Quotant Quotable

“We tend to forget that happiness doesn’t come as a result of getting something we don’t have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.”

 – Frederick Keonig

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And … It’s February

Here’s to reading my writer description and noting it’s from this time last year. Really it is quite an accomplishment, seeing where I’ve come from.

Self growth can be quite extraordinary and terribly revealing.

At least, for the moment, I’m seeing progress. I see steps forward. There is backward reflection, as there always must be, but every step is in the forward direction. Arrows pointing towards the unknown and expectation.

It’s scary realizing you have an appetite.

I may be only realizing now that it’s February of 2013 but I’ve come so far and the months have felt like years. The confusion is understandable and pleasurable.

Here’s to enjoying the future, reflecting the past, and continuously finding our Blogs to be time capsule images of a moment. Because as moments go…I’d rather continue to actively live them then to always stop and write about them.

 

Got to Have Faith

Faith in Humanity is trusting that most humans have good in their hearts. That most of us, though we are frail and faltered, have good intentions. We, as humans, strike out with the best intentions. Therefore, we can trust, though error, most of us are trying to not do wrong, do to you wrong.

It can feel naive. I feel naive, at times. But I like my life better, living it this way. These same beliefs I hold myself accountable to as well. Though I may make mistakes, hurt feelings, etc., my intentions are not of an evil or conspiring nature. With that I can find some peace in life.

Of course, I do believe there are exceptions to that rule.

Blips

I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.

****

I like to hide.

Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.

Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.

Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.

****

Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.

It’s my Party…

I’m attempting to disallow my overwhelming accomplishments to detract attention from me, on this day.

Life. What a fucking bitch.

Yes, I am giving sarcasm this early. I did not have coffee, don’t need it. I need a shot of some Fireball.

It is that kind of day.

I have a boundless amount of irony in relation to my life’s path. Maybe it should be a book…”The ‘How To’ get-yourself-to-a-place-where-you NEED a ‘How To’ book.”

Laughter is humility, right?

The inside joke is that numbers and math in no way reflect our true accomplishments in life.

The irony is that no matter how much I know that to be true…I just don’t feel that way.

Devouring Recesses

You’re an unwelcome visitor. Trespassing. You stomp through the serene meadows and swiftly chop down all signs of life. You hunt for sport. You kill for power. The enigmatic overflows of dreamless notes are devoured into your darkness.

In the after glow of a great book moment you eat away. Chipping. Gnawing. You gather in all the recesses. You are a plague.

Your hunger is insatiable. All that is will be yours. All that can be taken and broken shall be. You are an ever brewing wake.

In you I see evil. I feel it. Taste it. In you are all the darkest values and desires. To you life is what you can take out of it. What can be removed. Tangible, delectable, destruction. We are the galaxy and you are the sun. Revolved. Distorted. Your surface ever-changing yet mirrored.

You are hard to define because in that would be to know you. There is no one that knows you. Chopped character flaws. Descriptions and whispers.

To say you are anything would mean you were complete. You are without. You are wanting. Destitute and diluted.

I wish I had strayed away from you. Toxic and overbearing, misleading and mindful. We falter to those who need. Interpretations to the lust misunderstood. I’m left, pieces stranded, puzzle. Shapes. Angular and incomplete.

You are the night.

You are the nothing.

My own Fifty Shades

My sexuality is feeling boundless as well as my insecurity.

It is the way of the world those being tethered to one another. Keeping us all locked in a prison of irony and sanctity.

There are so many things I am aching for, from life, and I’m feeling trapped from them. Admittedly, by my own doing.

For the first time in so long I’m wanting to feel the freshness of a new relationship, the clarity of its walls being unknown. Keeping definitions to a minimum. I want and am excited to learn someone new.

 

I am curious and crazed. My book shelf as of late not helping (Fifty shades of Fucked Up).

Late Night Palm Reading

There’s a speck on my eye. I can only see it when I look away. Away from it. Away from direct light.

I know it’s there. Hindering. Distracting. I know it’s there. Reminding me, small things matter. Small things are large things. Small things.

The night sky, I see it. Only when I look away. The galaxies. The planets. The distanced anomalies to my own one-in-a-million existence.

Small things.

Key yet so insignificant. Key yet so insurmountable.

What’s trapped in my vision can be so symbolic. Symbolic to what’s to come. Symbolic to what I have to move away from.

It’s all left up to interpretation. Even still, it’s messages hold value. However I translate.

Speck in my eye. Horoscope. Distanced galaxies. Fortune.

SuperHero

Since I could dream they were filled with the desire to be remembered. Filled with a possibility of somehow being greater.

The events that follow prove to be somewhat limiting. However, being that I’m only 24 going on 25, I can see now I have time.

Previously feeling constrained by the counting seconds, I now feel something greater, time. Time for what it is.

I am in training for the attainabilty of what I know is to come. Forcibly so.

What is life but missed opportunity? I never want to feel the sting of regret. Truer then most failings, regret is so long-lasting. In memoirs we leave them to continue forward. Forward carried in the eyes and ears of our descendants.

One day, long from now, I want the wind to whisper my name. But more so, even if I was just “that one girl,” I’d be fine. For it’s what was done and the acts that are remembered that are of significance.

Being recollected is only the small of it.

Let my war cry ring from the mountains as I am now wanting my life to be mine, shared.

We are communal and in that I want us all to have these same desires.

I do have a dream and I hope I never awaken. For sometimes the dreams are greater.