It’s hard to be a realist and fall in love at the same time. When you’re falling, you lose every wall of practicality, statistically influenced knowledge, every boundary you know. You lose it all only to be replaced a feeling that makes your heart swell to the point that you’d think it kill you, but all it does is make you want to live for as long as you possibly can. It’s embarrassing to become this cliche to everyone else, but it’s okay because you know what you know, and what you know is what you have. What you have is something with someone that no one else in the world could possibly feel, because it’s only between the two fo you. Make sense to you? Not to me. Not one bit. It’s like I always knew love existed, just knew regardless of anything that fell apart in front of me. But, to feel it for myself? I really never knew it’s immensity. It’s like when you feel God working in your life for the first time. You always knew he was real, you had your faith. But when you feel him working for the first time? No one can tell you anything different. And when you feel love for the first time, really feel the kind of love one person can give you? No one can tell you anything different. I’m in love and I’ll tell the person everyday whenever I want. So much that it brings me to tears to think about how good they are to me and makes me wonder why I deserve this. What did I do to find someone who just loves me so much? All I know is…lemme stop questioning God’s grace and promise. I just want to say thank you to the person whose shown me true love, and in this moment, and every moment with you leading up to just this minuscule unimportant moment..that I’m sitting here writing on Tumblr, you make & have made me happy. You just have no idea how special you are to me. I love you.
I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been to afraid to face my thoughts, because when I write them out, they’re real. My thoughts are now words and there’s no taking them back. Even if I backspace every last letter, they were still once here, out in the open, equaling my admittance to their presence in my mind…making them real and true. But, alas, it is time to face myself ,one-on-one. To pick apart my thoughts and figure out why certain memories are haunting me—to see if they’re reminding me of something I need to reanalyze, or staying as an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia. Time to face them, each individually and see them as such, because the whole is me, and who I am right now…in this very moment. My mind’s trying to figure out how I got here, and where here is. So let me help it, because writing is like spring cleaning for my brain. It organizes, clears the clutter, and puts everything in a visible scope. So, here goes nothing. Time to start. Time to write.
- Me: *sits in towel for 6 months after showering*