"you give and give and give. and I take. you give, and you know that it's not fair, or right, and it hurts you, but you don't leave, because you don't want to, you can't. you want to keep giving. you want to be needed that way."

It's raining and thundering simultaneously outside, in perfect unison. So perfect it sounds like its supposed to be the backdrop to an intense romantic scene in a movie. I'm thinking Great Expectations. I could watch that movie a hundred times over. Okay, 'nuff of that.


On another note, this is my friends apartment. I walked in there and my jaw fell to the floor cause of how bright the apartment was and how endless those windows were. Love. My first apartment can be as dingy as hell, but needs to have an endless line of windows just like this.

"... you must take good care of your mother.."

She reached for her cup of tea as her voice fell weak and crumbled under her words. I wouldn't ever know how or where to begin to describe the strength I have witnessed in my grandmother this entire life. It made my mother who she is. It has made me who I am. Things are different now. Conversations are heavier with truths little girls cannot bear to carry. Things are different now. And the weight is being shifted. It needs to be. Her spine, like her spirit, is still strong, but frail and curving.

In my heart I search desperately for something in the silence. Words will not do. I place my palm on her hand, and promise her with heavy eyelids, I will.

bright lights and a concrete maze. "people all in a hurry, yet they don' know where they hurryin' to". maybe that's how it all came about; broken people trying real hard to forget as they hurry along. maybe they're trying to lose themselves in the bright lights and shrewd sounds. and all the noise makes sense somehow.

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."

-St. Augustine

I am learning to love with strength & patience. It is harder than we can imagine, and it makes sense why there are books upon books upon ancient poems and philosophical rants and songs and themes and stories about it - or attempting to understand, grasp, bottle it up in a jar and take home with. Because it is something we aren't born with being able to do. Not most of us, anyway. and it takes trial and error, and maybe trial and error again. There is a gathering of yourself that needs to be done every so often before going to or getting out of bed. A beckoning of courage - but most of all faith - in yourself; that you chose the path you were meant to. And knowing this road is long, and scorching with trials and tests, but in the end will relieve you with rain.

I am tucking away my demons, tight in box and unraveling his, inch by inch by the seams, so that he feels a little more whole. And there aren't many moments of validation - when your efforts are confirmed, or that your existence even matters. But Lord, when those severely simple moments show a glimpse - those thread-like, glistening under a very, very specific angle under the sun, moments - moments like, when you catch his gaze and his lips curl slightly into a tired smile; like he knows you know the day's been long, and it has, and there are more to come, but he also knows, he'll never be alone and there isn't another soul he'd rather withstand it with - they are all that matter. they really are.