For some ludicrous reason I've had this notion that my heart is mine to rule ( Read more... )

I figured out why I'm coming back to Moscow. I've had a feeling that I should come back but no clue why. I want to serve. It sounds a lot more holy and self conceited than it really is. IDFY and insomnia; two programs that have changed my life and two programs I hope to become a part of to help those around me ( Read more... )

When I hold you, I'll never hold anything tighter. But if you ever want to leave I'll let you go, I won't push you away, I'll never push you away, but if you ever suspect you'd be happier without me, than I'll let you go ( Read more... )

I want to go back to Moscow, because I miss my friends, I'm hopeful for the future and for some reason I feel like something is unresolved, like I'm not living my life away from the place I've called home for so long. Another part is my urge to stand alone and be my own person alone ( Read more... )

I've been thinking a whole lot about why I'm coming back to Moscow and I really haven't come up with an answer other than that it seems like the right thing to do. I'm making more money here and learning more than I could back in Moscow. I'm not going back to school, not for now at least. Yes I do miss my friends and yes Moscow is 'home' but what's ( Read more... )

Does the phrase ‘a healthy amount of respect for your own weakness’ seem odd? I say that in almost as positive light as possible. I think I am weak and so I strive to become strong. It's almost a litany I cry to keep myself going when I fear I don’t have the strength to continue. And through everything I grow. But I realized something today, all ( Read more... )

Realize your faults, Adam. Realize your own mortality and insecurities. Realize you’re afraid of death and truthfully you fear what lies beyond ( Read more... )

So many poignant memories, flowing back and forth; past, future and present. So much to take in but as ephemeral as smoke, slipping between the cracks of my mind. A car ride at midnight, alone on the dark road, a black drop into nothingness and no true understanding of my the asphalt remains beneath my tires. A cut across my arm, a hammer slamming ( Read more... )

I smell like portland cement. The various cuts and scrapes no longer bleed, the mixture of stone and glue has created an unguent of sorts, stemming the flow. I enjoy that, stopping the flow and pain through the sheer single mindedness to not let such a trivial thing as pain or injury stop you from achieving your goal ( Read more... )

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