I am in love with the stories that take you away.
I am in love with the wonders of the world that I hold in my hands.
I am in love with where I can be in a second, whom I meet, whom I speak with and what I can feel.
I can stand by the definitive idea of mine which is related to words and thoughts, particularly related to books. I will never want a kindle, ipad or any other electronic screen to walk with, to hold, it’s not the same. I know, I know some people may say that, “if it’s only the words you’re worried about, what’s wrong with it all being on an electronic memory card?”…my point is, my love must be a fancy or a feeling, that’s all, no other reason!
You just can’t compromise on the feeling of a soft paperback book lying upon your chest when you wake up, or the neat stacks they make on your desk, or the notes you can write with your hand and re-read months later, and feel the indent of the pen your force made on the book all the while you know in your heart the impact the book must have had on you to write that note in the first place.
If anyone hates reading, they have never read. I can say that much.
I was prompted to write this entry because I re-read some passages in Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I am so incredibly happy for the work of these women.
I can’t wait to share them with my nieces one day when I tuck them into bed.
as the days draw near, my complacent exterior is solid. my tornado interior is getting stronger with every gust of air I breathe into my lungs.
wait. they don’t love you like i love you.
i feel like an empty jar, my hand is frantic to feel something inside, anything.
my kind’s your kind
i’ll stay the same
a dull beating that resonates within my ribcage is your clue to my life, a lost home is where i’ll find myself.
cause people will say all kinds of things
that don’t mean a damn to me
cause all i see is what’s in front of me
and that’s you
if i hold on, will you blame me?
Dear Special One,
So, I’ve run away for a long while. I’ve focused on other things, things which are not this thing here.
My mojo to write everyday, of the everyday, was difficult especially in light of heavy rainy days when my heart and mind just wanted to stay closed.
Tonight is a little different. I can’t explain why, but tonight I am here with you, writing you, loving you.
Tonight begins with the usual banality of the to-do’ s and have-to-get-done’ s. I refuse to approach my desk, I can’t just grit my teeth and sit, not tonight at least; I just don’t want to have to do that…at least tonight.
I still can’t explain why tonight is a little different. Maybe the reason why I can’t explain why it is, is because it’s not. I just want it to be different.
I’m waiting tonight. For what?
I still don’t know. Days like these make me so uneasy, so flustered, like a bird in a cage that finally feels the air from the outdoors and is excited by it.
What am I waiting for? Myself to arrive? (The next question that should follow is, the old or the new you?)
People talk about the evolution of themselves into brighter, stronger men and women through hardship, happiness, death and life. All these cause growth from young age through adolescence to adulthood; they say you change and become this revolutionized new, you, someone more able to take it all…laser eyes excluded.
What if that new you is nothing more than the triviality you hate in other people? What if you’re becoming your mother? Your father? That person you feel you can’t possibly identify with? What if that’s you? Could you then be the change you want to see in the world? Probably not.
I don’t know where this is going to go, but my idea tonight is that identity is a horrible misnomer. You never really know who you are, what you are capable of or what’s in store for you, so you’re identity is malleable, just like when you choose to have vanilla and chocolate ice cream for dessert instead of frozen yogurt with lots of strawberries…dessert, it’s never fixed.
It’s no wonder so many people spend their whole life searching for their identity to finally be able to explain why they act the way they do, to explain why they feel they way they do, to explain who they ARE.
Identity is nothing more than a misnomer. I am nothing more than another beating heart on this bed, in this city, under this sky floating in magnetic pulls in this infinite, quiet universe I have never seen or will know.
I don’t know what to say, I feel the burn of the eyes and the hot lamp sending waves of heat on my nose, feeling the sweat droplets accumulation til it drips down, glossy and full of residue, waiting for me to say something new, old, even wrong, but I can’t even disappoint you like that tonight.
I’m at the airport. I’m eating corn and tortilla soup. It’s an awesome day and I’m done with finals! 🙂
Four is number of drafts I have done for this entry; the meaning behind my lackluster adamant behavior of not posting or not being happy with what I’ve written has tired me and now I feel like letting my fingers go and my mind wander.
I saw so many things on the bus ride to the airport, but I can’t much of them as of right now since I still feel the throb of an 8mile run and the twinge of pain from a chemistry final.
All I can say for this entry is that, I am alive! So alive! I want this week to be the best. I rarely see my family, I don’t have anyone special so all of me goes to family this week and I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to see my mom and dad and tell them I’ve missed them. Saying it on the phone would only worry them, so I’m elated I can see them and tell them…I want to be a baby this week and just chill like old times…
I’m extremely lethargic and my legs feel so heavy. I’ll update more much later!
ciao for now.
So here it is.
Listen to this.
Death Cab for Cutie’s Your New Twin Sized Bed.
On loop for years. From young to now, I’ve listened to this album.
I know what it is to love…I love this band
With a fervor of youthful, pure innocence and a faithful loyalty one can only begin to imagine;
defend I will, this band, with all of me…
I grew up in high school, listening to random bands from all over the country and, in particular, Death Cab; listening to these artist’s words and becoming like a vine grown thick and out of control upon the words and chords of the songs. This attachment I can say is strongest, now, than ever.
The emotions I most connected to and still do, are from the stories of boys and girls that are laced with hidden heartbreak, secluded thoughts, breaths of cold air and no sunlight in times and places where love, beauty and fate are supposed to be abundant and encouraging. The languid strums of the guitar, the beat of the footstep, the vibrating “shimmys” of the electric keyboard reverberate in my body like I am the instruments themselves.
In retrospect, a piece of me lost, this music fills the spot for now…but that’s another story.
I listened to this song as if it was new to the world, his voice like a man’s I have never heard before today. As I walked back towards my bike, parked, ready and faithful, the chilled Davis wind that grabs around your legs, chest and neck was my companion as I rode back to campus from the humid greenhouse; the wind heavy and my legs were weary.
I heard the line, “what’s the point of holding onto what never gets used?” My stomach dropped. Why? It was an epiphany many would love to break down and argue against; these are the resilient ones. I can’t.
Bitter realization, safety mechanisms and fear prevent me from feeling like there is something more than what I got that fateful day. I guess I’m just scared to feel optimistic in the face of despair and failure, I’m afraid of being let down, again. I’m scared I’m tossing it away and I don’t even realize it.
How long does it take to jump back?
“You used to think that someone would come along.
And lay beside you in the space that they belong.
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new.
What’s the point of holding onto what never gets used?”
As I biked, I held back tears, I heard myself repeating after him, “And I hope you have more luck with this than me.” I guess when you’ve looped this CD for years, it’s like you are the singer now and you have written these words to make yourself feel something you miss again and again, every time it starts up again.
This song’s beat doesn’t even need words to tell me what it’s feeling. I feel it, I know it too well.
This song is not about relationships that get broken or are lost between two people, it’s the non-existence of relationships between people in general.
If you aren’t going to try, why hold onto your heart, right?
Life is about little decisions you make every day, they eventually add up and create something, good or bad, it’s all up to single moments put together by you. What’s interesting is you never see the beast form, you see it appear before you miraculously one day and you have to take it with you on your journey of life.
This song evoked two of the strongest emotions in me, sadness and fear. A simple narrative of not a boy or even a girl, but a person tossing a piece of plastic away that, in turn, gives rise to a depth of philosophical knowledge, burning questions, confusing meanings that I can only begin to analyze. This is what good music is. It makes you question your life every single time you repeat the track.
I guess to sum this up, I can’t decide whether to just dump it or use it till it breaks…
Ad nauseam, I am confounded by the cunning and perplexing challenges of thought, decision and action.
“…And I try not to worry, but you’ve got me terrified.
It’s like we’re in some kind of hurry to say goodbye, to say goodbye, to say goodbye…”
14. Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for. -Ray Bradbury
Wow, what a holiday break. It felt like one of the thoroughly longest breaks ever. I loved every moment of it; the banal and the exciting. Like every winter or holiday break, including weekends, I perused the shelves at Barnes & Nobles and Borders for that one lovely book that would ensnare my thoughts and feelings, if only for a fleeting holiday break. I found it, but I have yet to finish it twice. I read and re-read it. I don’t understand it first and off the bat. Though merely journal entries from a beloved author of mine, I still find it difficult to follow emotionally, physically, figuratively and literally.
I did not read Wuthering Heights again. I stopped this cold and cutting ritual of reading one of the saddest love stories ever written, (in my opinion), and it made my break a little brighter.
As I write this, I’m wasted on coffee, roasted peanuts and water. Going from eating every four hours with my siblings and parents because we’re simply the happiest when gathered around a table and food to fuel the long talks about times when my dad wore bell bottoms, my mum mercilessly permed her hair and when one of my brothers permed his mullet. 🙂
I’m wasted on a high that was low too. My holiday break was a time I cried, I laughed, I wished I were dead and a time when I was reborn. Like every time I’m alone with my thoughts and my philosophy on life, I realize I am too much this way and not enough the other, I am always doing this, when I should be doing that. Life like this should not be shared, it simply cannot be. I walk alone in the fields of what I perceive idealistic, hedonistic, safe and disgusting. Polarities seem be what I am made of, so does this mean I, too, am made of hypocrisy. Yes! I am too much in love with who I can be or want to be or want people to perceive who I can be. Selfish love for myself, my dreams, my aura is something I realized I am too much involved in. I write for what? So others can read. I talk so others can listen, I teach so others may learn from me. Why have I self-indulged my vanity and cloaked and hidden it behind a sheet of idealism that “life can be better if I achieve my selfish goals”?.
When can my words ever be sincere to me?
I have not exhausted this subject, but must return another time to it. I am at a loss for what I want to express and do not want to half-ass the rest. I am too weary.
This morning, waking at an ungodly hour to catch my flight and not sitting down to eat for almost 10 hours has caused not only my mental acuteness to whither, but my stomach to be in an uproar.
I am still feeling the time change and must take rest in the dark caverns of my bed.
I have so much to say about beds, the thoughts are fluttering in my head, but my net is broken from travel and from wear.
For now, as this night passes I think of the friends I made here and I think, soon, we all will be sleeping like we were babies under the same starry sky, we will rejoice in the slumber of our dreams or cower in our nightmares.
I leave this note from Emily Dickinson,
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain.
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Can Time have length if we believe that Time is never going to let up, wait, stop? Time is so steadfast, constant and determined; his job is to keep count and he is good at it.
To aspire to be like Time in terms of being as strong, as willful and as conscious of one’s job (and doing whichever work is before us well) in this world is merely something we can boast to have as a fleeting feeling or a momentary action that is hard to keep going and hard to focus upon and clench.
It was around 10pm, I sat down to eat dinner and remembered a day that was really special and a day I keep cherished in my heart. Remember those days when you were really little and you had something that was only yours, a gift or something you found…but, you loved that something so much that you kept it clean, kept it away from prying hands, kept it hidden and you were the only person that was allowed to ever see it, ever allowed to take it out of the place you kept it.
This memory is like that, so special to me; the day meant a world-full of happiness, luck, hope and glory. It’s not an ancient memory from my childhood, it’s quite recent.
So, it begins like this. It was a long drive to a place very different than where my feet had taken their final leap into the heavily packed SUV. It was humid if you were outside the SUV, cold if you were looking through the windows to the ever changing painting. There were mountains that stood erect, their faces upturned to the heavens, flat, green pastures where animals grazed, flowers littered the highways trim and a constant mirage lead our path to this place I have lived now for almost three years.
San Diego to Davis. Davis. Davis. A long awaited destiny of mine. Fate had finally reared her attention to little ol’ me. I remember when I had finally arrived. I was flustered and panicked…we didn’t know where to park. As I unpacked my things, I remember looking down the hallway to see others down the hall shuffling and hurrying. I saw some parents and students, alike, running through the doors, heaving large boxes, faces in a focused kind of wonder, a hope gleaming and an excitement brimming. I, too, felt this sense of change, of good change, of good things to come.
It wasn’t until my heavy boxes were light as air, my clothing hung, my desk arranged, my books aligned, my pens turned down to let the ink flow that I realized my brother and sisters were waiting, looking at me through the the door in which they, themselves, were running through, heaving big boxes, seeing the change and feeling the excitement. I was absolutely stunned and horrified. Why and how could they leave me like that? How could they just up and leave when I was so excited to start this journey with them? The emotions I felt when I heard the words, “Alright, well I guess that’s the last box and you’re all ready to go!” from my brother was something like, panick, worry, sadness, betrayel and fear all in one second. I didn’t say anything to them when I turned and saw them looking at me through the door. I just stood there, like a mime and waited until they took a step back in and hugged me hard. I didn’t realize it but my eyes began to water, a thick, hard thing began to emerge in my throat, my stomach was hot and churning. I stood there dumbfounded at the fact that I was to be alone these next four years.
I walked them out to the parking lot and stood beside the car, they looked at me, my eyes kept shifting from face to face and then to the sky and then the ground. I could see others going through this demonic ritual a few parking spaces away. I was embarrassed still. I was so red, my eyes bulging and my tears running hot down my face. I was a freshmen and everyone knew it.
I hugged my two older sisters first, told them I loved them, told them to keep in touch, told them to hug Mom and Dad when they got home for me. They were crying and so was I. It was too weird to realize I wouldn’t be having breakfast at the dinner table with them the next morning; explaining my bizarre dream I had the night before.
I turned to my eldest brother, my strongest guide, my body guard, my friend and my heart. I hugged and held my brother so tight. He wasn’t crying, he was so strong, I remember he never even shook. I was shaking from the tight grip I had on his coat, I didn’t want to let go; what if I let go and I spiraled out of control and landed in a black place and wasn’t able to get out? He told me everything was going to be alright, that I only had to stay here a few days, “it’ll pass like just a few day…” he said. “If you want to come home, just let me know, I’ll come get you”. I remember the cologne he wore, it was strong but I didn’t care, he was there and so was his smell and that’s all that mattered. I remember days when I would walk in the guest bedroom and see him ironing his dress shirts and I would say, “Ease up on the perfume, buddy” and all he’d do is smile and spray starch.
My little sister, my best friend, my twin, my everything was the last person whom I hugged goodbye. She was waiting looking at the ground all coy to my left. I turned to her and pushed her left shoulder and smiled. She wasn’t smiling and looked up at me with big, wet eyes. I couldn’t take it, I left go of the farce smile and did what I could only do at the moment and held her close. I remember her sobbing on my shoulder, on my sweatshirt; she left a snot mark in which i taunted her with later. I remember whispering into her ear as she wept on me, “It’s okay, we have cell phones now, I’ll call you all the time, okay?” She didn’t say anything but looked at me with a stare of approval. I took a step back and looked at them all. I took it in, the sun setting to the left of them, the chilly wind beginning to take rise and push their hair to the left, the car in to my right, waiting like a chariot to take them away from me, waiting to desert me there in the parking lot.
I walked back to my room, never saw them drive away because my brother said to go in and not watch. I guess it was a good idea. 🙂
This memory is not the happiest, but it’s definitely the one most filled with hope and love. I remembered this two years and a quarter later. Why today I was to remember this? I don’t know Time plays tricks upon our mind, making us forget and making us remember. Fate is his friend, they, together, play with our lives to create memories and for that, albeit, sad days or happy ones, I’m glad to have Fate and Time play with my emotions.
Gnight and Sweet Dreams…
- In Thy name, Lord, I lay me down and
- in Thy name will I rise up…
- O God,
- Thou art the first and before Thee there is nothing;
- Thou art the last and after Thee there is nothing;
- Thou art the outmost and above Thee there is nothing;
- Thou art the inmost and below Thee there is nothing….
- Waken me, O God, in the hour most pleasing to Thee
- and use me in the works most pleasing to Thee,
- that Thou mayest bring me ever nearer to Thyself . . .
Today has been a day of repeated log ins and log outs of the Firefox internet engine on my desktop. I “x” out of it entirely only to reawaken it 20 mins later. I see the same ugly picture of Jennifer Lopez and her ex with the same annoying, blaring title, “J.Lo Threatens her Ex’s Movie”…I mean, really? Come on, people! It’s just another example of the world becoming more stupid. I wish we had more headlines about writers, great thinkers, philosophers, artists, people who, through their simple inventions changed the world…SOMETHING along those lines, but I think the drama between Kristen Stewart and Robert Dumbass Pattinson will continue to be a prolific and expansive story which will only come to an end when she gets pregnant with someone else’s baby or when she gains weight and turns out to be a lesbian…then again this may sound like interesting drama unfolding to many mindless people…even you.
Why so crucial this afternoon of the simple stupidities and frivolities that are eating up America, you ask? I really have no substantial philosophical conjecture to pronounce, but that I have this strange need to check up or update something and it turns out I’m mentally, physically and emotionally connected to my Facebook; I deactivated it a couple of days ago, just to see what would happen to me. I, too, have been consumed by the fad of what is electronic friendships; byte by byte it has consumed much of me.
Thank God I cut the cord at least. I have become wholly dependent upon it to “tweet” my thoughts, “tweet” my daily calamities, “tweet” my present situation, “tweet” my hunger, anything really. When I updated so frequently, I felt like people actually read it, just like this blog, which no one really does, but I pretend that someone does, anywhere in this wide, wide world.
At any rate, I am no longer connected or affiliated with Facebook…at the moment and we shall see how long it is before I break the deactivation mode. Part of me hopes it sustains until I gradute and by then, I’ll be too much of a grown up to bother to reactivate it.
In the mean time though I am still here blogging. (I blog therefore I am?) I guess part of the reason I blog is to keep my writing up, though poorly constructed and not at all coherent nor complete, but it’s writing and it is my own in any sense.
The last two weeks felt like I have been in a dungeon filled with assignments, a cage of immense problem solving, a stifling small closet of reading on terms, theories and ideas that are not my own, though I must render them in my head and heart as though they were. I feel like I lose part of my life as soon as the other parts function well and are growing. Like picking up too many little pieces only to go back and pick up the ones that fell in lieu of picking up the others, a continuous and vicious cycle.
I don’t know how this will ever be mended, but I fear it will follow me for many years to come; it’s a trail of people pieces, emotional pieces, physical pieces and thought pieces; oh the thought pieces, how they litter my floor!
Literary Update, Currently Reading :
*Emerson, Essential Works of,
*Wharton, Ethan Frome
Both are so enthralling and good, I plan my day and night around reading at least maybe one page before I settle in and fall asleep. I wish I could sit and have a cup of coffee with Ralph Waldo Emerson. His writings are just amazing. His observations are simple yet speak volumes about the fragility of human nature, about the ease and comfort of living solitude or living in the spotlight, but that the true ovbserver and one who gets the most of it, is the person that concedes to be in the scene, follow his/her own path and not be afraid to say or do what must be done whilst in the midst of banal commonality, strict social decorum or in the ever changing socio-sexual conditions of today’s society. I never knew I would feel such sadness about someone’s death then I do Emerson’s. I cry for the loss of never being about to speak with him, never being about to ask him questions about his work, never being about to laugh alongside his cunning and deeply spiritual mind, never being in the same time as he, never breathing the air under the same clouds as he.
I feel like a loss of immense proportions have taken hold, for many writers that I think of now, who have shown me to look at the world with an intelligent, questioning, irrefutably open and welcoming eyes, I will never be able to sit and comment with them. I will never have my copy signed by their hands, never will our eyes meet. This is indeed a sad day.
So, forget all the riff-raff of the fast and hard Hollywood life. Forget Jennifer Aniston’s struggle to find love when it was under her nose all along, forget Rihanna’s lack of justice toward female rights when she didn’t press charges against the animal some people call, Chris Brown, forget the “accidentally leaked” sex tapes of Paris and Kim, forget the sex vixen Megan Fox who shows more and more skin to hide that she has less and less of a mind, forget the momentary humanitarian dynamic duos of Jolie & Pitt, forget the fleeting political lobbyist Scarlett Johannsen…it’s all a fad that will die. It’s never going to last for them, it’ll fade and they, like fleas will just jump to the next big thing. They may get the air time, but who are we being taught about in school? Rihanna or Harriet Tubman? Paris or Amelia Earhart ? Scarlett or Hillary? (Groundbreaking shouldn’t refer to the newest Transformers movie.)
I do not ever want to delve into the pitiful standards of life as a conventional 20 year old university student. To drink, be merry, lose sight of good good people and strong friendships to those who are fake, popular and fun in the moment may be suitable for some, but I crave more and I will endeavor to quench that thirst, if it means weeding certain aspects out, then so be it, for the loss is not a loss, but a change toward the Heavenly good.
10. “This is Love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.” -Rumi
It’s officially Friday night, the ease and tranquility that comes from the thought that there will be no need to get up and lug myself to and fro from lecture to lecture, lab to lab, makes me feel like I can do anything, even get on the difficult task of getting started on my work as early as in a couple of hours. Some university students bail on their books on nights like this one to enjoy festivities like a party or a music concert or they simply just “chill” the night away.
It’s merely a decision now. Do I lounge about, catch up on my personal reading and call up a friend, or do I begin tackling the case study write up, the numerous pages of biology and chemistry readings I must get done and understand, the ever present and new physics concepts to review and its respective homework? It’s all very overwhelming since my school work is far more complicated and more time consuming then the description stated above. So I decide I must write and think it out. I am here, present, and awake though slightly groggy from the pasta and fish dinner I just greedily consumed.
I sit now with a cup of Earl Grey tea to help settle my stomach listening to the kitchen clock tick and tock its life away. I realize I, too, am wasting away, just like this thing which has no emotion, no reasoning abilities, no thought.
As little minutes add up over the years you begin to see the appearance of those lines that you got those fun summer days you spent with loved ones or alone, you see the bluish, dark hallows under your eyes from the nights you stayed up far too long, you see the work and sweat you’ve done from the coarseness felt in your hands, you feel the miles you’ve walked, ran and jumped in the thick veins on the tops of your feet etched out deep, you see your toenails have lost a lot of resilience and have yellowed. You feel your problems, memories and achievements have been gaining weight and your back screams its aches.
Life is just so unpredictable. You feel as though time does not go fast enough at moments when you want something to end or vehemently want something to begin then suddenly you find yourself racing. It’s all the same time though. Time has been accurate, even and continuous since before you and I ever existed and will do so when you and I are but, “shadows and dust”. It’s been the most constant thing and the most dependable idea. It may never end.
I was once asked if life was worth living. I said yes, I think it’s important to use the time we have been given to do exactly what is called upon us, which is to live. Then I was posed with another question, “would you rather live the life by wasting away or by wearing away?”. I was taken aback. I didn’t know there was such an idea. Living life does not mean just living in the world, it means being out in it and experiencing things, making those lines upon your face deeper from sun, making the blood flow thicker widening those veins, expanding your lungs to its ultimate measure!
I regret a lot of my actions from the last 6 months and I realized tonight that the more I think and harbor questions that may never be answered, I am wasting away my opportunity to make up for lost time, make up for lost actions, repent for those actions that I made and now regret. I never knew I could “grow up” so fast from such simple things as romance and love. I guess what I’m trying to say is that life is unpredictable and it’s useless, sometimes, to try to plan such things as when to fall in love, when to marry, when to have kids, when to stop eating meat or even when to start eating meat again. We put ourselves in positions that make us question our character, make us question our beliefs, make us question our entire being and existence, but the time we are given after we have thought the questions, made the accusations, found a scapegoat, is the crucial time; this is the turning point. At this point you will either question forever more and stay in a spot where the wheels stop turning and you live a life in a constant fog, always wondering what if, or you move on from the unanswerable questions and hope and pray that it was at least worth the experience, the stop-and-think-about-your-life-pursuit trigger, the I deserve better trigger or the I want better things trigger.
This is what I make of my life thus far. Beginning my third year as undergraduate student at Davis, I have reached this critical point and I believe that this journey to overcome personal struggle and change my life by myself is going to be a long one and the sooner I join the other side, the better outlook on life I will have.
I never said stepping into and making the crucial point adjustment was as easy as stepping over a muddy puddle and, wham, you’re done, you can move on, oh, no, no no! I believe it’s more like trying to cross a busy street; you step out and suddenly a big car jumps out of nowhere and you rush back, frightened and alone again, but then when it’s gone you feel a bit relaxed and you take your time to you stretch your neck out again and see if it’s okay to try to cross; you do so. As you have reached almost the middle of the intersection, a biker pops up and you’re confused and alone in the middle of the transition. You ask, “do I let him pass or do I jump in front and make my way?” Eventually, with persistent adherence you’ll re-cross with more confidence each time and sooner or later you’ll make the car stop for you and the biker will slow down and let you pass. It’s hard and I know it. The cheery thing about this whole situation is that I and you or who ever may read this, have reached the point where we can cross!
Life is also so simple in some ways, though arguably much more unpredictable. It’s kind of fascinating to see what unravels when life turns us upside down and inside out. It really shows your persistence, your adherence to stick, your love, your hate, your hope and your resolutions.
I resolve to never let anyone hurt me again. No matter how much I may trust them.