People call those imperfections, but no. That’s the good stuff.
Good Will Hunting
truths
searching for the write words
The artist sees the world in colors and patterns. In strokes and palettes and angles. The photographer, in depth and light and shadows. The musician, in strums and beats and rhythms.
And the writer sees the world in hyperbole and parables. In memoirs and fantasies. In fact and fiction and monologue and dialogue. Every action with an adverb. Every object with an adjective. Every emotion with a metaphor. Every moment dusted with allusions and alliteration.
And as life speeds by, the writer can barely process any of it, because the brain is trying desperately to find all the write words.
great expectations
We spent too many years believing love shouldn’t be hard. Turns out, it’s the hardest fucking thing there is.
the gift of words
Sometimes I’m told I am gifted with words. But I see them coming together in sentences and structures and jargon and poems and prose and think – No, no no. It’s the words that are gifted.
They are the music. I cannot help but sing along.
worth fighting for
The worst fights. The fist-shaking, voice-trembling, door-slamming, blood-boiling kind. I am grateful for them.
When the dust settles and the skies clear and the sorry’s are spoken, I always realize I love you more than ever before.
they say you’ll be okay
Why doesn’t anyone ever say, “You won’t be okay.”
You won’t heal. Or recover. Tomorrow won’t be better. The worst is not over. You won’t be okay.
Some things just break you. Some moments, destroy you. Some people, consume you. And you’re not just okay.
And that’s… that’s okay.
Those things, those moments, those reckless people. They define us. Shape us. They twist us and coil us like hot metal after a high-speed crash.
And we’re not okay after that. We’re not okay. We’re totaled.
But somehow we keep going. Each day the same. Not okay. Still going. We don’t heal. We don’t get better. But we just keep going.
The sun rises and sets. And our chest rises and falls. And our eyes stare blankly into the night. Just don’t stop going.
You don’t always have to be okay. Just be. Be hurt. Be angry. Faded. Sad. Destroyed. Degraded. Lost.
It’s enough. All you feel is already enough. You don’t have to be okay anymore. Just be.
innocence
How glorious love was
before we knew
it would destroy us all.
writeamuck 