http://ofarrowheadsandscissortails.blogspot.com/view/classic

Yesterday, I drove around for three hours in my city. I downloaded Lady A's new album in celebration of the CMA's and I felt Tennessee for the first time in forever. This time last year, I listened to them all the time with Thomas. I think it's interesting how they've put something new out in this "re-birth" of my life. It sounds like a re-birth.
I love "Cold as Stone". It's so fitting. That's how I feel. I always feel so tender-hearted. Everything hurts.


"Wish I was cold as stone-
Then I wouldn't feel a thing.
Wish I didn't have this heart,
Then I wouldn't know the sting of the rain.
I could stand strong and still-
Watching you walk away.
I wouldn't hurt like this,
Or feel so all alone...
I wish I was cold as stone."


I dropped by the Barns and Noble at Vandy. I was sad the second I walked in. Thomas always hated Borders, but the truth is...I hate the new store. It's cold. There's an entire corner sectioned off for E-books. That was the same corner Dickinson's work used to be in. Everything changes. It's almost as if, not only do I not get to finish my book, I'm having pages ripped out, God's redacting the story...everything is marked out and written over...perhaps his goal is to erase my memories too. It wouldn't be the worst thing. Sometimes I wish he would take that whole fragment of time out of my life so I wouldn't hurt.

The truth is, he gave me Nashville once...and when I got into that relationship, for awhile I helped Thomas love it. But he was never happy, and then I was never happy here. It wasn't his fault...but he was always preparing to leave. And I wanted to leave. I even considered going backwards and moving back home. God gave me this blessing, and I spit on it. Now, I feel the city alive again...while I'm devastated...at the same time, I'm grateful. When Thomas left my life, I was given Nashville again.
He was obviously given what he needed too! He has friends now. He seems happy. I'm sad he never had friends when we were together...because I think that would have made our relationship better. I wanted to have friends so bad! I wish I could have made him happy. But if losing me was what it took to bring him the true joy he was always searching for, I'm glad it happened. I'm sad I couldn't give him what he was searching for...but ultimately, I've come to understand that's not my job. Leaving him behind is what makes him happy. So that's what I'm doing.

This week has been really hard. I've cried a lot at the drop of a hat for no real reason, my journal is coming apart at the seams...my painting is coming along well. That's what I do. I don't really eat anymore. I've lost fifteen pounds. I don't have the stomach for eating. But I suppose my system has detoxed, because my skin...is finally perfect. Isn't it funny how the things we chase constantly allude us? I used to strive for outward beauty and nothing was ever good enough. Now, I strive for peace...and all the things I avidly chased were given to me. I regret wasting so much time griping about my appearance and hating myself when I could have been investing in my relationship. I think Thomas will always hate me for that. But I'm okay with myself. I forgive myself. I was imperfect...and at times completely terrible. But I loved, I loved with every bit of me, that was the problem...I loved too much, and i didn't want to share. If that wasn't good enough for him...he doesn't deserve me. And that's the truth.

Lau said to pray it away...pray the anger and the sorrow away when it comes and sits on my chest. I need to start asking for reasons why. She said that the second she started asking for reasons why it happened, God started revealing things. I tried that in the beginning because I wanted to be angry enough to be over it so badly. When I did though, all the things I found out were gray. Nothing was black and white. What is cheating? What is "talking"? What is "just friends"? Where is the line, and where is it blurred and was it crossed? There was so much. Everything hurt. But I'm ready now...I'm ready to just wash my hands of it. Lau said it's the remedy...it will make me fall out of love. I must.



Nathan J. Bond said something great...he said "Love = Effort, if someone leaves you they don't love you. Love doesn't end. We don't just quit...we don't just stop working at it. It doesn't fail."


I agree. I wish I could have fallen out of love as easy as he did.


But again like Elizabeth Gilbert says


"This is a good sign, having a broken heart-it means we tried for something..."

One of these days, I'll be like Cameron Conant, and I'll write a book about how sin can destroy a relationship. These compositions, especially the ones of which I have written in the past month have only been derived from hurt...with the intention to hurt. "People only hurt when they are hurt", he says...their story, is ours. "With or Without You"...read it. I found it at McKay for .75 cents. It's about us. The truth is, it sat on my shelf for a year, perhaps...if I had read it...if I had read my fate before it happened, I could have stopped it. If only I could have handled things differently. It doesn't matter what close friends say, it doesn't matter what anyone says. I was so deeply in love, and he made a mistake. Big deal. People make mistakes. The fault is mine. I destroyed our relationship. I ran us into the ground with words, and a heart full of misunderstanding and anger. Conant writes about his wife Sara in the book:

"But she was so hurt, so wounded, that these accusations and threats came spilling out of her almost uncontrollably, as if there were a hole in her heart and she could no longer hold back what was inside."

That's how I felt, that's how I still feel. It hurts my feelings...breathing hurts my feelings. On adrenaline I ran for a month, I basked in the new blessings God showered me with. I'd convinced myself I'd moved on. And I have...in some senses. But now, there's pain...there's so much inexplicable pain. It's a new hurt...it's a different kind. It's a void that nags, this position of not knowing what to do with myself. Life has been tasted, but the distraction has died. The emptiness without him is still here...as empty as it ever was. And there is so much sorrow over wounds that will never have the opportunity to be mended...the chance to fix it that was never really given...there is a corpse that can't be revived...this is healing. It's going to hurt...and hurt...and hurt...it's now, the pulsating dull pain that is almost worse than the expected excruciating one. It aches...it aches today...it will ache tomorrow...it will ache next Thursday...it will ache through the holidays...it will ache. Then, when he leaves in May, I will be naked all over again...and the pain will change...and it will ache.
I've stepped forward. I'm doing all the right things...I'm going on dates, I'm keeping myself busy, I'm setting new goals...but my heart is still wrapped up in him. How can I be so cruel as to lead anyone else on when I know who I love? I know who I love. I know where my heart is...and though it does not choose to be there...it's there. It's the quiet ache...the lonely house with the lights on late...anticipating any sign of something. I sit on the porch with an extra cup of coffee made...just incase. I always make six cups. At first, it was because of my mom and I...then, it was because of us. I always make six cups...two perfect canisters.
I was given up for understandable reasons. I wasn't what I could have been. There are so many sides, so many broken pieces...but I pick every single shattered one up and examine it. I want to examine it...even if he doesn't care...I want to examine them. They were once mine...pieced together or not, I love them still.
Even in the broken, oh, my heart is too soft, and my love too forgiving, my hope too big for the circumstances, my sorrow too deep for breath.
Move on?

Yeah...I have-
But my heart?
It doesn't seem to be healing so well.

"Don't you let it break your heart..."

Bernie to the Moon

Seeing Morgan was wonderful today. We went to Casablanca in the gulch and got Americanos and hummus. It was so great to sit down and talk. I cried a little, and it felt so relieving. I told her how bad I missed him today, and that I was ashamed because I've made so much progress in getting "over it". I suppose one step forward and four steps back will even out somewhere down the line, or maybe eventually the backwards steps will decrease and I'll bound forward in a new direction. Today, was a fail.

I discussed with her the sadness of having someone take phenomenal care of you, then telling you to never speak to them again...and how it feels that our entire relationship is summed up in avoidance/the occasional glance/the avoidance of the occasional glance. This person, that I was so certain was my forever...shares with me now...one common thing-the avoidance of the occasional glance. At least we still have that in common. When Thomas leaves in May, I'm going to feel raw all over again. Most of the time, I pathetically feel like I'm in this dog and pony show. Make-up, hair, make-up, hair, clothing, make-up, hair...in preparation for this "moment" that I have in my head where he passes me and actually notices me...actually sees me...or maybe even misses me a little. And perhaps it's only because it's late and I am willing to admit how pathetic I am. But the truth is...I am. Nomatter how much I want to hate him, I love him. I love that I hate him and I hate him for not loving me. I hate him for not being sad over us, and I love him in my mind like he's still some kind of charming prince. There's this line in a Cold song:

"I can't hold on, this happens all the time-I still find my faith in you."

I can't wait for the day that I can stop lying to myself...I can't wait for the day that I actually don't love him anymore, and I actually don't have faith in him. I hate myself for the faith I've always had in Thomas Howard. It's like this wildfire inside of me that continues to burn...burn down even my own vineyards. At the expense of myself, I love him.

I am so angry about the lack of sympathy he has, I am enraged still, by some of the things he said. But overall, I still remember the good more than the bad. I wish I could be more like him. I wish I could remember only the junky things over the good. I wish I could make the worst of what we had. If I did-if I could stop loving him, the way he stopped loving me...all would feel so much better. But even then, I probably wouldn't take it. It'd be the option I'd pass up...just to love him a little bit longer. I think I always will. I always did. And even though, now, I don't feel like I ever really meant anything to him. He meant everything to me. And what we had was beautiful. Even the hard times. Days with him, were never bad. The fighting made me weary, but...he always made me happy. He was my best friend. But I have forced myself to adjust to the concept that I wasn't his. He's better now...without me. And I've adapted to that being okay. He just didn't want me. He won't be the first...he won't be the last. It just isn't so easy...because I loved him...even, if he never loved me back.

"This is a good sign, having a broken heart-it means we tried for something."

-Elizabeth Gilbert

Atlanta

"I had to describe your style the other day to someone...and I had the hardest time...it's very unique."

-Nathan J. Bond

"You look like a little bohemian poet. I just want you to read me a poem so I can snap for you...[only if there's chai tea]..."

-Autumn J. Fitzgerald

“God never withholds from His child that which His love and wisdom call good. God’s refusals are always merciful —'severe mercies' at times, but mercies all the same. God never denies us our heart's desire except to give us something better.” —Elisabeth Elliot

I've got pretty hands...

"Artists' hands"

Autumn tells me.

Ciera says the same thing.

She used to draw sketches of

My hands when she was bored.

I once had a nail tech tell me

As a young child,

I had the prettiest fingers she'd ever seen.

I honestly don't understand.

My mother's hands are much lovelier-

Full of grace, slender...patient.

My hands grip hard,

Hold on too tight,

Smother

And smolder

People

Prismas

Pastels

And my brushes.

Thomas used to make fun of me for typing too loud.

My hands just...play.

I can do nothing else.

I suppose they fidget.

They love to be held.

Thomas used to love to hold my hands.

Now, they grasp the handle of my morning coffee

In a lonely way...

There is a feebleness to my hands

That I'm sure no one has noticed.

When I'm around him,

They fall often limp into my lap...

Or they hold tight

Things to my stomach-

My laptop,

My books...

My...scarf becomes armor,

If that's all I have.

They fiddle and write to release energy.

Today,

I was playing in my new letter box.

I'd had an hour off so I pounced

Leaves all the way down Richland.

I then made my way to the library...

I noticed someone walking towards me,

But I didn't glance up until it was too late-

Involuntarily

My body shot up the hill.

I had to restrain myself from breaking into a run.

My hands held my letter box tight.

I distracted myself by saying hello to Jamie.

I never thought I'd physically run away from someone I love so much...

But time has just made it worse, not better.

I can't face him anymore.

The pain has gotten worse.

Not better.

So, I got sick to my stomach,

And sat down to write this.

I noticed my hands and

I thought I'd compose...

Autumn says my hands are beautiful,

And if Thomas won't love them anymore-

At least

She does.

Autumn's house

Feels like

Up North.

It's simple,

hidden inside of a hill,

With huge trees that drape

And cradle it.

I tried to escape...

Oh, but it's cruel,

There's alway something to miss you with.

They chatter chatter chatter

Words drip like gasoline,

They're clumsy with their matches,

And the dissonance in me,

Is all that remains-

After the ignition.

I'm showered in the ashes

Of our condition.

Strep Throat

Dislike.

If I could have anything in the world it would be

That incredibly THICK brown leather bound sketchbook from Barns and Noble

Without lined paper,

And the cool round silver emblem on the front.

I think it's 40 dollars.

But I'd spend it.

And I'd tell our story.

I might need two.

Devon

Got me soup today,

Because I was sick.

I'm pretty sure,

That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.

I'm so lucky.

A Confession:

Now, I see the unhealthiness of it all, and it wasn't what I would have chosen. I'll never believe we were defected or that all of this was intended to be the fate we came to. I believe-I'll always believe we were meant to be.

We took a wrong turn somewhere, and I'm not sure where spats turned into arguments and arguments turned into the civil war. I'm not sure where water became toxic and we were out for blood every day. I'll never believe it was supposed to end up that way. I don't believe we were bad for each-other. I will never believe that. It was...a course of actions, that were taken...it was...words that were never meant to be said.

If you hadn't-

And I hadn't-

We'd still be just as in love as we ever were. And I believe we were. I say a lot of things in anger to destroy what we had in my own mind so it doesn't hurt so badly that I lost it. But the truth is, what we had was exactly what I wanted. It was when it became what I never wanted that I couldn't adapt to it. I don't feel like that is my fault. But I suppose it's not yours either. It's the nature of the beast...it's the contamination of sin, the blackness of sorrow...the dagger of truth.

If I could go back to last October, I'd do everything different.

If only I'd known then, what I know now.

I wish I had respected myself. I wish I had loved myself more than to constantly complain about my body and my inadequacies, I wish I would have been as secure as I am now. I wish I could have seen myself for what I really was; I wish I'd realized my sufficiency was in Christ, and that I was whole...and I think, everything could have been different. I wish I had been older and wiser...I wish I had been more patient. I wish I would have talked less and listened more.

I can't blame you for anything you did. I wasn't the best. I wasn't desirable, because I was so broken. In my new lessons, I am sad. I fight looking backward all the time. I can't go there. I often wonder...if I could, would I? If I could choose you again; if I could do it over...would I?

Yes.

You're still the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with.

But I know that can't be. And I've made myself content with it. I cry sometimes, but it's a small casualty when you've lost your soulmate.

I stay progressive so I can run right out the door

Without looking your way,

I flee yesterday

Or attempt to before it ensnares me.

I'm starting to spend less time wallowing and more time working.

If we can truly choose our own paths...I hate that ours ended.

But it ended. It will never be again.

Thinking about it is exhausting.

You quit me.

But I forgive you.

I suppose now, that's all I can do-

Because I can't control time.

But if I were wishing...

I'd request to rewind it.

I'd give anything to feel you again.

"My yesterdays are all boxed up and neatly put away-
But every now and then you come to mind.
You were always waiting to be picked to play the game,
But when your name was called, you found a place to hide...
When you knew that I was always on your side."

We're off to Georgia today, for a new adventure.

I can't wait to see Nathan J. Bond

And meet Esteban, Blake and Jordan.

It'll be nice to escape this place,

For awhile.

Oh,

You use your heart as a weapon,

And it hurts like heaven...

#socoldsocoldsocold

-Coldplay

When I watch movies

That are set in places

Where we talked about living

It makes me wish

I had lived that life.

Maybe if I had just given everything up

And agreed to move to Boston,

It would have been okay.

Or if I had been someone else...

If I had been her...

Maybe it would have been right.

I miss you today. That's my favorite shirt-on you. And I love your cowboy boots too. I wish you didn't hate me.

There's a constant exhaustion that veils my eyes. I've surrendered to it time and again. The paths of the neighborhood know it well-I have frequent conversations with them. Weary in heart, weary in mind-weary in soul. I ache to have a place to go down to drink. I enter with my Bible in desperation, and I come out still waiting on anything. Oh, I pray that I might have rest.

Rest.

To Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

-Keats

I met my own reflection

In a pool of shattered glass,

But I didn't have the courage to piece myself

Back together again.

Recollection now,

Has become a different kind of foe-

Like the luke-warmth of a facade

That sends daggers into you.

My eyes were separated,

One looked up and one looked all around,

And I had no expression at all-

There were only the sharp shining

Pieces of who I was-

Oh,

I never knew her either.

The pieces of me have no mercy

On me...

So I recoil and

Pause

In a stagnate disbelief.

I cried today,

For the first time in awhile.

It happens randomly,

And usually in inappropriate places

Like the checkout line at Kroger

Or while pumping gas.

I go into full blown weeping episodes.

But I'm proud to say

The couch is up for grabs...

For new tears

To be shed over boys that

Aren't worth it.

I'm officially

Okay.

Not great-

Not yet,

But I survived

All the things I thought I wouldn't...

I lost you

And I lived.

I once wrote in my journal:

"The cruel thing about God, is that he's able to forgive and forget. We are commanded to forgive...but we have to remember everything."

If I could choose to forget would I?

No...

Newton's Third Law:

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The Melancholy First Step

It should have rained the day I left Detroit for the last time. The northern sky owed me that much. I composed “The Soundtrack of Rain” while flying over Ohio. I made entire notebooks of lists in an attempt to describe the sorrow that waded in my stomach; the broken-ness of my spirit. The dreariness that devoured our precious departing was all encompassing. I stared down at the contrast of my rich, crimson moccasins against the cold, black tile. It was so shiny and slick I gazed into the soul peering out of my reflection…all I remember is my berry lipstick and oh…those weary grey eyes. Even then I didn’t understand the entirety of what I would later compose. The past seven months have been a melancholy progression, throughout which I have recorded small vivid portions that have, until recently, been seeking a name.

“The Melancholy First Step”, that is what I have encountered in some way, shape or form every day since April came and demolished everything; destroyed compassion with vicious truth leaving no room for recovery.

This low introduces itself in peculiar ways. It is the division of entanglement, the chain-link barrier between two broken, brow-beaten friends, the shift away as one body drifts towards the static frenzy of the terminal and the other stands barren and lifeless. It is the motion of weary toes, as they angle outward and the miles begin- when distance shrouds every sense, when the impending first breath apart arrives. It hangs heavy in still air, when one body inches further away from the vibrancy of yesterday-when the intertwined grew together rather than mangled, when the ignited breathed together rather than stifled out. It is the pause that courses through the space between words, and it is the waiting that steals breath…for eyes to be out of sight, before body escapes then spirit, then memory. It is the ocean between quiet houses that pours itself into the jars of a last kiss. It is as immanent as death; it is unpredictable and unforgiving. It plays the minor keys that wrap themselves up-that drift to sleep on the heart, weighing heavy so as not to be forgotten. And when it is done with its song, the tired course comes…and all that words are left with is wonder.

We are strangers

And the space between us

Is no longer awkward.

It feels more natural

To be apart

Than it does

To imagine us back together.

And that in itself

Makes me sad.

Your eyes are gray.

That's all I know,

You're swimming in it.

"It just didn't work..."

No, I guess not...

But I can't figure out

If it was by fate or

Because of the fact that you

Just gave up.

I miss your writing today, among other things. But I put the letters away a long time ago. I can't bare to keep trying to decipher what was real and what was a lie.

Rut

"We're hot and treading...",

They lie.

They're not devouring rugged rubble

Roads

That pine for European skies...

Pretenders drenched in eloquence-

Never surrendering their pride;

Rubber and pure ambition,

Saturated in their lies.

No, they-

Skid, spit, spew...

Mud up into the abyss where prayers

Wade back and forth through time;

Waiting on their maker to take them

And give them the final say.

They mark territories

On these couch cushions.

"She's a lonely soul-going nowhere..."

People say.

Oh, the wheels

I've confined my world to-

They were cheaply fulfilling,

Hub-caps appealing;

But I was ripped from fantasy-

Checked up on by reality...

Whose lyrics were doused in arsenic

Though they claimed the tick

Between "Sharp" and "Tactful".

He was

A little bit profane.

"Sir, please don't cross my path again...".

According to him-

Fingers that haven't grazed degrees;

Or that have received constant consistent C's-

Only bask in the static keys of perforated light;

Of small paycheck cubicles...

The devouring of "off-brand" pyramids

On

Looming grocery store nights.

So...

I got her

Medal shoes for

Treading backwards-

Half medal rounds;

Krazy glued them to her feet.

She's erasing twilights;

Thick navy eyes

And

Fire-twisted, tangerine skies

Where my tongue betrayed me.

Coffee over conversations

When

Truth delved so deeply into the

Crevices of lies

The combination

Birthed a hybrid category:

Glamourous gossip

Over

Phenomenal tragedies

Hand crafted by women who speak to much and know too little...

Breathing life into something more

Nostalgic than the truth;

Iced and laced with sweet grays-

Less bitter than a lie.

Oh, their craftsmanship

Solidified the walls

That suffocated you and I.

The acidity

Fascinated our

Sick tendency to

Rip

Each-other apart at the seams,

Causing Independence

To take sail

And voyage towards his own dreams.

We were fluid-

We were subject

To the vessels that carried us away

That pumped blood

Into the heart of the earth that was inevitably

Bound by time and

Fate

That

Demolished our

Blue-prints before

Warning us

That our attempts were too late.

I was an explosive

Volatile,

Time-bomb,

Fragile to the touch-

And you were

Dancing on a tight-rope

Spewing truths too

Corrupt

For my low tolerance

To tolerate.

So now we're voyaging elsewhere-

Some new frontier...

Knocking forts down

Or so it appears you are.

Do they act well for me;

Present me like

I'm moving?

If I spin in the opposite direction

I become a tornado that speaks gibberish

To your foreign eye

And stranger's tongue.

Your ears and

Night-time recollection

Will never conceive of

How near or far I've come.

So dig, delve

Hot treading babies

Into the deep southern clay-

Let me claim it glory whether or

Not I'm here to stay.

My hands just long to look occupied;

Like carpet bags are satiated-bellies full of supplies...

Like Europe is anticipating me on the other side.

I'll let you

Imagine what her medal shoes do...

When you drift away from me

And the music dies.

Little House

The warm floor expands beneath my

Soft bare feet;

It's glossed and vibrating the acoustics

Dancing off of Levi's guitar.

The berry coats my lips

And shimmers beneath the warm glow

Of a soft lamp.

The room is dim,

The candles dance as his voice fluctuates from

Low to high

To high

To low again;

The flame extends upward

Then condenses and expands outward.

He sings my heart...

Of heartbreaks

On long bus rides

In Europe-

Of ticking clocks

And love doesn't run out

Before logic.

But I don't pool backward into

Any memory of you

Because I do not allow myself to.

The frost kisses the window panes-

The smoke pipes outward

And dances across the silver

And navy quilts of October-

I am surrounded by warmth.

I feel a hand

Graze the freckles on

The top of my back.

And I'm home...

In this little house.

Back to the Drawing Board

My nose drinks...

My senses soak up the citrus of your cologne.

The soft cushions of my stomach

Are dissatisfied and unforgiving-

They reject you before my heart can.

My encompassing skin

Jumps to my own defense;

Fists clench-

Jaws tense...

I don't want you.

The insides of my chest and throat crawl

At your kind remarks,

My forehead scrunches

You pretend to know me...

You don't.

Only Thomas knows me.

My ears grow hot.

I want out of your reach...

Don't place your hand on my knee.

You're not him.

That's his knee-

If not by love then by

The loyalty that still cloaks over me.

Your eloquence

Composes the story you wish you were,

My intuition stirs...

I feel my body drift away, my heart escapes elsewhere in

A local earl-grey conversation...

The smell enters my nose...

And you're still not him.

I check my watch.

Your writing touches all the right notes...

But all I want is to rip out my own eyes

And burn my ears up so I can stop hearing you.

I wish your mouth would self destruct.

You pay the tab.

I watch your hands reach forward and I'm repulsed by them.

They are not his-

You don't have a freckle on your thumb.

My

Skin anticipates

The car seat

In which your lips will never meet mine-

Despite your firm belief...

Please stop touching me.

Do not touch me.

That's not your hand, sir.

That's Thomas' hand...

If not by loyalty than by the love

That's always been his.

There may be nothing left of he and I,

But there's nothing here,

In me

That wants you.

It's a long way home in awkward sighs...

Don't get my door,

That's what he used to do.

Praise God for

Southern gentlemen in delicious cologne...

But

I'll not hesitate in admitting

That all

I considered to be "home"

Was not sufficient.

It is not Luzerne...

You aren't him...

And if I can't have Thomas...

I'd rather be alone.

Foe-

This gray

That inspires backwards traveling;

Spirals still...

Awakens

The demons that stir thick;

Through this cauldron

Of fear my song of sorrow wades-

Worried-

My soul unsaved

Skids, grinds

Is stained by

Pavement.

You're a soft retreat...

In my old minds eye-

If only you'd been

What I wish you were...

I'd curl up

In you

And go to sleep.

I'm kind of uncomfortable

With my clearer skin,

Smaller waist-line

And

New ability to talk to

Absolutely anyone

Without feeling

Shrouded with

Shame

Or

Fear

Or

Embarrassment.

I'm not exactly sure when

My reflection became less yours and

More mine

But I'm not used to it.

I get this "sick-pit"

Feeling when I see my own pictures

It makes me lose my appetite

Causing me furthermore

To look less like myself.

My hair is much longer,

I've developed a new sense of style.

The best compliment I've heard in awhile:

"You look so healthy and alive."

I feel so raw and out of place.

Most of the time it's really great-

It's new...

Other times,

I go to bed at night

Pining to go backwards towards more familiar feelings.

I'm so much happier now.

I play HARD every day

So much so that I forget everything else...

Because I'm so immersed

In this new found freedom.

But I feel so different.

The other day Autumn and I were at Target

And I caught a reflection of myself.

I stood there for a moment in disbelief.

Everything about me has changed.

Do I like myself better?

Myself...

Myself...

I feel fuller

Than when you were filling me.

I filled my own empty vase.

This has caused me to pose the question...

Had I been full in the first place

Would I have looked your way?

Maybe...

But I think I would have seen all I see now

From the beginning.

The dynamics would be completely different.

Better?

Am I better?

Bigger.

I'm bigger.

That's what it is...

I am bigger than I was.

And even though it feels so awkward-

Now that I'm over the heartbreak

And

Out of love-

I think it's going to be okay.

Different...

But okay.

1.

I bound toward the glorious path of noon-day light; it is the luscious flame my soul wades through...it is my pool for drinking. I bask beneath it savoring the glory of Christ that my heart has been starved from throughout this entire dreary winter voyage. I devour each precious second that has sprung to life...I wrap them up in a locket for all the days are no longer enveloped by a melancholy tidal wave of gray. I am illuminated and pouring. Words drip from my tongue like honey some strands of pearls are slow like a summer day porch-swing melody, others dance fast away like the pulse of a hummingbird. They are oozing nectar. I feel the warmth of them slip off of my tongue where there is no more sorrow and no more pain. My hands are released from their chains and the scars have mended so beautifully it's almost as if they are non-existent, but I wear them proudly-they are symbolic of my battle. They are my badges of honor.

Now, the world has stopped spinning into the upward sky; your hands no longer intertwine with mine. Thank the Lord for the progress, for the spring in my step and the spring from which I now drink where life is a rich outpouring and there is only joy. Glory be to God! Backwards chained his doors; he melted every key...the padlocks were bigger than my fingers could pry. Thank God for making me small so that my words cannot take themselves back nor can my feet travel through time. I wept into my pillow-case once, whole seas composing sonnets about the reality of time and how cruel that it is. Praise God that all my wishes didn't come true...praise God for shattered mirrors and the ashes of demolished dreams. Praise God for placing a sea between me and the island of familiarity and drenching my soul with new blessings-whole gardens where I can memorize the smell of Autumn and the hands that drape me with thick blankets on couches in small houses on cold nights. She is home; they are a family. Woven together are the intricate strands of God's plan for my life...he didn't intend for me to live in the sky...but on the ground where I could feel my fingers dig deep into the earth until my soul bled mud and my veins spread themselves like those of a tree-firmly rooting me in the garden he'd created for me.

Now, the rain is cold but like a joyful symphony... it floods me-it bathes me and kisses my ears, my cheeks, my lips and even when it's stinging and harsh it is the reality of my humanity. I am small, I am alive. Praise God! I am smaller than God. Praise God. My hands steer no ship as all of mine have been wrecked. My sails have been tattered; my vessels demolished...with no remains. Ruin...oh the glory of it-praise God for the sweet addiction that courses through me now of being broken by him...praise God for the drought that starved me until I looked up to listen...and praise him for his mercy that he gave-more rain than I could drink from; nourishment to last eternity.

No life was there in such skies-only pillars with no foundation and fairytale watercolor dreams with no substance...it was a recipe for collapsing. But oh, now, I am firmly planted among the fuchsia, the violet, the tangerine colored tasty treats of spring whose pedals the rain springs off of and tap dances on top of. There is such joy here on the ground. Now, I can delight in the way sugar buries itself into my taste buds; the all encompassing buzz of joyful conversations in public places, the rushing of the city lights that flicker and stream, the night stars, the hypnosis of lightening bugs; the adrenaline of dreams...there is joy. There is joy in the crunch-crunching of each rouge leaf beneath the shine of my thick black boots...or the way my soul delights in burying my nose in Autumn's neck as she hugs me and I am wrapped up in the reality that my life had to offer so much more than the fairy-tale I'd composed with my ambitious empty rhetoric. Praise God that my life came apart at the seams!

Today,

I finally got my things back from you

In my mailbox.

Even the gift my mother gave you.

I think that's interesting.

But more interesting was the way I felt.

My breath caught in my chest,

When I saw an all too familiar envelope

With your hand-writing on it.

But when I opened it and pulled out

What should have

Hurt me...

It didn't.

I slipped my ring on my finger...

I put the widow's mite

In my pocket

And sighed.

I didn't miss you.

I wasn't sad.

Not even a little.

I felt wrong for not feeling sad...

I tried to be sad...

I even walked outside and sat down for a moment

To conjure up something sentimental

But there was nothing.

No...

I think I'm

I think I'm...

I think I'm

Finally...

Out of love with you.

I still feel sick

When I see you-

But I think that's just the habitual

Anxiety I build up in my own stomach

In preparation for the times

I know I have to see you.

Other than that...

I don't feel want.

I have no want for you.

None.

It's all gone...

I think after the mean-ness,

And much analysis of the mean-ness...

It was clear to me,

That you weren't going to discuss anything with me

You weren't going to give me closure.

I started working on closure for myself awhile back,

And I'm not saying I fully have it...

But I am saying I must be close...

I don't know what changed

Or when it

Changed...

But somewhere in between seeing

Her get into your car

On Sunday

And today when I opened my mailbox

I stopped loving you.

I'm not in love with you.

I don't even care for you that much.

You're like a stranger to me...

In the still quiet moments,

I am even already starting to forget what your face looks like...

It's just a figure...

With no features...

You're like a vacant hole.

You've been a stranger for far longer

Than our time apart...

And perhaps I never really knew you.

I don't think I did.

I don't love you.

Not an "I don't think..."

I redact that...

It's an absolute.

Thomas Howard...I do not love you anymore.

Not even a little bit. No feelings...there are no feelings.

None. Not bad ones, not good ones...there is nothing.

I feel nothing towards you.

And in response to my own question...

"Do you think we could ever be together again?"

The answer is no.

I never want to be with you again

(Never-mind your feelings about me)...

I don't want you anymore.

I don't love you anymore.

Your character bled through

And because of that...

I wonder if I ever really

Had the opportunity to love you at all.

Maybe,

Maybe not.

You've always been too much of a coward

To tell me

That you don't love me anymore.

Well...

I don't have any reservations in telling you-

I don't love you either.

I don't love you.

I don't love you

I don't love you.

I absolutely DO NOT love you.

And I never will again.

It's evident that you stink at forever promises...

So when you said you'd never want me again, I shook it off in disbelief...

But don't worry...

I promise you,

Thomas...

I'll be the one to make sure

We spend it apart.

Sunday at the anchor, I talked to the holy spirit for most of the sermon. I don't know who you're supposed to pray to...I've heard there are "rules" or something...but I suppose since they are all in one, and he's the guy that hangs out in my heart...I'd get to know him a little bit better and treat him like the person that he is.

So, I invited him to come paint with me in the garden, and I asked him if he could start being so big inside of me that I could go to sleep for awhile while he does his work. I really just want to rest in him. Honestly, if he could just take over my life for awhile, it'd be sweet. "Steer" I wrote in my journal. I talked to him a ton about peace and how I need it, and I asked him to be my armor...be my everything until I can put my feet back on the ground again. I said, "I'm way past listening to you...will you just live for me? I'm tired of screwing everything up with my stupid mouth." It was good. I left pretty refreshed.

So, we went and hung out in the garden for awhile. And I talked to him a lot about my heartache, and I told him that I really am not strong enough to deal with having endure the hurt that others are dishing out right now...(in silence or in speech or in physical action or in thought). All of a sudden this huge yellow butterfly came and fluttered my my face...it hesitated, and I breathed deep. The greek word for butterfly means "soul". I think that's pretty epic. So, I was hanging out with the holy spirit and this hip butterfly that I named Greco...and then all of these people started coming out the garden. I was surrounded with beautiful friends and the sun was shining and everything was vibrant and alive.

When you drove by...on your way to pick her up...

I noticed that all of my friends...

Were in a perfect circle.

You drove by behind all of them...

Bringing my eyes to the forefront

Instead of gazing past...

I realized everything I needed was right there.

I couldn't have been happier.

The holy spirit...

Is a fantastic friend.

The circle was

For me,

To fall asleep inside of.

I wonder where we lost the ability

To be

Honest with each other.

Somewhere-

In

Between the back-biting comments;

The thick woven lies...

There had to be a

Medium

That we could just never find.

What I really meant to say,

When I verbally assaulted you in the parking lot-

Was that I love you.

What I really meant to say...

When everyone was talking about

How you took C. out on a date for your birthday-

Was that...

I wish you hadn't.

I wish you'd taken me out for your birthday...

In my seat.

I drowned in ill comprehension

Of how you could

Move on

So fast.

I missed your birthday last year...

The day before we got together.

I saw you guys leave together

On our one year anniversary...

I was painting in the garden.

Man,

You drive off fast.

But my heart didn't sink.

I expected all of this.

I expected that we couldn't just break it off easily...

We'd have to burn it down.

You're fire

And I'm earth.

That's just the way it goes...

That's just the way it goes...

So, burn me up.

I'll lay underneath you;

I'll crunch under your feet just to feel them.

What I meant to say,

Was not what was said.

We're lost in translation...

And I suppose you don't care about clarification.

Because I can go on suffering,

While you hold the truth in your hands...

You've got me on a

String

Always waiting for any answer

That makes sense.

The new Coldplay C.D. sounds better than all of your empty rhetoric.

And it loves me back...

It was made for me...

For Autumn and I.

There is a lyric I love

"[it's] a spark in a sea of gray..."

I was the spark...

And you were the sea of gray.

But now I've sailed so far away.

There's also a lyric:

"Like a teardrop to an ocean I lost a friend..."

I lost you...

In your sea

But oh-

How far I've come

Since you left me.

Our Song

Oh morning
Come bursting
The clouds amen
Lift off this blindfold, let me see again
And bring back the water that your ships rode in
In my heart she left a hole...

The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties
The devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes
And I just want to be there when the lightning strikes
And the saints go marching in

And sing
Slow it down
Through chaos as it swirls
It's just us against the world

Like a river to a raindrop
I lost a friend
My drunken has a Daniel in a lion's den
And tonight I know it all has to begin again
So whatever you do, don't let go

And if we could float away
Fly up to the surface
And just start again
And lift off before trouble just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us, and see roses in the rain

Sing
Slow it down
Oh, slow it down

Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world.

"Us Against the World"-Coldplay

I wish I never knew you.

Dear Sal,

So, that is the end of the story? That is not sufficient.

Please, tell me-I beg you...that you'll start speaking now.

Please, tell me-you won't let that fire burn out.

Thank goodness you'll reap the benefits of the path that was chosen for you;

Money will be steady...you'll be able to support yourself and do what you were made to do.

You constantly tell me how my writing has helped you...what if I stopped?

By stopping, you're depriving not only yourself but people like me, who would be

Inspired by your work...who might even ask you to compose a book with me full of

My writing and your pieces.

Never give up on the gifts God gave you.

Be true to yourself.

happy birthday to you,

tomorrow.

happy one year anniversary

sunday.

happy happy

happy happy

i hope you're happier...

i really do.

I talked to Kevin Hester today and it really smoothed some things out for me. It was great, because I've been so lost lately. I don't know what God has planned, but I feel it unfolding, as Emerson would say like "a vegetable bud". Something brilliant is on the horizon, my premonition just tells me so. It's inexplicable...so much has happened so far. I've grown so much since "the end" of it all. I'm in between admitting that it might have been worth it, and denying that life without him could ever be better. Better? No...this really is all just different.

I think about all I've gained. Autumn...what about Autumn? If I hadn't had Autumn, I'd never have Nathan J. or Georgia or John Palmer or Meg and Shannon. I wouldn't have all of my girls if this hadn't happened: Loren and Sunni and Kaylee Ray, I wouldn't have Nathan S. I wouldn't have...this new piece of myself that I never had before. For all the things I lost...I gained. But oh...his hands. Could anything ever take their place?

No...

I wish I could have had both. But I couldn't...

I can't...

Would I go back? If I could choose to undo it all...if I could choose to give up what I have now for what I had then...

Would I?

No...for one reason and one alone. The people I have in my life now...won't leave. And he left. So, I can't look at what I had...because the truth is...I don't have it anymore (in actuality I never had it to begin with or he'd be here). All the promises that felt good meant nothing-the "forever love" wasn't forever. Everything fell through. It was just a pop up house waiting to collapse. But this...this is real.

And you left, again today...

I swear

It won't stop raining

You're so gray...gray gray...

But the guitar still sings,

And I've still got my bear hat.

For tonight, I'll be okay.

Oh Weary My Soul...

I mourn the death of us and all we were before our tragedy; before words were too poisonous, before silence was infiltrated with static...before tongues bit instead of loved, before mouths met instead of slung empty rhetoric and ruthless razor blades...before fingers clawed instead of exploring the console of your car to find each other. What we had is the kind of love people spend their whole lives wishing for. It was such a beautifully composed tragedy.

I held a crystal vase in my hands. God gave it to my hands; for my hands alone. I loved it immeasurably; it was unique. It was so intricately crafted. It was as timeless as it was rich, it held stories, and sorrows-it knew every laugh and every fear. It was breathtaking and bold. Each element of it glistened with romance and bliss and magical symphonic notes with trills and glorious hues of color; it was a dynamic reflector of light.

Until one day...it shattered.

I dropped it.

I watched the pieces cascade across floor, mourning every one. Shards of glass were all that remained of my blessing-my most precious gift. No-matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put the pieces back together again. So I laid down against the glass and let it tear into my skin because without it I am only half...I wanted to keep it...to feel it in my blood even if it hurts. And I want to feel him against my skin again; where breath or sweat or words might mix with laughter or tears. Because even at his worst he's the best. And I could live the rest of my life with him at his worst every day just to have the honor of loving him.

It's hard to write a book report while weeping.

Everything

Gets

Blurry.

And maybe after-all,

It really is

Just no one's fault

And I have to let you go-

I have to love you enough

To let you go love someone

Who could love you better

Than I could ever conceive of.

How big a person that must be...

Maybe I'll never stop dreaming big just for your sake.

I'll dream of the kind of love that exceeds even

The greatest kinds of love.

That's what I want

For you

I pray,

Someone will love you more than I do.

There are things about to happen

That I do not understand.

I feel them...

They are stewing beneath the surface.

I might be destroyed...

But I'll be okay-

I'll be okay...

I...

I don't have to understand.

I don't have to understand why you do the things you do

Or what you're about to do.

But I feel the tragedy coming...

And where I thought it was going to get better...

My premonition knows

It's only going to get

So

Much Worse.

You don't fight fair.

You never have.

It's only about to get ten times worse.

If love is a choice,

I wish I could choose to stop.

I am rainy

And cold

And freezing;

This gray won't fade.

I saw you out getting coffee,

I regretted yesterday...

But I went out the front door so you wouldn't see me.

I had everything to say.

Today, I told you exactly what I think of you. It was liberating and fierce. I was brave. You walked away unscathed as always, but the power I took back flooded me. Part of me feels static and is still running on adrenaline, the other part of me is conflicted because I care about you so deeply. When you hurt, I hurt-because I'm soft. I've always been that way. I ache because I never want to hurt you...no-matter how much you've hurt me. But I'm not going to apologize. I'm not going to take back what I did. I'm conflicted about it...but I'm not sorry. I realize we are called to a holier way of living and we are supposed to approach things as Christ would approach them...but today I got my gut full. I got my gut full of no responses, broken promises, unfaithfulness, your constant need for female attention, hearing about how you're already "talking" to other girls...I got sick of it. I think it's interesting who you left chapel with. I think it's interesting the night you came into chapel with her. Body language speaks volumes. And you...though so complex are more transparent than you seem. I was just a number. I was just Jade...always expendable. Jade.

In the garden, you kissed my feet once.

What happened to you?

I Miss this Night above All Nights:

I now can see

All my love did

In his eyes.

Today, I drove eleven hours alone.

Hannah Ward wasn't able to make the trip with me...

[But of-course you know that...I've heard all about the texts...]

So I left as early as I could...

You know,

I'm terrible at driving in the dark.

When I crossed the bridge into Memphis

I actually started clapping

And cheering aloud for myself!

I was overjoyed

I was so proud

GoJadeHIPHIPHOORAY!

I. made. it...I made it all the way

From Oklahoma to Tennessee...

By myself---

All by myself!

Just me!

Just Jade!

Not you;

No texts from you...

No concerned phone calls...

No missed messages,

No "I love you's"...

Just me...

And I proved to myself

I can do it-

I really can do anything;

Maybe

Even...

Everything

Without you.

If I could be anywhere in the world right now...it'd be with Autumn, Nathan and Esteban (whom I haven't met yet). I'm going to creepishly admit...I want to be best friends.

I Finally Have a Crush on the RIGHT Person...

And it's myself.

She's great.

Thank God

For text messages from

Autumn Fitzgerald

and...

Nathan J. Bond.

#lifeline.

I've got all your dirt beneath my

Nails

And I'm just itching to scratch

You back

With it.

A Certain Number in the Corner

Said you whispered her way;

Am I surprised?

Not today...

All you are is insecurity.

"A man's growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson