04.14.13

You are a Book.
I am a Poem.
Both so astoundingly different,
Yet, so fascinatingly similar.
Both works of Art,
Both beautifully written
With enthralling Phrases and Clauses.
You are my literate other half,
Completing my Sentences while
Correcting my eminent Errors.
There is nothing superfluous about
Our Frantastic Friendship.
And no longer in breathtaking solitude,
We naturally embrace each other's Existence,
Quite as two were meant to complete.
Your winsome Smirk invites My exacting Grin.
Our ever-so-anti Lucidity
Intertwines with the sincerity for
Our kindred, quixotic Passions.
I long to be Nostalgic,
Though We are just beginning to create
Our many endless Memories.
Although I am a Poem and
You are a Book,
I'm lovingly Honored to call upon You
As absolutely nothing less than

My Best Friend.

03.29.13 - Good Friday

"It is finished" were the last words Jesus spoke before giving up his spirit on the cross. He wasn't saying that He was finished, no way. He proves that wrong Easter Morning. No, He was saying that the Old Testament laws and teachings and prophesies are finished. That sin is finished. In Hebrew, the verb "finished" is a "perfect verb", meaning it is not only done and completed currently, but is done and completed for forever and eternity. Jesus perfectly finished sin this Good Friday by voluntarily being nailed to the cross for us. And since I'm kind of a bit grammar obsessive, the whole "verb thing" really interested me. Okay. Sermon's over.

Silly Little Heartbreaker

Silly little heartbreaker,
Why are YOU crying?
You knew what you were doing when you started your lying.
Silly little heartbreaker,
You shouldn't be sad.
You know you hurt me, you sure don't have it as bad.

03.11.13

It's better to dig a hole, than to build a wall.
When cowering behind the wall, you're vulnerable on the three other sides.
When crouched inside the hole, your only way out is up.
When the wall happens to crumble, you're left exposed to the world.
When the hole caves in, you're closed, covered and hidden.

02.24.13

a small ballerina bun, wears the girl softly whispering. speaking in a language only her lover understands. she knows not of consistence, not of dedication or commitment. she finds security in her quiet, peaceful corner of the world. often, she secludes herself into the nostalgic, artistic crevices of her mind. if, quietly, you can hear her whispering, become her lover. see and understand the soft language of the precious, young girl with the ballerina bun.

02.08.13

Why do I give you the time of day
If all you do is take my breath away?
Since I'm out of sight and out of mind,
Why do you still consume my time?
Your sweet gaze is so intriguing,
How can I find myself still believing?
Yeah, I'll admit, I still wish it was me.
I do still wish we could talk endlessly.
But that's not possible now.
You've changed.
I've changed.
We're different.
Yet, so much the same.

01.20.12

F is for "friends" who always avoid each other,
U is for you and everyone else but me,
N is for never ever making eye contact,

Down here in the deep blue sea.

12.30.12

Crosswalks and coffeeshops
Gusty winds and quivering chins
Antique stores with open doors
Dusty books in seclusive nooks
Train tracks and panic attacks
Cameo jewelry and animal cruelty
Skyscraping towers just watching for hours
Strangers' absent smiles and Virginian houses for miles
Street lamps and café slants
Heated cocoa and walking too slow
Nostalgic glances and second chances
Another chance to get away
Eventually
Is this where we'll stay?

12.28.12

And that song still takes me back to that look in your eyes
The melody reminds me of your soft, sweaty hands in mine
The rhythm makes me feel my heart racing again
The beat brings the memory of that so sacred dancing night
The lyrics help me remember exactly what we felt

12.17.12

Music is so intriguing. It amazes me how listening to that one song can bring you back to that one time in the past, how it can bring back a thousand feelings and let you have one more glimpse of that moment. Every note, every lyric, when played brings forth a certain feeling to spill out from our memory. The past isn't something we can relive, but when listening to that certain melody, we can, even for one moment, slip back in time to that certain place of nostalgia.