grey

You are the greyness of the sky above me, biting the black of these buildings. The damp world puddles at my feet and I stir it with my thoughts. I fall. Fell. But you were everywhere else but waiting for me.

I touch the pavement beneath. It is hot and wet with spring rain and my feet curl into the rainbows of the black roadways. Your voice is a single note, a cello, and it leads me forward and pulls me under the streets until I fall into the saltwater beneath. And as I stare at all these underwater tunnels, I hold my breath because I know which one leads to you. I know every inch of the inside, and I am so deep in imagining what it would be like that I can feel the cracked surface, each inch of tar, the bumps and ridges of stone. I could surface and see your face. I hold my breath, but you aren’t holding yours. And I see everywhere else I could go. You aren’t the oldest road I could swim through to the light. I could stay beneath city streets. Because somewhere the music grows quiet and I can feel my own melodies and somehow it is cooling. My skin is hot and the rumble of life above me makes me tremble. I pause.

How long have I lived? you wonder. I say: How many times have I whispered? Here the world is hanging from a string and spinning, strange and merciful, like the loosened voice of peace. And nothing is as spacious as this moment.

strangers

Just because I haven’t called you doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you. Just because I haven’t told you that I need you doesn’t mean that I’m not longing each second to show up at your door. Just because you’ve stopped thinking of me doesn’t mean you aren’t my last thought when I sumberge beneath a stormy sleep. And when it’s 3 AM and I’m lying here, watching the Christmas lights above my bed flicker, not hearing the music through my headphones – that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish I were laughing with you right now. I think that if I were to see you again, my heart would twist and constrict, would thud like the heavy clunk of broken machinery, and I don’t think I could breathe. Maybe you would feel something, too. But then it hits me: we’re nothing more than strangers. But I’m still here for you. I won’t stop waiting. I won’t stop being ready for when you want me in your life again. And all I want to know is if you’re happy now.

I try to tell myself that I don’t, but deep down, I still care.

again

around
                                                          the skyscrapers
i spin. my lungs burst
                                                          and streets burn with light
when im thinking of you, of
                                                          yellow daylight caressing
swollen fields and
                                                          the smooth surfaces
of your fingers
                                                          pulling my heartstrings,
running through my hair
                                                          softly twirling
and rustling against
                                                          me again.
the soft breath of
                                                          a whisper in the
pines, echoing through the
                                                          smoky air listens to the
night. the milky twilight becomes
                                                          melodies, echoing, through a city, and
fields of fireflies, dancing to
                                                          the song of you,
the stars over the hills,
                                                          and the planes flying up,
taking me up to the sky
                                                          and far away.

beautiful people

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

- Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

love her like

When he is being annoying, love him like you’d love a sibling.

When she is being depressing, love her like she’s going to kill herself tomorrow. [She might.]

When he is being demanding, love him like he’s your dad.

When she is acting like she hates you, love her like you love a God who loves her. [He does.]

When he loves you, love him back.

Then take this list and scratch out the first half of every sentence.

[Don't live like it's your last day. Live like it's theirs.]

[Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:8]

fade the night

Fade the night, fade the night.
Feel the sun come alive.
Falling stars bite the sky,
Claim the earth beneath our feet.
Feel the pulse. Feel the beat.
Drive me towards the dancing light.
Time and space reunite.
Solace let the embers die.
Shake the devils, stand alone.
This is good. This is home.

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Fade the night, fade the night.
Feel my heart – I haven’t died.
What more could I ask of me?
Strike and throb. Only be.
Hands are strong. Hands can harm.
Fateful scars tear at my arms.
Sear my soul. Score my heart.
Dance and fall. Strike and thud.

Pounding drums, burning lungs.
Hearts are old but hands are young.
Hit the earth. Feet are raw.
Strike the pulse, brave the heat,
Breathe again, breathe the beat.

air grows (thin)

I am shedding my own old skin, leaving trails, gaping holes for the light to shine in.
Surrounding what is left of this old world. Watching as the planet too leaves itself behind.
Only the rhythms escape in, draw out the harmonies. Reach in. Everything empty. Cloudy.
Can’t see. The gulf collides.
I love and miss and everything inbetween.
In my sanest moments I’m convinced this was a dream.
Nothing more…
…or less.
I find the gulf between us and fall. Air grows (thin).
Our connection is ice and
warmth
melted
it
all.
Falling out of bliss. Torn asunder.
So carry me away. Find me a new place.
For here I lie in state beneath miles of ice. An old ocean. Where silver goes to die.
Frozen and wasted. Numb
….and can’t feel.

(…Remember that day?
I would give anything to have held you tighter.)

But at the end….

Anew.
Afresh.
Awashed in glow.

New, tender, raw thought. Spring from crossed hands.
Leaves curl.
Tendrils gasp.
A fresh heart. My sun. Every ray beats. Once, twice. It hurts. It burns. Alive.
Breath deep and smile over and over again.
How could I ever say these dreams were empty?

(It’s not over.)

Beneath lonesome skies, I stand. Icy waves grope on. Receding waters burn blood red under dark suns.
Beneath a longest moon.
On                               I feel
grey                             them
boats                              drown me.
Or try to. I almost let them.
All my hopes from long ago, before that day –
they swim to surface. Stare me in the face. Red eyes. Sleepless crying.
But I know what a sea does not.
We have shed our skins.
Black tide dances, deep and frozen. But I have seen life.
Bleaky grey beneath paper skies.
Hearts burn.
Lungs collapse.
Breathe
and
dive
in.

had’s and hadn’t’s

I generally try to follow advice. Even if it doesn’t seem to make perfect sense, or doesn’t really click, if somebody gives me advice, it’s usually from personal experience, and experience is (usually) a pretty good teacher. At least I give it a go, and if it doesn’t work out, then I learned something. Invariably, I’ll have learned more than I would have learned if I’d kept on doing things the way I normally do. One bit of advice I learned was, in summary, “At the end of your life, you’ll want to think ‘I wish I hadn’t’ more than you’ll want to think ‘I wish I had.’ “

I tried it out and realized it is completely and painfully true. And I can’t believe how long I’ve lived not acting like that’s true. The Bible says that the heart is deceitful, and there are so many times when I’m deciding between doing something and not doing something and I chose to notdo because my heart crams my brain full of excuses like “I need to go home and sleep” or “that would be too awkward.”

[Excuse, noun. 1. Something that usually isn't true.]

Obviously, if the thing you’re debating doing is immoral, then don’t. But don’t look back and realize that you could have helped a friend not make a decision to do something incredibly stupid, or that you could have chosen to be kind to somebody who you later realized was going through a really hard time, or that you could have spent that extra hour with a friend who you weren’t going to see again for years, or that you could have said goodbye and I love you to a family member you definitely weren’t going to see… ever again.

I have a lot of days, and you probably do too, where I’m just positive I’ve screwed up myself and everything in my life  (if it’s a really bad day, I’ve screwed up everybody else’s lives, too.) But I’m certain I will never regret loving others, loving God, snatching up opportunities, taking time for others, and most importantly, trying my best. Anyway, that’s my advice.

above waves

The second you’re gone, where am I again? Falling into my own gravity. Pulled back, square one, two steps back. Into myself, collapsing, imploding, barely standing. Structurally unsound. I live on my knees, head down, hands flat on the floor. Lungs pull hard. World spins. Where am I?

Stand at the edge of the water; your fingers are mine. I feel your strength and believe I am strong. But I am weak and let go. I am heavy and fall deep. Plummeting. Going under. I sink beneath stormy waves and can barely see and the undertow flows through me. In my heart I know there is light at the top of the waves. Touch. You can feel it. It illuminates the dust in the water until the world around me sparkles and glows like a million fireflies in a summer night. But my reaching hand only blocks its shine.

Dark in the deep. Buried six feet deep in cold, heavy sand. I grasp. Gasp. Grope.

UnderWater
Sun at the surface. I’m afraid of what I will find but the light must be where you are. Your words were the only ones I ever wanted to hear and I wrap them around me, holding them close like the last of my breath. You gave them for hope but I found them for peace. My eyes close, but then – your arms around my waist.

Your breath becomes mine. You rob me of myself and you have given me yourself and never, in the depths or deepness, will you let your heart go. I am nothing and everything. I may wither in the daylight but I would wither for so much less. Take me. Redeem me. Because now I know that life is warm and bright, and the light above the waves is so much brighter and warmer than the fireflies beneath.