I get sad easy these days. maybe it’s ’cause the sun sets too early, the world becomes blue too soon. I’m sad a lot, worried a lot. don’t like burying these cloudy feelings but I gotta. I just gotta.
can’t afford to let them cover any bit of the sun that keeps these buds growing. too darling to let any uncertainty overcast. I’ll tiptoe around this.
let the sprinklers water this careful friendship, can’t be too sure of what the rain will do, don’t want to mess this up like all the others.
so I’ll keep pouring dirt over. let the green that grows from it distract you from the pink in my cheeks, damn you.
i have to try my best a lot of times not to fall in love all over
because there are so many good, good people around me working so hard, being so passionate, being so kind
that I can’t help but trip
darling you strike some kind of chord in me and I can’t help but want to keep running along to this melody
sometimes I forget to check back in here.
hi everyone! I’m doing fine! I’m living well and I’m figuring things out (like always).
there’s been a lot of downs but there’s been a lot of ups, and I’m getting used to this seesaw. sometimes I balance things strangely and get surprised when I put things like elephants on one side and watch as the little mice that I put on the other side get flung far, far up. but I’ve been learning to live with it.
finding weight in everything that I do, find that when I put mice on one side now and elephants on the other, the seesaw doesn’t waver– weight in meaning. how the sad times are just as important as the happy, how precious each and every person that have knocked so gently on my door is. I fall in love easy, fall out easy, but hold those memories and darling smiles still so close to heart. I laugh easily, get swayed easily, care deeply. live more sporadically, recklessly, lovingly. words come simply.
I miss a lot of things and people. still bad at loving and getting the door when somebody rings. still get so nostalgic and so sad at times. still struggle with what’s right or wrong, being wronged and being righted– flip flop, flip flop. but it’s the inconsistencies that make life the heart-beat that it is.
I’m doing fine, thank you for caring! I’m doing fine, thank you for being so kind! I’m doing fine, I love you!
I’m doing fine, and even when I’m not, I make it through each and every time.
because rain falls in all kinds of ways and we find all kinds of ways to fall up.
——thank you always, over
dad told me on the ride to LA that life is always going to have its ups and downs, the same way the heart monitor goes up and down to show your heart is still beating, the jagged movement shows that we are still living. ’cause that’s life, and as long as we keep moving forward, it’ll work itself out. this heart won’t give up on me yet.
i remember listening to my dad’s heartbeat when he would pat my back to sleep in my childhood. c’est la vie.
you wiped the red off my lips
how dare you try to distort my words. demand I understand you, be considerate of your soft feelings when I write.
I’ve been around people who use their feelings towards me to hold power over my conscience and self for too long. that because they’re so selfless and so giving towards me, they have to right to claim passes on abuse. that the ugliest of arguments and the ugliest of words are okay because they love me at the end of the day. because they’ve done so much, because even though I’ve done a bit for them, they’ve always done more.
tell me how it’s selflessness and unconditional care when the terms and conditions were signed for me to be indebted and grateful from the start? that I signed myself into sad compliance? sign off rights over my flesh and blood?
the night, the moment, the second when you decided to lay your hands on my body without my consent was the very instant you lost that right for me to be so careful.
I’ll wish you happiness but I won’t let you forget anymore, won’t let me be the only one to carry this red, red baggage.
I have the right to write to cope, always have. write for myself to live–it was never for you. and you just as well have the right to an attorney in this sad crime of heartache and sharp words, handprints over skin.
a court that will never be called to session.
I’ll never let you talk me into believing this is all my fault again, never let me falter in my words again, never let you touch me again.
I met you again at the train station.
it took a while before my eyes landed on you, with the trains bloated with sea water and all, it was a little difficult to focus. but I found you in the crowd.
holding your bouquet of daisies, your briefcase singing of wind-chimes, you were carefully trying not to step on a starfish. meanwhile pigeons had started to find their perch on your flustered frame. you’ve always had a way with the world, that humble and genuine warmth– it makes it hard to forget you.
and so I think to myself again, that in this lifetime, just like all the past ones, I think it would be nice to make you laugh.
so stepping over some loose clusters of oysters and scooting around a mildly troubled sea turtle, I make my way towards you.
I tread water lightly.
that night, I remember how the waves had crashed in the dark, not searching but calling.
looking closer into these waters, it wasn’t too difficult to see that giant goldfish were the source of this medley– not difficult to see but difficult to process, in all honesty. they weren’t writhing, no, but tossing and turning. in the way we turn in our sleep, pushing the covers of water around, wrinkling the sheets.
I couldn’t figure out too much why they were in these salt waters to start with. it began to rain down, at first a silver rain, then a golden rain– a pure kind of liquid sun in the timeless night, settling on scales and ripples of space. yet the moon stood still.
I dreamt once that you were next to me, watching this same scene play out like fairytale.
tell-tale darling, I wish I were sharing this same sight with you just like that night.
a dream in a dream.
there’s an empty space where you used to stand, it’s a little colder now.
that life will always be a rough draft for us to edit. revise our values as we please, change and mold.
I think I tend to overwork myself a lot to try and forget things– it works but it still leaves me feeling pretty crap. Try to get things done all at once so that the ideas don’t slip away, call it a creative high but I don’t know if it’s really just my working as fast and as nonstop as possible as to not let my motivation slip away. Don’t want my mind to change and resolve to shake. But it’s okay to be flexible, to take breaks, to come back to things.
I’ve always been obsessive with progress. Resolving issues in a day or shelving them to never come back. It’s a resolve that’s weak nonetheless, a cowardly resolve almost that is “finishing things” so that I never have to come back to them.
I need to take care of my body better and give myself and the work I do the benefit of change. It’s okay to make edits.
Whether it be on designs, writing, decisions, and me.
Nothing is ever solidified and doesn’t have to be. Edit.
“just a note, you don’t have to do things in 1 day, like the tshirt design and this and everything. you can let thoughts marinate and make drafts and come back to refining things.”
I’ve given all I can and that should be enough. at the end of the day, even if I’m selfish, I want you to be happy.
I have a lot of secrets I haven’t told you yet but I’ll tell in due time