"You know it starts here, outside waiting in the cold

Kiss me once in the snow, I swear it never gets old

But I will promise you I can make it warmer next year

You know I came here when I needed your soft voice

I needed to hear something that sounded like an answer

Now I stay here, and everyday I get one

It's nothing I'll forget when the moon gets tired

You are stuck to me everyday

Believe in what I am because it's all I have today

And tomorrow who knows where we'll be

From here I can hardly see a thing 

But I will follow anyone who brings me to you

For now, forever, for on and on and on"

When I was young I had the simple naivety of not knowing that I was a  bad writer. I knew some parts were bad, and that all of it could use improvement. But now I am so very aware. Everything has weight, every word has too much value. And so writing has become a burden, no longer a freedom.

Homesickness

“Homesickness is just a state of mind for me. I'm always missing someone or someplace or something, I'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing.”-Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

As I drove over the mountains I became filled with a deep, overwhelming desire for a place I know does not exist. It hit me so hard that I struggled to breathe and tears began to fill my eyes. I down shifted into third to get enough power to make it up this hideously long hill and I told myself to calm down. Inhale, Exhale, Inhale again. My heart was growing even more heavy, drenched in salt water like a dripping sponge. As I reached the top of the hill the sun broke through the sea of clouds and my heart wrung itself out just enough. The sun burned through my window and began to dry my drowning heart. I was not home. I may never be home. But I had gained the smallest piece of home back again and that was enough. The smallest piece of home is hope, and that's really the only piece I need.

Alone.

I expected it to be different. They tell you not to have expectations, but is that really realistic? Most expectations I didn't even know I had. I guess the biggest thing is that I expected everyone to understand that he and I belong to each other. But they don't.
And I still have to fight. I still have to ask him to fight. And he does not feel my pain, because I do belong to him, and there is no question about that. But he still belongs to other people, which leaves me desperately alone. Alone in a place where I don't know anyone. Alone in a place where I don't fit. Alone in a place where he does not belong to me.