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Sit and listen.

I heard,
I saw,
I remembered.
I prayed,
I wait,
I hope.

Spotlight.

Here I am playing with those memories again
And just when I thought time had set me free
Those thoughts of you keep taunting me
-
There’s beauty in walking away
-
Yes, I went for Air Supply, and they were awesome. Old, but still so much energy and charisma. The funnest part was singing along to all of it! Thanks Joyce (:
-
Love and other bruises didn’t have to choose us
But it did and I’m alive and I’m trying to survive
-
Hate not having you around
Maybe a complete fool to stay
Trying to move on without leaving too much of me behind
There isn’t an easier way
-
Time here is nearly up, looking forward to being away in super cold weather in awesome company. And just being away.
-
It’s just different with you.
It’s time to sleep to dream.

Endings.

We weren’t done. We still had a long way to go.

Feeling.

“Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.” -Michel De Montaigne

Where I stand.

Here I stand with my heart in my hands
I’ve done all I can
It’s all up to You

You still amaze me.

Made the leap,
Took the fall,
You’re at the end
To catch me.
All I need to know.
I pray you are
More than
Worth it.
For with You,
I am complete

Enchanted.

I’ll scream it from way up here if that were the only way you could hear me.
So close, but still so far.

Road trip.

We cruised down the highway, endless acres of land stretched out on our left and right. Some fenced, with cows grazing peacefully, or sheep minding their own business as a car passed by every five minutes or so. We sat in the car, blasting music and singing along to each and every tune, winding down the windows, so that we could tell the whole world we were on a road trip. We let the wind rip through our hair, hitting our faces like invisible forces of nature (which they actually are, so redundant).
Once in a while, I would fall asleep with the sound of breeze in my ears and the motion of the car, drifting along with me in my dreams.
The places we visited were the same. I saw us walking down that same street, visiting the same maccers, sitting at the same memorial having lunch. It’s like I visited me, one year back.
Each time I breathed in the cool air, I took in the freshness of the memories and the rawness of the pain. I remembered, and I liked remembering. Because, for once, it could feel right, it could feel real.

She writes…

“Can I miss you for just a little while?”