"it does not do to dwell in dreams and forget to live" - Dumbledore

Sometimes I have to tear myself out of bed in the morning. Tear myself away from dreams whose nonsensical events, so pregnant and robust, serve as comfort to my thin sliver of a life. Sometimes I can almost feel the pain of it, wrenching myself out of images and actions that aren’t, because things that are not cannot hurt me. To raise myself out of those hazy dreamscapes seems almost akin to an icy plunge. A million jagged edges. Oh, to live in the not and never be wounded.

Then to awake and realize that life is so much lighter than dreams, so much simpler. But for some reason this is no comfort. For some reason, this is a weight. Attached to this weight is the dreaded pain, the ache in the chest that has become a constant side affect of consciousness. The ache and the weight. Reminders and products of everything that is lacking. All the failures and flaws that are so agonizingly apparent. Everyone must see them. Everyone must know. But in dreams you are perfect, in dreams these holes in you do not exist. The jagged edges are softened. Oh, to lower myself into this unconscious sanctuary where all things are beautiful and comfortable. I crave it like a drug.

But, like a high, it is not real.
And, after all, nothing truly exists but reality.
And in the end, it does not do to dwell in dreams and forget to live.

The Heart Wrenches....

....When you miss someone so intensely, who never fully existed in reality

....When you're asked to give someone a second, third, fourth chance at your heart. You have to say no or risk being fooled again, the most plausible outcome. Because how many times can you let someone fool you before you become completely made up of nothing but foolishness? And in that eventuality how would you live with yourself? Its hard enough already. But your heart is screaming at your head to say yes, you deserve that chance, here, have it. Have me and use me up and leave me here to wither away when you're brief moment of substance-induced interest has passed. Because your foolish and hopeful heart somehow truly believes that they do deserve another chance to destroy you again, and it somehow believes beyond all logical reason that perhaps this time you could be made happy for a while, and not scorned and defeated and a left a fool. It doesn't consider that this brief and shining moment in time will certainly leave you as a smoldering pile of ashes, as it has before. A pile of foolish ashes on the barren plain of all the other chances you gave with hope.
....When your head takes over, when logic and reason exercise their strength. A strength that comes from some place you can't even believe exists, because even in this moment of strength you feel so defeatingly weak.
....When you know you've done the right thing, but you wish more than anything you hadn't. Because you're heart is still ashes, and you only have your head to blame.
....When what you yearn for now is that brief moment of foolishness and stupidity that you passed up in attempt to save yourself from the ashes, from the fool you would become.
But all you want now is to be the fool.

On Love, go figure....

What is love? Such a cliché question, but one that has undoubtedly been asked by trillions of people over these human decades. Who is love, how is love, when is love, WHERE is love? Sometimes you absolutely ache for love, other times you behold it, feel it, sense wish it, want it. Some days all you want is to make love (and I’m certain this occurs more frequently for some than others). Sometimes, you resent it. Most often I feel you should cherish it. No matter what form it comes in. Some days the smile of a friend is enough love to burst your heart. Other times love is enough to crush and ruin your very existence. And still other days you long hungrily for the proverbial sensation of being “in love”. I personally sometimes feel like I’m in love with everyone. Everyone! I try to dig love out of every nook and cranny I can possibly fathom. Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, I invent love where love could not probably exist. I long for it every agonizing minute of every average day of my life. And I fear I will forever. I know I have it, I feel it and I see it, but will it ever be enough? Can one ever have enough of this stuff we deem to be love? I feel like I must experience every facet of this emotion. It fills my every thought, my every menial second. Sometimes I think I love someone, sometimes I know I do, sometimes I dream about loving someone to my own complete and total destruction. Sometimes I think someone might be okay to love, or to feign love with, for a while. But only a while, because forever is too large a concept in this day and age. Life, to me, has two certainties: death and love. And isn’t it the ideal, the absolute necessity for most, that at the very tail end of this life you have lived, at the end of your eternity that love is with you? And that it has been with you for the entirety of your days prior to this moment? I feel like everyone deserves this. I feel like this is absolutely achievable and existent to most people on this faltering earth. Unless of course you’re Voldemort....although I’m sure he was loved in some way by those Death Eaters of his. If you think about it, even Hitler had a mistress. I’m sure she loved him. So you see, even the more horrid people you could dream of have, will have or have had love in some way shape or form. And even though it may not always be enough, it certainly matters. Love controls us; it shapes us; it moves us; it devastates us to our very cores; it makes us crazy; it consumes us; it wounds us; it makes us soar, it makes us crash; it makes us ridiculously and soul-crushingly hopeful, and also fully and completely hopeless; it fills every facet of our relationships with people. Whether we love them, or absolutely do not love them, it is all still a matter of love. Love is above all pure agony, and yet it is the driving force behind every human interaction. And what would life be without these things? What would life be like if not for love? Perhaps simple, but more likely dull and grey.