulate you.
Spoken word has become a hobby of mine, as well as photography again. I like reading my poems aloud; something resides within me while I do so. This has helped me a lot this week. Today I also spent a lot of time outside. The bench facing the front of the park behind my house has become my place to be on nice days. I like to sit on the bench and think, or sit and write. Mostly I do both because it is relaxing and I feel at peace.
I have written so much. I hope it’s drenching with feelings and pain and excruciating happiness, but I don’t know if it is. I don’t know if my writing is shit or not. It’s helping me heal, though, and it is what I love, so regardless of whether it is shit or not, my desktop with continue to overload with drafts.
Goodness; I have so many things I would like to share with you; there is so much I have learned. If I could, I’d sit down with you and exhale everything within a couple hours and feel proud of myself. However, I know this isn’t an option. I will pack as much as I can into this post as I can:
I would say the ultimate thing I have learned is what it means to love someone. Due to my previous beliefs, it does not mean being happy with the person every single day. It doesn’t mean being romantic. It doesn’t mean always being passionate, because passion doesn’t last. It’s about compassion; it’s about enjoying being with the person. It’s about being clumsy as hell and that person being okay with that. Gosh, I could go on and on and on and on with examples… But I think it is mainly about finding moments with the one you love, moments that are life-changing, life-threatening, and life-cherishing. It’s finding those moments when you are so fucking happy that you feel alone with that person in the world, and for that moment, you don’t give a fuck about anything else.
“Your life isn’t out there waiting, so don’t think all you have to do is find it and get it. No, your life is right here. And yeah, it sucks. Lives usually do. So if you want things to change, you don’t need to get a life. You need to get off your ass.”—John Green (via forever-and-alwayss)
I had a dream that I went with you to a band concert of yours. When we got there, you were sad. I didn’t see her, but Abbigail was there and you didn’t want her to think anything of us.
You were working at a sound booth, so during intermission, I stepped inside. You had written a long sheet of paper. I didn’t read it, so I didn’t know what you wrote, but you gave me a look and showed me your phone. It had a text typed out with Abbigail’s name in the sender’s box, but you hadn’t sent it yet.
“Send it,” I encouraged you. You did. And then, she began replying. And you were happy. Then, we began talking and laughing in the sound booth and having fun. I pretended to speak on one of the mics and you laughed at me. You had on these overly huge blue headphones, and as you laughed, they moved all over your head.
I woke up feeling so refreshed from that dream. It made me smile, because hopefully this day will come when I can laugh with you again and we can still be friends like that. I miss your friendship more than fucking anything.
"He’s going to be your rapeness and steal your vagina."
“What if this was in your bed?”
“Comma… Oh, fuck.”
“Do I look like a chipmunk when I make this face?” Me: “A little.” Her: “But this is my Asian face.”
I woke with remnants of Rust and Bone traced in my light dreams: a beautiful foreign film I watched last night to remove my heavy mindset for a few hours. It inspired a draft I will begin within the next hour or so.
I’m not doing so bad. Sometimes there are moments in my days when I get so upset that my insides jolt and I have to sit down and do something. Lots of drafts have been written within the past two days- and when I mean lots, I mean practically six to eight hours of my day spent writing them. Fuck my homework; I cannot focus on it. Period. I must work on settling my thoughts momentarily.
Lots of Nirvana and Explosions in the Sky has been playing constantly in my room. I’ve had urges to play Lana Del Rey, but I can’t yet. I tried once with Off To The Races, and it threw me off and sent me flailing back to the memories of us listening to it in your car. You really liked that song, I remember.
I’ve developed an interest in photography again. Last night (didn’t fall asleep until five: it was difficult) I played with my camera and video-recorded a few short clips. I plan to play around in iMovie once I return to campus and discover its basics. Making short short short films sounds fun, right? I’m proud of myself for expecting them all to turn out shitty. I’m doing it just for the fun of it, though.
My hair is long enough to pull into a ponytail when braided, which I enjoy doing now. Soon it’ll be long enough to bundle up into some awesome hairstyles! *fuck yes*
I do believe my writing has improved since the last time you’ve read some of my stuff. I have been consistent with ‘A Poem A Day’ for the past three months. I have over one hundred of them. Presently I am not working on anything long-term; I sat aside Phoenix and Stacy and am not allowing myself to touch it until Christmas Break, when I will but her it to pieces. A lot of it will be cut, just like a lot will be added.
Thanksgiving Break I am slightly nervous about. It’ll be a tough day, but I believe in myself that I can make it through without crying.
I hope you’re doing well, but I know you are. I know she makes you happy.
I don’t have the option of viewing my followers on my phone, and I can’t access Tumblr on my computer anymore. So, I hope you are reading this.
It’s funny, because now that we’re officially over, I am thinking about you as constantly as I did when we first began. I am thinking of those nights in your car, of the fact that you never were on your phone when we hung out, of when you complimented me all the time. I think of these things and see how I treated you and how you treated me. I’m sorry about those times, Tyler. Although they’re gone, I still want to apologize about them because I didn’t realize how selfish I was. Constantly, memories of us are flowing tributaries into the mainstream of my thoughts, and I wish you knew how sorry I am.
Please do not think I wish to disturb your happiness with AbbigaiI- I am not saying that I want to get back together, that I want to see you again. I just want you to know that yes, I realize I treated you like shit. You didn’t deserve it all of the time; only sometimes. I want to only provide some sort of closure on my behalf of our -ship (I don’t know what to call us anymore, if anything).
I am surprised that you thought I was completely over you. I am not, but I am going to work at moving on as well. Every week I will post on here something relating to progression. I only hope you encourage and smile slightly at my improvement, when there is some. When there is not another weekly post, you can assume that I have drifted away and am doing better. I don’t know why you’d care about this, but I hope that you do.
I am trying hard. I want to say I am changing for myself, but I don’t think that’s true. I am learning to be honest with myself, without the ego and without the false ideals of what I think will make me happy in time. I am changing for you.
I thought I understood it
That I could grasp it
But I didn’t
Only the smudgness of it
The pink slippered, all contained, semi precious, eagerness of it.
I didn’t realise sometimes it would be more than whole
That the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea
Because it’s the halves that half you in half
I didn’t know, don’t know about the inbetween bits
The gory bits of you and the gory bits of me.
“When trouble strikes, head to the library. You will either be able to solve the problem, or simply have something to read as the world crashes down around you.”—Lemony Snicket (via ladymargaerytyrell)
A bouquet of clumsy words: you know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars.
Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go.
“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”—Charles Bukowski (via metfox)
“Stay in touch with those who matter to you, not because it’s convenient, but because they’re worth the extra effort. Remember, you don’t need a certain number of friends, just a number of friends you can be certain of.”—(via stevenrosas)
my mom ordered two different pizzas from two different places cause she had coupons and they both got here at the same time so we had a pizza hut delivery guy and a dominos delivery guy both standing by our front door and the dominos guy looks at the pizza hut guy and proceeds to sing Why Can’t We Be Friends? while the pizza hut guy just glares at him