Another Unsent Letter

I met someone. He's not the first guy to catch my attention since you; there have been quite a few. No, he's not the first I've noticed or seriously considered, and certainly not the first I've daydreamed about. He's simply the first that has actually measured up.

You see, when I fell for you - when I met you, even - you set the standard for all subsequent love interests. Unless they met your rather high bar, there just wasn't much of a possibility that anything would happen. So there have been plenty of guys that I've wondered about. But none of them were really what I was looking for.

Until now.

He's not perfect; he's far from it, as a matter of fact. But then again, so were you. And he and I aren't going to become anything soon, if at all. There are many moments of friendship that we need to have first, before romance can blossom. So no, he's not my boyfriend and no, I'm not in love with him. But here's the thing: I could be.

It is very easy for me to imagine a life with him - a future. He's charming, suave, and personable. Vulnerable too, though, and open. He has warm eyes and a smile that makes you feel like the funniest person in the world. And he notices the littlest things; the way I wink, how my smile affects others, and my quiet from of leadership.

Frankly, you hardly measure up to him.

Meeting him was probably the best thing that could make me get over you. You see, meeting him showed me that there are more guys like you out in the world. Some of them are even much, much better. And that gave me hope. Because even though you aren't the one for me, and he might not be right for me either, I will find others who are. Someone who is. And he will blow everyone else out of the water. So maybe it's good that I started with you and set the bar high. Because I'll end up with someone who is unimaginably wonderful.

I still get sad when I think of you; there's this ache that starts right below my heart and often spreads until it reaches my tear ducts. But that's only when I think about you. Most days, you are far from my mind. I'm still dealing with the damage of the aftershocks from your leaving me and what that's done to my abandonment complex. But your memory and my affection for you are fading into the ether of the past.

Poetry Update: Him

This is the near-finished version of Him, which is the poem my highly-esteemed fellow poet suggested I continue to work on. So, of course, I did and this is what I have. Let me know of any thoughts, suggestions, etc. They are greatly appreciated.

Him

You and I are like

two sides of a coin

either way things land

only one of us wins

we are two sides

opposites

black and white,

and shades of gray

logic and knowledge,

and love and emotion

your weaknesses are

the monsters in your closet

no one knows about them except for you

at night they come out to play

but in the daylight
you lock them behind doors

of charisma and charm

humor and intellect

my weaknesses are
as vast and obvious

as the ocean

as necessary and terrifying

as the sea

but even in its weakest moments

a coin is still a coin

the opposing sides create the whole

So it turns out that me and you

We’re two sides

Of two very different coins

My mom warned me

About the bad boys

She said “all their words

Are just noise”

She taught me how

To spot them in a crowd

Spot them a mile off

And she would be so proud

Of how good I’ve gotten

At keeping them away

But she should’ve told me

About the good guys

The ones who discuss Monet

And the meaning of life and truth

Until you find yourself in love

Until I found myself in love

With you, one of the good guys

But we weren’t good

We were extraordinary

Launching ourselves up into

Lofty clouds of conversation

Like what will become of our generation?

What is love? and who is God?

But the fact that we never could answer

didn’t matter because He

Was always right there with us

In the endless coffee cups

And old book shops

Fancy dinners and late night walks

And after all this

We’d laugh our way back down to earth

I fell in love with how

I could see God reflected in your eyes

The way that life and intelligence

Flowed from your lips with such eloquence

The way our hands fit just right

Which was weird because

You aren’t quite my height

But we weren’t good to the end

Our death was a disaster

An ill-fated end as incredible

as our bewitching beginning

And after it I ran away faster

Than my heart could think

Because maybe if I got far enough away

The realization would never hit

But I forgot that

The further you get from home

The more people you meet

Who remind you of people back there

I keep running into

pieces of you everywhere

His hair, that kid’s walk

That stupid cardigan

The way he talks with his hands

And the high-brow jokes

and I wonder if it’s all a big hoax

some clever set-up

set up by the angels above

or maybe the devils below

because it means I can’t forget you

I cannot forget you

There are pieces of you

everywhere

And while you can never be

The worst part of my history

You are the best thing

That I ever regret

Poetry in Progress

These are all works in progress that I'm considering performing next Thursday at the poetry slam. Let me know which ones you like and what works about them!

*the lines are to show a break in the poem where some more material will eventually be added to help with the flow and message; the stars denote the end of one poem and the beginning of the next

The Best Worst Thing

You are

by far

the worst thing

that has ever happened 

to my poetry

You see,

I thought that 

if I could write you

a poem

well, then

you'd have to 

fall in love

with me

But it turns out
capturing someone's affection
is more difficult than
scooping fireflies into glass jars
and stringing some silly
self-indulgent rhymes together
so it's hardly worth the mention
and me?
I'm finding it hard to
even hold your attention
when I'm just a girl
writing a poem
about a boy
and who cares anyway, right?
because if it's not
scandalous or glamorous
why waste the time?
it wouldn't even make a good headline
Girl Likes Boy
that's old news
so I'm asking my muse
for some help here
a little bit of magic here
so that my words
might just catch your ear
but she just looks at me
with disgust like
"why are you wasting my time?"
she wants nothing to do
with my horrible lines like:
Rose are red, violets are blue
my poetry sucks
and it's all thanks to you

______________________

I’m caught in the

Unwavering guidelines

Of my own uncertainty

Because what if I say something wrong

What if I can’t be strong what if

I mess everything up what

If I’m not good enough

****************

Untitled

I frequently fall in love

With strangers on the sidewalk

________________

It’s the littlest things

The laughter in a smile

The sunshine in a laugh

Looking someone in the eyes

And seeing understanding there

That flows deeper than the sea

Walking beside them and

Feeling God in the quiet spaces

The echo of laugh lines

And eye crinkles
_________________

And most of the time,

All I want to do is write this down

And hand it out:

Check if you love me, check if you don’t

Check if you’ll date me, check if you won’t

Check if you’re genuine, check if you care

Check if you exist and then sign there

********************

Inspired by “Ego” by Rafael Casal (look it up, it's so good)

I went to have a chat with my soul today

____________________

I hear Insecurity whispering dark nothings

Of doubt and failure

And Expectaion is over there

Talking to responsibility again

They’ve been hanging out a lot lately

And is it just me

Or are those disappointed stares

Directed this way?

Ambition walks past me

Her head held high

Power-stomping by

In her power heels and power-suit

And Conscience is sick

She’s got a bad case of guilt

*******************

Him

You and I are like

two sides of a coin

you ruled by logic

and I by my emotions

you hate showing your weakness

so push away and pull back

push and pull

until it’s just you, hidden

my weaknesses are far

too easy to see

they flow down my face as tears

_____________________

But me and you

We’re two sides

Of two very different coins

_____________________

I fell in love with how

I could see God reflected in your eyes

The way that love and intelligence

Flowed from your lips with such eloquence

The way our hands

Fit just right

Which was weird because

You aren’t quite my height

_____________________

And I keep forgetting that

The further you get from home

The more people you meet

Who remind you of people

Back there

I keep running into

pieces of you everywhere

His hair, that kid’s walk

That stupid cardigan

The way he talks

with his hands

the high-brow jokes

and I wonder if it’s

all one big hoax

some clever set-up

set up by the angels above

or maybe the devils below

because it means

I can’t forget you

I cannot forget you

There are pieces of you

everywhere

The moon is gone tonight

It was there yesterday so

I can’t help but think that

It’s walking away from me

Back curved, eyes closed

Just like you did that night

_____________________

My mom warned me

About the bad boys

She taught me how

To spot them in a crowd,

Spot them a mile off

And she said

“honey, just not them”

But she should’ve told me

About the good guys

The ones who have

you laughably in love

With one sly grin

Who convince you

you can fly

but then take off

suddenly for the skies

leaving you behind

still flapping those wings

wondering why you can’t follow
___________________

(last line)

You are the best thing

That I ever regret

************

Untitled

Because a man’s not a man

Unless he’s a gentleman

But the problem is

Not many match that description

So men, I challenge you

To be better

But don’t accept that either

Be your best

And ladies, I challenge you to accept nothing less

Collaboration

So this idea popped into my head recently (mostly inspired by one of Mr. Tahmasian's recent posts) and I think it's brilliant. Here's the idea: I post the first stanza of my poem and then, in the comments, you guys continue to write it. It'll be our very own collaborative poem! Also, I just really need help writing this poem and some inspiration from you guys would be very helpful.

You are

by far

the worst thing

that has ever happened 

to my poetry

You see,

I thought that 

if I could write you

a poem

well, then

you'd have to 

fall in love

with me

additions (but not a finished product):


But it turns out
capturing someone's affection
is more difficult than
scooping fireflies into glass jars
and stringing some silly
self-indulgent rhymes together
so it's hardly worth the mention
and me?
I'm finding it hard to
even hold your attention
when I'm just a girl
writing a poem
about a boy
and who cares anyway, right?
because if it's not
scandalous or glamorous
why waste the time?
it wouldn't even make a good headline
Girl Likes Boy
that's old news
so I'm asking my muse
for some help here
a little bit of magic here
so that my words
might just catch your ear
but she just looks at me
with disgust like
"why are you wasting my time?"
she wants nothing to do
with my horrible lines like:
Rose are red, violets are blue
my poetry sucks
and it's all thanks to you

Messy

I'm taking a leaf out of M. Tahmasian's book here and just writing without worrying too much about editing, or having it make sense. It's getting back to the spirit of a freewrite - it doesn't matter if it's eloquent or even very sensical (if nonsensical is a word, how come sensical isn't?), it just matters that you write. Get it out. 

Sometimes I talk too much. A lot of the time I think too much.

I think about you a lot - far too much for someone who's supposed to be over you. But that's not right; I don't think about you too much, I feel you too much. You can erase someone from your mind, from your thoughts. Getting them out of your heart is another story. And that's just it. You're a story written on my heart and no matter how hard I try or what I use, I cannot erase or destroy you. Even if that was actually what I wanted. 

Because I don't want to forget you, I just want the memory of you not to sabotage me. Some days I'm happy you're gone; it's opened a place in my heart and mind for others. I've had a fire lit under me that is making me burn to connect with others, to find those that could be who I thought you were all along; friends, companions, confidants, lovers. All stable - constants in my life. That's what I'm really yearning for; constancy. Someone who can see who I really am, deep down into me and say, "yes, this is where I want to be - with you". Other days I see your name pop up on my computer screen and want to throw it across the room. Instead, I just mutter obscenities under my breath or list all the ways in which you were a disease in my life. It's these days that I realize how much my heart really hurts. Because on these days I know that, even with all the negative, I'd most likely jump at the opportunity to make things right again. These are the days when I know that I don't hate you; I'm just disappointed you turned into everything you said you'd never be. On these days I realize just how much I miss those moments. We don't remember days, we remember moments.

You should have opened your eyes - I was crazy for you.

How can you forget someone who gave you so much to remember? You're not very easy to forget.

Because Counting Crows will always remind me of you - his raspy voice sends me back to that sunny day in your car when I heard it for the first time. And Five For Fighting always makes me nostalgic and sad. And I couldn't tell you why, except that a song of theirs always seems to follow a Counting Crows song. But that's ok because most times I'd rather be somber than angry at you. And whenever I see a red Audi convertible, my hair remembers getting tangled by the lively wind, my lungs remember laughing until there was no air left, and my mind remembers racing with new ideas to consider and more significant looks to analyze. I can't think of LA without thinking of the day we spent on the beach, or southern Overland park without remembering all our old haunts. Art and coffee and broken curfews will always stir up memories of moments we shared.

With the memories come the tears. They walk hand-in-hand these days. I hope someday Tears will find someone else with whom to spend their time and I will be able to look back on these things with warmth in my heart. 

Saudade is a Portuguese word that describes the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love which is lost or in the past. Rather than being a verb, it is a noun and expresses a more intense state of emotion than the usual translation of "missing". It's a beautiful word and more eloquently describes that deeper feeling of "missing" someone. I hope that soon I won't understand it quite as well as I do these days.

You are not easy to forget.

I really enjoy the melancholy once and a while; it makes you think. And lately I find myself musing about love. Not too surprising, all things considered.

These days it's a different kind of thinking though. It's less frivolous, more wary. The idealism remains, perhaps foolishly, and the longing is still there - oh yes, the longing. But these things are kept closer to my heart, further from the contaminating fingers of the world. I still desire to give love and yearn to have that love be returned but I am sadder, more reserved. Perhaps I should teach myself how to be more cautious.

Here's the thing: I find it's really easy for me to fall for someone. I can identify in many some of the qualitites for which I'm searching. The trouble is getting them to fall for me, too. Because, you see, I'm just not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.

I wish finding someone to love you was easier. But, I guess, would it mean as much then?

Crushing

The French have this saying, "l'appel du vide".

It describes the feeling you get when standing on the edge of a cliff and have the unexplainable urge to jump.

That's kind of how I feel whenever I'm around you.

I want to drive you wild. I want you to look at me from across the room and be in awe. I want to swim in your brainwaves. I want you to slow dance with me in the sleepy hours of the night, breathing in the perfume of my skin and listening to the lullaby of my heartbeat. I want you to rescue me from my own destruction. I want to be vulnerable with you. I want you to sing me to sleep. I want to be your someone. I want to give you my love and be loved by you in return. I want you.

You're like the wind; free and gentle. I feel you close for a second and then you're gone, drifting away like a summer breeze. I want to get a glass jar and trap you inside, so you can't roam away, so you'll have to stay on my desk all the time or next to my pillow or in my bag when I go to class. It won't be a problem; I'll take good care of you, I promise. But that won't make you love me, will it?

Why do you tease me so? One moment you're smiling at me and talking to me and looking at me with that look in your eye that I can never define and the next you're brushing on by, leaving the hair standing up on my arms the only proof that you were even here. I feel so trapped between the earth and the sky when that happens. I turn into a dithering mess of emotions.

You're the wind and you know no bounds, you see no end to anything. And it's beautiful. But if you're the wind, how could you possibly love me?

You don't see yourself the way I do. You think you're awkward and unlovable and really kinda strange. But none of that is true; you just don't fit the stereotypical mold. That's what I love about you. You see your quirks as flaws; but are they really considered flaws if someone's in love with them? Cause I'm in love with your idiosyncrasies. It's not about your looks or how smart, cool or funny you are. You've got a heart of gold. That's all that matters. That's all I want.

I'm sorry I get attached so easily. I don't plan to, it just happens.

The End

So here I am, a heartbroken girl writing about lost love. I know, I know. How cliche. But I suppose I knew it had to happen sometime.

It appears you and I have reached our end. One who is less blind than I could have perhaps foretold this outcome, but I was to headstrong to consider the possibility. Nevertheless, we have come to a close, whether by your volition or mine, I cannot say. Our story is over, the book shut, the empty page to remain as such. All this I have come to realize, though probably not come to terms with, but I don't know if I will ever be able to understand or forgive your behavior.

I was so sure, so completely convinced that, no matter what happened, regardless of all obstacles life put in our path, you and I would have a whirlwind romance. The kind of affair that stands strong and unshakable in life, the kind that laughs at death's jealous attempts to separate. Our love would be talked about among our loved ones, read about in stories, seen portrayed in plays and on film. A romance that would leave its mark on the page of history, that would make the whole world stop and wonder. How could it not?

But maybe a love like that is only meant for times past and storybooks. Or perhaps, more honestly, a love like that was never meant for you and me. After all, love does not boast and is not proud or envious. And most of all, love never fails.

So maybe I didn't love you. Maybe I was simply captured in the foolish daydreams of a child, the imaginings of a hopeless romantic. But I thought I loved you. And maybe that's all that matters; it is certainly enough to cause a fragile, fanciful heart to break when the realization that it never will be comes crashing down.

I recently read Persuasion and couldn't help but wonder if, many years down the road you and I will realize that we were always meant to be together. But no, the lovers in the story had the blessing of someone separating them; we have only ourselves to blame.

I know that someday, someone will come along and sweep me off my feet and you will be banished from my mind, nothing but a bittersweet memory locked in the deep places of my heart. Or maybe a quieter love will conquer me; it will gently walk beside me and sweetly grasp my hand, the reassuring hold of an unassuming love. I look forward to those future days of love, or even simple infatuation. But until then I wait while my heart tries to heal that which may not be mendable. And I will learn how to live with you no longer being a part of m life. A new, independent me with a life full of possibility, free of what was and what could have been, looking only to what could and will be.

Chapter One; Or, Tongue-in-Cheek

I'm smart - a straight A student my whole life -, friendly, well-read, fairly creative and artistic, and have been known to have the occasional moment of witty genius, and I'm fat. Not morbidly obese like those hapless people you see on extreme makeover shows, but my chances of becoming any kind of model other than the plus-sized variety are impossible at best. You see, I was unfortunate enough to inherit the MacNeil genes in regard to my size. The MacNeil family is descendant from a clan from the brutal Scottish north and as such have a habit of producing tall, burly, strong men that, at least in the old days, chose similar women with whom to mate. After many years of this pattern, it came as no surprise when Shirley MacNeil produced four such Viking-esque children that grew to be men that averaged 6' 4" and 250 lbs. The second youngest of these offspring happens to be my father. And while he broke with the tradition and married a petite (at least by comparison) woman, my father ended up having three tall, strong sons. Oh, and me.

You see, rather than having the good sense to give me the Stranz family genes, which happen to be much slimmer and more suited to a female, God decided to saddle me with the MacNeil genes. Which mean I'm 5' 10" and have been struggling with being overweight since I was 10. Because, as everyone subconsciously knows, it's ok for boys to be heavier - they can play football, rugby or wrestle and are valued for their size. But a girl who's heavy? Yikes. There's no place for her.

Now, it's probably not fair for me to blame all of my weight issues on a poor choice by His Holiness when I was in the womb. I've always had a good appetite and an early discovery of my fondness for sweets and their power to solve all problems most definitely contributed to the crisis in which I currently find myself. All I'm saying is this: if He had seen fit to bless me with the slender figure and high metabolism of the Stranz clan, I doubt I'd be the disaster that I am.

Angst

Thoughts at 12:22 a.m.:

Since when did weight have anything to do with beauty? Why is it that how much you weigh is directly proportional to how attractive other people find you? It seems to be that as long as you are thin enough to be right on the cusp of being dangerously skinny, you're attractive. And the further you are from that precarious point, the more extra pounds you carry on your frame, the less beautiful you become. But why?

Maybe it's naive of me, but I though someone's beauty had more to do with their personality. That beauty meant empathy. Being attractive meant being compassionate, loving. I was under the impression that generosity, kindness, and a genuine nature mattered more than body fat percentages and clothing sizes. How silly of me.

It has never been more clear to me than this summer that beauty is dependent on weight.I've gained a substantial amount of weight recently, presumably because of my under-active thyroid and the depression that resulted as a side effect. And while I've never considered myself to be much of a beauty, I've noticed quite a change in the way I'm treated by people, strangers and friends alike. Men no longer look at me, their eyes sliding from my wide hips to the trim figures of my two best friends. I didn't often get many second glances, but I was at least considered in the days when I weighed less. There was a time when fellow young women would admire my hair from afar or perhaps steal an appreciative glance at my outfit. These days, I'm fortunate to get a small smile. At least I'm not as fat as her. Even my friends have stopped giving me the occasional compliment, The "your hair looks nice" or "I like your makeup" or even "what a cute outfit" days are long gone. But a mere memory from the happier, skinnier days.

Even though when I'm taking the measure of a man, I look for honesty and conversation skills and pass up the gorgeous-but-arrogant ones, I've begun to realize the rest of the world views things differently. So I guess I have to hit the gym and forget the ice cream or never be "beautiful" again.

Perhaps I'm as bad as everyone simply for noticing these things.

Anti-Love Letter

I find that my heart is sick - it is a sickness that eats away at my very being. I fear that the only cure for my tattered heart is your face, the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your hand entwined with mine. However, even if this medicine were readily available, I could not accept it. We are far beyond that point.

My reason cannot help but tell me that you are not the last man I will love. But this only makes my heart break all the more. I had so wanted you to be the love of my life. To grow old with you, to die with you. For us to have a whirlwind romance that would shake the very earth beneath our feet. To love as none but Tristan, Isolde, Romeo, Juliet, Darcy and Elizabeth would fathom.

I so longed to be in love when I was younger - little did I know. If this is love, then I want nothing of it. My heart breaks anew with every thought of you. It is unbearable torture. To have my soul weep within me and have no one to blame but myself. What a fool I am.

This is my favorite time of year - the flowers in bloom, the breeze playing an ever constant game of tag with the trees, and the sun smiling down on it all. I believe I would enjoy it immensely, if the remembrance of you did not weight so upon me. Ask yourself, my dear, whether you are not very cruel to have so tricked me, so destroyed my freedom.

It was long ago that you absorbed me so fully and yet I find myself still entirely unable to separate my soul from yours. Perhaps this is just an illusion though, for you appear to have no such difficulty. You seem to have forgotten me, detached yourself from the pieces of me and flung them aside without a backward glance. So I am left to gather them alone, to mend what I can, and to hope that one day I will stop loving you.

Beauty

I saw a handsome man today

he passed by me in the street

I smiled to myself

as I admired his style

and thought of the artistry

of the One who created him

I thought of him throughout the day

but when sitting across the table

from a most beloved beau

I realized that beauty

isn't what it seems to be

beloved beau

your eyes are more alive

than his will ever be

looking into them I see

the story of you and me

I read our history

in their green depths

your eyes may not be

framed by long dark lashes

but they are far more

enchanting to me

is beauty then all

that it seems?

or have we distorted it

confined it

limited it

created something

it was never meant to be?

that model may be marvelous

by typical standards

her features symmetrical

her lashes long and lush

skin clear, eyes bright

ideal body

and that is beauty

one part of it

not the whole picture

Dearest friend

cherished like a sister

your smile isn't beautiful

because your teeth are white

and somewhat straight

it's beautiful because behind it

I see the love

and happiness there

it's beautiful because

it lights up your face

and I can see

the worries fall away

the tension eases

and your stress lines

become laughing ones

your eyes

wrinkle with wry humor

so yes, stunning stranger

your fine figure caught my eye

but you will never be as beautiful

as my bosom buddy

your visage

though rather radiant

will never be as dear

as that of the friend

who was there through

thick and thin

beauty is more

than just symmetry

and sex appeal

it's the memories and moments

the love and laughter

captured by your features

so the next time you feel plain

remember that someone

thinks you beautiful because you

are quite simply

you.

Life

A young man died today. I didn't know him well, but as I sit here and remember the impact he had on my life and the life of so many others, I find myself in tears. He was so young and had so much potential and was so loved by his peers.

It could have been anyone. It could have been me, my best friend, my mother. It makes me realize just how fragile life is. We make all of these plans but really, all we have is this moment, right here and now. We want to believe we have longer and many of us do, but how are we to know what our future holds? Perhaps I will die tomorrow. Maybe I'll die tonight. Did I live a life that is worth remembering? Am I proud of what I've done? Did I make any difference at all?

I don't know the answer to any of these questions and that scares me to death. There's so much more that I want to do with my life, so many more plans that have yet to come to fruition, but what if I never have the chance to fulfill my goals? What can I do but try to make this moment, this very present matter? How do I fill each moment to its fullest potential? I don't know the answer to any of this. I can only raise these things to God and pray that he grants me peace of mind and an open heart.

One day we'll understand His plan for such tragedies as this. All of His mysteries will be revealed and our sadness and grief will make so much more sense. Until then, remember to live each day admirably and to its fullest. Never, never forget that each day, each breath is a gift and as such should be treasured. Don't take life for granted.

Rest Peacefully, Nick. You are loved and missed greatly.

Me in 150 Words or Less

I am

scholastic, sarcastic

caring, daring

artistic, linguistic

a little too much cussing

and not enough trusting

and while I'm being honest,

I'm not really the smartest.

I love reading

And have experience with leading.

I'm sympathetic, energetic,

And a little bit poetic.

A New Look On Love

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a hopeless romantic. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite movie (and one of my favorite books), my idea of a perfect date consists of a poetry reading by the fireside and an elegant dinner, I love art, poetry, and music (most of which are inspired by, if not about, love), and I have been on a search for "The One" since I was 5. Disney princess movies still make me teary-eyed and I eat up any romantic-comedy books and movies I come across not matter how excellent or mediocre they may be.

But have all these movies and books, poems and songs, distorted our idea of what love truly is? How much do we lose from the true meaning of love when our definition is limited to that feeling you experience when you first fall for someone?

Perhaps first it would be beneficial to differentiate between "love" and being "in love". Being in love with someone suggests a romantic attachment whereas loving is used more freely – for relatives, friends, even things. This is the most basic difference between the two but it is worth noting; many people forget that they are two very separate things that do, at times, go hand-in-hand.

Most of the time, these two manifestations of love coincide quite harmoniously. Where the problem lies is in romantic relationships. In our relationships, we expect to always experience the warm, fuzzy feelings you have when you first fall in love, the emotion fed to us by Hollywood and literature. And for a time this will be the case – many refer to this as the “honeymoon stage” of a relationship. Inevitably, however, the newness of the relationship will wear off and the butterflies will disappear. This makes room for a deeper, more passionate love to grow. The trouble that arises then, when the lovers discover that they no longer feel the typical feelings of being in love and conclude that they no longer love their significant other at all. Or, perhaps, they get the warm fuzzies for another and decide that this must mean they do not really love their lover.

What they do not understand is that the love they have for their significant other has taken on a form that they do not recognize, but it is still very much present. The loss of the giddiness of new love is not a sign of the lack of love but of the growth and progression of it.

It is true that sometimes people fall out of love with each other. That is a fact of life that is as inexplicable and heartbreaking as it was at the beginning of time. However, if people could understand that love is about so much more than the initial falling in love, I believe that we would see many more successful relationships than we do now. Popular culture has greatly underrepresented this truth and it’s hurting us far more than we know.

I Cannot Hear What You Say (another version)

“Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.”

If you were to ask many individuals to define friendship, you would get a different answer from every person to whom you pose the question. Some answers will resemble others and some will be drastically different. It is in these similarities and differences that friendship is formed; friendship, at its most basic level, is the overlapping of two individuals’ definitions.

We all have a set of values and morals that we live by; some of us are more firmly rooted in these than others, but each person defines themselves in certain ways. Likewise, we define the world around us in a particular manner. These values and definitions become a part of us and though they are subject to change, the existence of personal principles remains constant. When our standards overlap with others’, we form the bonds that we call friendship. The more our ideals match up, the closer we become; as we grow and develop as people, our standards often change, and thus, so do our friendships. When the likeness between our values lessens, the friendship begins to disintegrate. In the same way, when our principles become more and more analogous, our friendship grows and becomes closer.

In each friendship, different values play varying roles of importance. However, there are three principles that must be present in order for a friendship to reach its full potential, for it to blossom and grow as it could. One is not more important than another – it is the proper balance of the three that makes a friendship coalesce. Loyalty and trust (which are so closely interwoven they count as one), honesty, and communication are these three values. Without these at the foundation of a friendship, it does not have the support necessary to stand on its own and persevere.

No matter how similar or well balanced these shared values are, it is our actions within a friendship that determine how successful it will be. Telling each other that we agree is not the same as actually agreeing. Our actions reinforce the statements we make. Saying is not the same as doing. Inherently, this is an obvious statement. But when it comes to the application of this truth, it is often overlooked.

In a practical sense, I learn a new card game much more quickly and with more ease when I'm given the cards and told to play, rather than when I’m read a set of rules. In painting and sculpture, I can sit and learn the theory behind them day in and day out and still not know how to paint a masterpiece. These instructions, these words, do help; I cannot make up any rules I like for the card game that I'm playing, I have to follow those that make the game what it is. My painting will be better, from a critical standpoint, if I know about balance and composition. In life, just as in card games or art, you cannot remain ignorant of the rules but refusing to follow them is just as bad.

I can tell my friend, "Sure, I will go to the game with you" until I am blue in the face, but if I do not go to the game with them, what are those words worth? What did they mean? What purpose did they serve but to mislead my friend into thinking I would accompany them? Those words were worthless. They meant nothing because I, in fact, did not go with them. My words were a lie. Perhaps not intentionally, but they were a lie nonetheless. It follows then, that the simple phrase "I love you" is worthless. It means absolutely nothing if it is not followed up upon. "I love you" is a lie.

That is, unless there are actions present that give the words truth. I washed your car for you, I kissed you, I called you just to chat, I made you hot cocoa for you when you were stressed, I took time out of my day to care for you. Suddenly, "I love you" means something now. It is clear that I do indeed love you because I have done all these things for you. I simply did not say it and walk away. My words now mean something. They have worth. They are truth.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say." Our words, what we say, are far out-shadowed by the things that we do, the actions that we take. In friendships, as in all other aspects of life, it is imperative to follow through on your promises and say only that which you mean and intend to do.

Friendships are created and developed in very distinctive ways. But ultimately, those friendships that stand the test of time are rooted in loyalty, trust, honest, and communication and are between people who share similar moral codes. The final piece to an effective, engaged friendship is to take action and follow up on the things that you say. Even if all of these elements were in place, the friendship would not be without its bumps in the road. But who would want a relationship to be perfect?

I Cannot Hear What You Say

Saying is not the same as doing. Inherently, this is an obvious statement. But when it comes to the application of this truth, it is often overlooked.

In a practical sense, I learn a new card game much more quickly and with more ease when I'm given the cards and told to play, rather than read a set of rules. In painting and sculpture, I can sit and learn theory day in and day out and still not know how to paint a masterpiece. These instructions, these words do help; I cannot make up any rules I like for the card game that I'm playing, I have to follow those that make the game what it is. My painting will be better, from a critical sense, if I know about balance and composition. In life, just as in card games or art, you cannot remain ignorant of the rules, but refusing to follow them is just as bad.

I can say, "Yes, Mom, I will clean my room" until I am blue in the face, but if I do not clean my room, what are those words worth? What did they mean? What purpose did they serve but to mislead my mother into thinking I would obey? Those words were worthless. They meant nothing because I, in fact, did not clean my room. My words were a lie. Perhaps not intentionally, but they were a lie nonetheless. It follows then, that the simple phrase "I love you" is worthless. It means absolutely nothing if it is not followed up upon. "I love you" is a lie.

That is, unless there are actions present that give the words truth. I washed your car for you, I kissed you, I called you just to chat, I made you hot cocoa when you were stressed, I took time out of my day to care for you. Suddenly, "I love you" means something now. It is clear that I do indeed love you because I've done all these things for you. I simply didn't say it and walk away. My words now mean something. They have worth. They are truth.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say." Our words, what we say, are far out-shadowed by the things that we do, the actions that we take. The next time you feel like telling someone "I love you", hold your tongue and think of what you could do that would communicate your love to them. Act. And in this, perhaps find truth.

Running Scared

Loosely based on real events. Very loosely.

It was one of those memorable nights, the smiling moon and the cool night air setting the perfect scene. The question going around the bonfire was "What did you learn this year?" I couldn't think of anything else. I guess it was time to talk about it. It was my turn to answer; everyone was watching me. Ok, deep breath. It's now or never.

"So this past year, my best friend decided she no longer wanted to be my friend. And she left, just like that. No goodbyes, no explanations, nothing," I said, determined to keep a strong exterior. My heart pounded against my chest as I continued with my story. I tried to keep my tone light and the details vague; no one need know just how much this has affected me.

But then the truth takes over as it hits me. Here it comes. I've been hiding it for so long and it's finally done. I can't lie to these people. If I can't tell them the truth, who can I tell? It's time I let myself feel. So the truth came out through my lips and with it, a steady stream of tears. That much hurt buried for so long gains momentum; like a rock blocking a waterfall - eventually the water will build up so much that it will simply shoot the rock out of the way and crash down the fall with more strength and ferocity than before. You can only hide the truth for so long. And so I tell them; I weave for them a tapestry of the loss, the pain, the disabling fear, and the hurt of not being enough. And then I tell them what I learned - rather, what God had taught me. God had taught me that you mustn't put your faith in people. They will always disappoint you, no matter how wonderful and good they are. The only person you can trust to always be there for you is God himself.

"It was a hard way to learn the lesson, but it is a lesson worth learning." I stare into the fire and let the last tears fall as I wait for the response. The silence weighs down the air around me and I wait, afraid to even breathe.

"Listen," I hear someone start and look to see him speaking, "I love you," he says, his tone completely serious. Ok, I expected some interesting responses but...what?

"And I don't mean that in a cutesy 'oh let's be BFFs' way. I mean it in an I'd-take-a-bullet-for-you way. And I know that there are so many people here who feel the same." All right, that might be taking this a little too far.

"You are an astounding human being the likes of which aren't seen very often on this earth. Not to mention you're a sensational friend. Just because one (clearly insane) person decided not to be your friend, you shouldn't write yourself off. You're amazing and I for one would love nothing more than a friend like you."

Wow. I smiled shakily at him, then looked down at the ground. I didn't know how to process this. A few more people comment, most agreeing with him, but I didn't really pay too much attention. I was still absorbing everything that he just said. The question continues around the campfire and I sit and stare at the flames, lost in my own thoughts.

I wasn't prepared for that, it wasn't what I expected at all. I'd been so caught up in what I didn't have - that one friend - that I forgot all about what I did have and the people I could be friends with. And that those words - words of admiration that I couldn't believe were directed at me - should come from him, this wonderful young man who I barely knew, well, I didn't know how to handle that. How could anyone think so highly of me, especially someone I hardly know?

The fire is dying, and it's decided that we should head in for the night. It's well past 2 a.m. and we're all tired. I stand up and slowly brush off my jeans, not really aware of what's going on around me. I grab my blanket and look toward the house. Everyone's already halfway there - or, almost everyone.

"Hey..." he says, coming toward me.

"Yeah?" I say, trying to keep my composure. I don't know what to expect after the speech he just made. He's been surprising me all night.

"I just wanted to let you know," he begins, continuing to step closer, "that I meant everything I said. I know it's a little unorthodox, seeing as we don't know each other that well. But - I mean - I can't explain it, but I feel like I've known you my whole life. It doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel."

I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks and hope the firelight is too dim for him to notice. I concentrate on brushing off and folding my blanket so I don't have to look him in the eyes.

"I appreciate it," I say, "It's not easy to be honest like that." What am I saying? What kind of response is that?

"No," he says, taking the blanket out of my hands, "it wasn't easy. But that's because there were so many people around. I would've preferred to tell you in private. But I can't seem to get you alone. That is," he looked around, "until now."

He smiled at me, his eyes searching mine for their response. I can't imagine what they're saying, I'm feeling such a mess of emotions - vulnerability, fear, excitement. I think I know where this is going, but I don't know what I want to do about it. He's forbidden fruit.

"Yeah, it looks like it's just us and the wild animals," I joke, trying to keep the tone light.

He just looks at me, knowing that's not what I want to say. So I go for it.

"Thank you, for what you said earlier. I needed to hear it. And...well, it really meant a lot." My eyes well up again and a single tear runs down my cheek.

He gently wipes the tear from my cheek and then pulls me into a hug, his strong arms enfolding me, my cheek pressed to his chest. I don't know for how long the embrace lasts; I'm lost in the warmth of his body against mine.

After my tears subside, I pull away from him, but he puts his hands on either side of my face. He looks at me imploringly, and then pulls me closer so that our foreheads are touching. Suddenly, and inexplicably, I feel fear rise in my chest. I instinctively know that I'm not ready for whatever is coming next.

"I really, really like about you," he says, holding my gaze, "And I want to do something about that. I know this is all happening really fast, so if you need time to think, I understand. I just wanted you to know."

My heart is pounding in my chest, like it's trying to run away from my body, to run away from him.

"I - I don't know what to say."

"That's ok," he says warmly, "I know it's a lot to take in."

"No, I - well, I really care about you. I do. It's just - you're my best friend's cousin." How do I say this? "You're so wonderful, and I couldn't ask for anything better, I just - you're off limits. I can't do this. I'm sorry."

I take his hands from my face, grab the blanket and race away.

"Wait! Please - wait!" I hear behind me.

But I don't stop. I continue to stumble away, my tears blurring my sight. I get as far as my legs will go at a run, and slow down. When I get to the fence, I look back just once. He's still there, frozen by the glowing embers of the fire.

Weary 2: The Actual Letter

I thought you might like to see the product of my last post: a letter written to the person to which Weary referred. It shows the difference between not only my emotion vs. more rational writing, but my private writing vs. what I would put in a letter to someone. To be honest, I'm quite proud of it. Here goes. (the blanks are name omission)

Dear _____,

In lieu of an angry speech that would probably be the best I would ever regret, I have decided to write you a letter. I pray it will effectively communicate all that I wish to say to you and, perhaps more importantly, the feeling behind the words. Know that these words, while written with a tumultuous state of mind, are not products of the heat of the moment; I have spent many a day mulling over my thoughts and feeling to make sure that the message I send you is one of truth to the way I feel.

I am disappointed. I had sincerely hoped this Christmas break would give us a chance to reconnect and recharge our friendship. Neither has happened. I will be the first to say that some of the blame lies with me; I was not diligent in contacting you or even in letting you know of my wishes. But, as I'm sure you know, communication is a two-way street and you, too, were hardly in contact with me. However, where the blame lies is beside the point. The fact of the matter is that Christmas break is now over, you and I saw each other but once, and our friendship is on more uncertain ground than ever before.

The issue at hand is not that we spent so little time together this break, though it is a tragedy. No, the problem is one that has been gathering momentum since our last summer before we became college students: We take each other for granted. I know there are other issues but this is the one most glaring to me. Last summer you were angry with me because you felt that I was spending all my time with ______ and no longer cared for you. Over Thanksgiving, I expressed my frustration with you for not being more diligent in talking to me. In both situations, the other was completely unaware of how they were making the first feel. We simply were not keeping track of how our actions were affecting each other. Had I seen you over New Year's, that would have been my wise lesson for the year.; it is imperative to be aware of the consequences of your actions, especially how said actions affect those around you.

One of my favorite Bible verses is 1 John 3:18. It says, "Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." It serves as a good reminder to me that many times, words simply aren't enough when dealing with things like love, loyalty and trust. Words aren't enough anymore, ______. I cannot continue to cling to old promises in hopes that they will one day be fulfilled. I need you to prove to me that this friendship matters to you, no by saying anything but by doing something. For this to work when we are so far away from each other, we are both going to have to maintain it. I feel that I have done so (please correct me if I'm wrong) but that you, unfortunately, are lacking. If you feel, as I do, that this friendship is worth fighting for, you must put in more effort.

I am not saying any of this because I wish to end our friendship or to say that I think you are a bad person. On the contrary, I want quite badly to be your friend. Much more so, in fact, that I think you wish to be mine. It is with that motivation I say what follows: I want you to be my good friend but until you start acting like one, I no longer consider you as such.

Again, please do not take this as a resignation - I have yet to throw in the towel. You mean too much to me; meeting you turned my world around and I know that God has much more in store for our friendship. I am merely stating that I am weary. I have invested so much in this friendship - my time, my energy, my emotions, my heart - and right now, I do not feel like my investment is being returned. For the time being, have ceased to invest. And I will not begin again until I see you investing in me. I give the reigns to you now to do with what you will.

I pray that you are well and that this letter meets with no misunderstanding.

Most sincerely,

Your friend,

Weary

I'm so tired, so very tired of this. My emotions are sent on a roller-coaster ride with you, and it's no longer fun and exhilarating; it's monotonous. I feel like I'm upset with you for the same thing over and over again. We get over it and appear to move on but then find ourselves back, having fallen again into the same rut. I don't know how to break out of this exhaustive cycle.

I'm so sick of being disappointed by you. Yeah, maybe I've put you on a pedestal but that's only because you told me you could handle it - you said you held yourself to a higher standard. Well it's a standard that you are no longer meeting. Disappointment creates fatigue and fatigue is ruinous to a friendship.

Nights like these enervate me; I lose interest in everything. I just want to close my eyes, fall into a deep slumber, and wake up to find it's all been a bad dream. But I know that can't happen, it's all too real - the tears are too real, the chagrin too real, the heartache much too real. I guess that's what this all boils down to. I expected too much of you. I wanted you to be my superman, my knight in shining armor and you've fallen flat. You're nothing that I wanted you to be. No, that's not true. You are so close to being everything that I wanted, and that's worse; to have all that you've been dreaming of right at your fingertips only to find that it's just too far to grab. Maybe it's all been an illusion - I created you into what I wanted you to be but now the glass of my perfect picture has shattered. And I'm left holding the shards, lamenting that my fairy tale couldn't be true.

I feel like I've been such a good friend to you. I've invested so much time and effort and emotion, but you're not holding up your end of the deal. I want to mean as much to you as you mean to me. But the fact of the matter is, the only people I should make a priority in my life are the ones who make me a priority in theirs. I need you to prove that I matter to you. I need you to show me that this friendship means something to you. I need you to make that effort. One of my favorite Bible verses is 1 John 3:18: "Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." Words are no longer enough. I need action.

I want you to be my good friend but until you start acting like one, I no longer consider you as such.

You've let me down, and I am weary.