hello world again.

Where have I been lately? I've felt like a part of me has been missing. For so long I can't remember when. With each new day I've been trying so hard to find the strength to write again. With that part of me that's gone missing has also taken with it my inspiration. My voice...my childlike happiness.. It's hard to find these days. I look in the mirror and my own reflection is unrecognizable. I feel fake 80% of the time. Where am I these days?

I'm tired of the past creeping up on me. I just want to move forward but then I become scared of the unknown. I'm tired of being at this crossroads! Of my feet never leaving this floor of the plane.

Why can't I get you off my mind? You've been gone for a week now, and I've spent every day so far wishing you were here.  I've tried not to dwell on these feelings, but there's this part of me that won't let go of you. I need to though. The day you get back, I'll want it but won't grasp it. I can't.You don't know, and should never know how much I want to be with you. You'll never know that I melt every time you smile at me. You won't know how you enliven the butterflies in me when you make me laugh. Or how you make every slight touch warm my body. And every time you're near me, how I feel brighter.  But you'll never know. You'll never know because I won't tell you. I won't tell you because you're with her. You've gone to see her. And when you get back, she'll be with you, always in your heart. And I can't go near that. I refuse to. No matter how you make me feel, I know that I won't make you feel the same way she does. I won't make you feel the way you make me feel. I won't even try to make you. So before you get back, I will try my hardest to get over you. I will do whatever I can to not feel this way. I've got to protect my heart.                                                         

Today was a good day. Yet at this moment I feel the tears burn in my eyes. I've gotten a little better at holding them in. But the sting is still there. And why I get the urge to share this moment is only known to be a shared bond all the bloggers seem to understand. The sense of freedom laid in the tips of our fingers, as we hit each key. There's something comforting about the rapping sounds of our fingers typing away. It's almost a song of itself. A lullaby that sings me into a world only I can escape to. My thoughts, the ones crowding my head all day until the moment I type, slowly make it's way through my fingers onto this screen. But the second I have to stop typing I'm zapped back into this harsh reality.

But while I'm still typing... I know blogging isn't enough. Actually it doesn't really resolve anything. Useless venting, but a carving in a stone. Just a solid reminder of the things I've endured or the things I'm struggling with. I miss smiling for no reason. Or even smiling for every reason. I miss feeling whole. I miss feeling energetic. I miss being able to enjoy the outdoors. I miss fishing trips with my dad. I miss my dad. I miss lunchtime at high school. I miss my friends I've made there. I miss the old members of the band. I miss feeling like I can accomplish anything. I miss the road trips. I miss the friends I've lost along the way. I miss everything stolen from me. I miss everything I lost on my account. I miss my passion I had to inspire people to creatively worship God. I miss being in love with my Savior. I miss the motivation I had to read scripture everyday. I miss caring about school. I miss feeling blessed. I miss feeling thankful. I miss laughing til my stomach hurts. I miss feeling confident. I miss being sure I had a purpose.

I miss all these things wishing I could say.. I don't miss crying. I don't miss the pain I feel everytime she looks at me. I don't miss the emptiness. I don't miss the lies. I don't miss having to choke back the tears. I don't miss the fights. I don't miss the urge to drink my problems away. I don't miss giving my heart away to hurtful relationships. I don't miss banging my fists against my walls. I don't miss the fear I have everytime I stand on stage. I don't miss being angry. I don't miss being ashamed. I don't miss wearing a mask. I don't miss acting like I have it together. I don't miss the fakes smiles. I don't miss the failures.

My heart, the mailbox...

I often leave my mailbox, a.k.a. my heart, unchecked. I didn't realize that it was slowly over piling with a lot of mail. Unfortunately, majority of it is unwanted junk mail. And as I sort through this pile of mess, I'm thinking, where's the good mail? Each catalog represented the many times people seemed to be offering something that looked good because they wanted something from me in return. Every credit card offer, to me, was another person I wanted to give a chance to but after a closer look I knew they would either reject me or cheat on me. Every bill signified the things in my life that demanded the most of my attention. Each and every piece of mail embodied their senders. And these senders characterized the people or the distress I let in my heart. Not that people are junk. It's just that every person holds a lot of junk they should let go. They have so much of it. It’s the only thing left to send or to give to anyone, me included. I wish that one day the good mail would outweigh the bad. I can only hope for the letters that carry with them the serenity my heart needs.

Sometimes I feel like I want to hammer my mailbox shut. It's hanging by its hinges as I write. Fragile, yet so easily opened. Maybe I should surround it with cactuses. Will that make me look intimidating? Unapproachable? Unfriendly? I should get it fixed. But then there's that gnawing thought,” What’s the point? It will just be in this condition soon enough." So I leave it in its current state. And cross my fingers for the day I will open it and find one more letter, one more person I won't mind opening my heart, my mailbox, to.

what's fate?