"I never learned to count my blessings, I choose instead to dwell in my disasters"

Meaningless mouths and arbitrary arms;
Talking without truth, caressing without compassion;
Holding but hindering, embracing but encumbering.
Truthfully, typical and trivial.
You-
Repulsed, repelled, but not resisting.
Inevitably impressible, calmly coerced.

And then thoughts turn to an invisible place
a place which you've striven so ardently,
so strongly
to prevent them from straying.
And maybe this place is trivial too.
But in this moment seems so meaningful,
for if it held no meaning
why would your thoughts now stray there?
(Why would it exist at all?)
Why? In an instance of such specific actions,
why the twinge of heart-strings?
Why the image of another,
of one who you've managed
so well thus far
to snuff out?
Why the saline excretions from night-blinded eyes,
now wetting substance-flushed cheeks?
Oh these embittered tears
that nullify the indifference which you hoped was passive.
Which you believed was real
but was, it seems, quite deliberate-
quite illusory.
Those salty streams
that give this convincedly trivial place meaning again.
That insist you be aware of its existence,
this place you've striven to ignore.
The feelings it creates and evokes
and the person who created it.

---------------------------------------------------------

You look at this immediate other and know, "I don't want this"
but let it occur nonetheless.
Let it all occur, always, every time.
And why?
Because it might mean you aren't feeling those confused things anymore?
Because it might mean you really don't care?
Because it might prove all of that which you've tried to convince yourself of?
Things about yourself (beautiful, sex-appealing, interesting)
Things about your feelings (indifference, freedom, contentment)
When all it really does is illustrate your inherent inability to not feel
To not want more than this
To not want something real
Someone real
To BE real.
All it really does is bring to light things striven to avoid.
Thoughts about yourself (objectified, morality)
Thoughts about feelings (shit, shit, shit)
And that need for realness, that you almost wish didn't exist, now screams louder than ever.
And how do you strive for this kind of realness, how do you find it other than to persue love?
That fucking abstraction you've come to resent, to resist, to avoid, to abhor.
That has always eluded you. Has always screwed you. Has taunted and pursued you.
Maybe luck will come one day
Or maybe time will tell
Maybe something will once be real
And you will be real.

***

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a [child] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
-The Velveteen Rabbit

Eye of the Beholder

I have mentioned in past posts about never really being able to know anything for sure. I truly believe this to be true. Nothing can ever be certain in life (exept death, and maybe even love), but I also feel that there are a great many things that can be learned. Things that you can almost know for sure. Two of the things that I have learned and wish to write about today are these: You can't make anyone love you, and you can't make anyone stop loving you.
I know the thought of wanting someone to not love you seems like a strange concept. Trust me if I was reading this a few years ago I would think I was crazy. But haven't you ever just wanted something different from someone who wanted something different from you? I'm being vague. Have you ever just wanted your friend back after they somehow convinced themselves to love (love here is refering to feelings of love, not necessarily actual love) you? Perhaps not, and I feel like those of you who haven't are far more fortunate that those of you who have. I know it might not seem that way, trust me I do know, but those feelings of love change things. Even if these changes are ever so subtle, they still exist somewhere in the back of the mind. And I also feel like once you love a friend, it never goes away, as I have been in the opposite position as well. I feel like it always sticks around a little bit in the peripherals of any continued friendship. That looming unrequited thing. The elephant in the room so to speak.
Sometimes I think about this occurance, of falling in love with friends. More topically, of friends falling in love with me. Love, again, in the loosest sense. And I think sometimes that maybe if I were ugly to people it would more rarely happen. I have a friend who is undeniably gorgeous and she is certainly plagued by this, it seems almost constantly. I feel like when you love someone's mind and soul as you would a friend, an aestheticly pleasing outer demeanor just confuses and complicated the situation. And someone who you wouldn't necessarily consider romantically if they were ugly (in your opinion) becomes something more to you. The word plague here is I think appropriate, for as much as people strive for beauty, I think it can also be a curse. When you have it, its all people see. When you have it no one cares whats underneath. I'm not speaking out of personal experience here per se, I just believe this to be true. And why is it that beauty is so coveted and revered? Yes, it is pleasing to the eye, but I think also we have been primed for beauty since we could understand the concept. The example I use is heroines of Disney movies. Beautiful women whose ultimate fate is nothing but finding love, and happiness that rests on one thing and one thing alone: finding their perfect prince. And yes there are some who are great women doing great things. But the main description of these women is primarily that they are exceptionally beautiful. What type of expectations is that priming us to have for ourselves? What type of standards is that setting for the "princes" of the world? And this is only the beginning. But I think that outer beauty has become such an important part of everyday life that people have begun to rever it far too much. And I know this argument has certainly been made before. I think that flaws should be seen as blessings rather than curses. I feel like flaws and insecurities enable a person to develop such character. Character, which is really what should be revered. For me personally, looking at something that is flawed, that is cracked or damaged or old or dusty or cheap or simple is so much more interesting and breathtaking than something that is new and packaged and smooth and shiny and modern. But I'm not to say whats beautiful or what isn't. Who is to say whats beautiful and whats not? I don't think that this can ever be said for sure either! Why? Because beauty certainly is in the eye of the beholder. This phrase may seem cliche but I have such a strong belief in its truth. I'm sure many people find Megan Fox beautiful, and I know Robert Pattison has been deemed handsome. But neither of these people fit that category for me personally. Give me a James McEvoy and I'll be over the moon. Celebrities are a poor example to be using, but they illustrate my point quite nicely. That point being that what is beautiful to one person might seem average to the next. One thing may be intriguing to someone, and ellicit disgust in someone else. I feel like the same is true for people. And althought the "don't judge a book by its cover" argument is sometimes extremely difficult to follow, I also believe that the content of things can make their shells so much more appealing. Whats inside a person can make them the most gorgeous creature who ever crossed your path. And although I cannot know any of this for sure, I firmly believe in its distinct possibility.

A Lighter Sunday

This was one of the Sunday Secrets today. I think its probably one of my favorite Post Secrets I've seen yet. I love that its scribbled on loose leaf. I love that there is clearly something else written withtin the folds but its never meant to be seen. I love that they used the stamp to seal off that which is hidden away in there. And I absolutely adore the bluntness, brutality and honesty of the message . Whoever you are, this is great.

Soaring hearts and aching hearts and lonely hearts like mine...

What I am forever seeking is simply someone to look at me and think "she's amazing". To be completely enthralled with me, to want to know everything about me and share everything of themselves with me. To wake up every morning and feel overjoyed and utter disbelief that I am with them. To want nothing more than to stare at me for the rest of my days, and that this act would make them truly happy. And I want the same reactions to be illicited in me. I want to be revered, on this tiny scale, at least for a small time. And I want to revere, and I know for a fact of this I am fully capable and susceptible. I want my chest to ache with the suppression of excited laughter from a tiny bud of a memory or thought about someone I can't get enough of (not to always feel this sad-sickness in my gut from looming thoughts of hopelessness). But maybe this isn't simple, and maybe I ask too much. Maybe I'll never catch it, I probably won't.
I spoke to my dearest friend today in her moment of utter joy. She calls it cloud nine, to me it felt like she was soaring. And I know right now she is still soaring. Her heart is soaring while mine is plagued with it's enduring ache. Not breaking, not shattered, just perpetually aching. Aching with sheer joy at her undescribably well-deserved happiness, aching with knowledge of the love for me I know I can find in all corners of my life, and aching for the love I cannot seem to find; with the loneliness that plagues me always. Forever the lonely girl. And today it hurts.