Sans toi, les émotions d’aujourd’hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d’autrefois.

(Source: Flickr / slumberingheart)

I am a tired soul.

(repetitive movements of the body) I can feel time dwell within the folds of my skin, shifting its heavy hands back and forth until the wrinkles grow deeper and deeper . I’m tired of working morning to night to watch a number on a piece of paper slowly increase, only to have that numeric foundation slip underneath me soon after because of hungry hands, hungry hearts. (repetitive movements of the mind) I think If I could trace my footsteps across maps, my little feet would only travel between my little apartment, to my little desk at work, and back. Little, heavy footsteps that barely make a mark on such an enormous map. If I lived for millions of years, time would create craters in my repetitive wake, like how it let wrinkles on my skin grow. Back and forth, to and fro.

But what I’ve learned while lying on a dirty living room floor on New Year’s Eve, with the countdown blaring from the television and lively folks around me cheering with champagne, is that I’ve got a long fucking way to go, that I will plant my little feet in every possible coordinate in world, and that though I am a tired soul, I will always be a restless soul.

Happy New Year! May your 2013 be full of familiar faces and friendly unfamiliar ones, adventures of epic proportions, new pathways home, and forever curious footsteps.

(Source: Flickr / slumberingheart)

this is mon chouchou. he is a boy i have woken up next to almost every day for the past 3 years. we never call each other sweet things like darling or honey or sweet baboo, but he sometimes calls me “nancies” and that simple pluralization, like i have the potential to be something more than just me, somehow makes me feel for him more and more. when the sun is down, he comes home with hazelnut coffee in his hand and a lovely, tired expression on his face. he puts it all down when he spins me in the air and kisses me on the mouth. i love it, i love it.

and when the stars are out, we sit back, our heads in another dimension, and we pretend to understand everything in the universe.

we’re mean to each other — he pins me down and counts to three like a wrestler and i make fun of his stupid pointy hair constantly. but there is no one else in this world i would rather hold hands with.

01.
i find myself dragging my feet to get out of my nest of pillows and sheets. i used to think it was because of the smoky skies outside my window. i used to think it was just hibernation season. i used to think it’s because i enjoy dreams so much more than i do reality.

but with nightmares pinning my dream bubbles against needles, with the incessant fear of amounting to nothing, and with my kitten waiting for me outside my bedroom door, i realized that my reluctant feet and warm blankets were no longer to blame. i have always known it, but i have never admitted: i’m terrified of the world. not just my existence and my footprints within it, but the world itself, with all the “meaninglessness” within it.

02.
i was waiting at a red light on Sunset Boulevard, eyes glazed over while listening to reports of the tragedy at the Libyan consulate. i remember my undying sadness for the ambassador and his family. i remember my frustrating inability to understand why anyone would be angry enough to hurt another. i remember the bearded man in ripped jeans who came up to my window, and shouted:

“hello there! i don’t mean to interrupt your flow and all” (he made grand gestures, his unspoken language) “but i just wanted to tell you… you, your car, your little face, everything. i will remember this moment for the rest of my life. you are a thing of beauty and i will never forget.” he smiled, waved good bye, sat down on a nearby bench, and began to bellow out melodies of old times with a few others on the street.

and, finally, i remember thinking, “waking up today was damn worth it.”

to you.
i’m sorry i don’t have any fairytale thoughts or beautiful photographs to share today, just jigsaw memories and my favorite picture. this is a reminder to myself that no matter how many bleak, gray sky mornings i see or awful news reports i hear, it will always be worthwhile to find the strength to make it to the next day. and the next, and the next, and the next.

silent moments. i am the happiest when my head is quiet and the only thing in the universe i can hear is the sound of the blood pumping through my heart.

(Source: Flickr / slumberingheart)

and after the downpour, i realized that surviving through all the rain was worth the glimpses of sun filtering through my fingers. there are so many moments i would change, so many people i would bring back. but moments and people are not like living room furniture. and it is all okay.

two weeks ago, i brought home a beautiful, but sickly kitten from the pound. i named him Merlin because i still believe in magic.

i need to try my anxious mouth, stained with the red wine of nervous teeth sinking into my lips and skin pulled thin over bones, gently torn by ashy burns like shadows of an eclipse my goodness, how it hurts and hurts to to be alive, to wake up and experience the unfolding days of winterbloom and frost, dreams of buttermilk skies and eternal rest. and my goodness, how beautiful it is.

it is so much bigger than the two of us, the world.

waking up to a quiet light, a gauzy mist floating just above the head. the eyes open and the world suddenly transforms after one two three blinks. the twitter of birds, the flutter of lawn mowers, the hum of distant cars.

then silence.

you close your eyes, you squeeze, and you try, you try so so hard. but you can’t. and you are left alone with the company of a single torturing thought — “why?”