I don't miss the feel of tears running down my cheeks.
I don't miss the emptiness in my chest.
I don't miss the restless nights,
And I don't miss the lack of promises.
What I do miss is wanting to shine.
I miss enjoying the excitement of rushing into something new.
I miss my unjaded, unguarded heart.
And I miss longing for love.

If people resent me for who I am, the resentment lies in what they are incapable of resolving within themselves. I get it. Our lives are either fleeting glimpses into a vast eternity or long, tedious days of sameness. We choose our destinies based on our beliefs ( Read more... )

Lukewarm is not a feeling that should be attached at all to love.

Lukewarm doesn't inspire me.

It is what it is.

Lukewarm is safe.

Now how do I step over the threshold into bravery is the question?

I would like to say my career is my master but I do not answer to it. Work is more like my mistress, because it calls to me. I wish it were my muse to inspire me, but my career more than likely prepares me to meet more than one muse ( Read more... )

I'm scared. Of my wants and needs.
And are they unreasonable?
Am I unreasonable?
I want security and comfortably,
Compatibility and lust,
All rolled into one.
And I want to look at him and smile,
Thinking,
Yes,
He is the one.

I want to write a book still, but I don't know of happy endings.
I know of love,
how it's woo'd,
how it's won.
I know of love,
of how it's longed for,
of how it's fought for.
I know of love,
and how it's lost.
I don't know happy endings,
and sometimes I fear them,
because I fear the unknown.

My friends and I started a book club, online. We video chat. Like we're cool kids ( Read more... )

I used to think I'd never have that feeling again. Picturing your face and feeling so lost and insecure ( Read more... )

Maybe I'm just not deserving of happiness. And as my God would say if He sounded like Julie Andrews, "pish posh and poppy cock." But I feel like I'm not. It's been awhile since I've had a smile sustained deep down in my soul. And yet I still here His voice, a small whisper, still alive in me. And it resurrects itself in my lips, small at first ( Read more... )

My nose is stuffed. It hasn't been this bad in a while ( Read more... )