Daddy, can you get me a green apron?

Children say the darndest things. Though I suppose that could be said about anybody, but it pertains particularly to children. "I just wanted to let you know you are such an inspiration to me," the voice that spoke to me now was not a child at all, but a woman in my Zumba class. I stood there in warm leggings and a skirt I use as pajamas most of the time. I was in the middle of grabbing my belly skirt and putting on my hoodie as her soft voice spoke. I did what anybody would do in that situation, I looked around for the person she was talking to. "Me?" I questioned with doubt edging in my voice. This girl, or rather this woman had been in this class nearly as long as I had and while uncoordinated as a three legged dog, she tried so hard. You could tell too, she was shrinking, slowly, but if you'd seen her as many times as I had, you'd notice significant change in her body, she was shrinking and I am in awe of how well this class was working for her. "Yes, you," she continued, "you are so good at this, you are an inspiration to me."

I was stuck dumb as my friend Brittany who was standing with me, smiled and nodded. "Wow, thank you," I managed to stammer out. The large blond woman, pushed her glasses back up her nose and walked away. I, in the meantime, was suspended in a momentary state of disbelief. Nobody had said that to me since I'd had cancer. This woman said it now and why? Because I happen to find a niche in dancing as a form of exercise and I am pretty good at shaking what my Mama gave me? I love Zumba class, while the changes in body are not nearly as noticeable, they are there. My friend Brittany it would make sense to be called an inspiration. She inspires me because she has worked hard and is losing weight so quickly and I'm so glad that I dragged her to try the class with me. Now her siblings come too and having people I know there makes me happy. Zumba is something I've found that I'm good at, good enough to be an 'inspiration'? I don't think so. To be honest, I don't know why she said it. Personally, it makes little if any sense to me. I was flattered and honored, don't get me wrong. It struck me as...well, odd and to be honest, it was a little frightening. People notice me. The very notion is strange. People watch what I do and whatever I do, it causes a response in them, whether that is positive or negative, it is a response. It reminded me that we have eyes on us all the time. Our attitude, the way we carry ourselves, the light that either shines from within us or is dwindling in the dark echoes in the lives of people we never knew we affected.

This brings me to Lily. Lily is the young daughter of a friend of mine that used to be in a small group with me. I adore Lily. She is the embodiment of a precocious little girl. Her Dad, my friend Daniel stood over next to his beautiful wife Samantha as I was arranging the drinks in the case below our pastry case at good old Starbucks. Lily runs over to me. "Hi Alicia," her little voice pipes. It's one of the only time she has managed to remember my name. "Hello Lily," I respond with a smile, remembering the time she looked at me with sleepy eyes as dinner was being made. "Are you tired Lily?" Lily nodded and looked up at me with a question in her eyes that I'm not sure she was sure she could ask, but I knew that look. "Do you want me to hold you for a little bit?" Lily nodded and I picked her up and held her, feeling her little heart beat through my shirt and her breath slow as she fell asleep in my arms. Lily was not tired now, she was full of questions, "What is that?" Lily points to a glass container. "That's green tea." "What's that?" "That's orange juice." "What's that?" "That's chocolate milk, like what you had earlier." "Oh...I like chocolate milk." I chuckled as Lily ran back to her Dad.

I grabbed two trash bags and went to change the trash in the cafe. Picking up the outer container, I noticed Lily look at me in an odd wonder and Daniel, spotting me, came over to talk. Lily snuck up behind him and started to try to lift the trash can on her own. After nearly falling over and several tries she asked, "How'd you do that?" Lily's voice was strained as she was trying to lift up something taller than her. "I eat my fruits and vegetables and I got strong enough just to lift it right up," I replied. The good old eating that stuff will make you strong. Classic. Daniel chuckles. "Do it again," Lily requested. I lifted it up and her eyes get big. Lily stays there as I talk to her Dad, but it is the conversation that happened next that put such a smile on my face that it...inspired me to write this.

"All right, I have to go now. I have to put the trash up," I declared to Lily in a sing song voice. "Where you put it?" Lily asked and I caught Daniel shaking his head. "You see that space back there?" I pointed to our back room and getting on tippie toes to see the door frame, Lily nodded. "That is a special back room you can't go in and in that room at the very back we have a big trashcan that we put all of our trash in," I explained. Of course, like any child she caught the one rule in the whole statement. "I can't go back there?" Lily asked sadly as though I had denied her access to Disney World. "No ma'am," I replied with an odd smile, "only people who work here and have a green apron can go back there." Lily looked at my apron, looked at that back room and smiled as she turned to her Father. "Daddy, can you get me a green apron?"

I laughed outright at the little girl's question and her Dad laughed with me. I don't remember what I said after that, but as I told Lily goodbye and walked into the now slightly more magical feeling back room, what just happened hit me. I looked around me, this little back room was nothing to me. I pass through it every day I work, it was profane at best. However, to that little girl, the room was sacred. It was a place that was special and somewhere she wanted to go if only for the sake that somebody told her she couldn't. Aren't our dreams like that? Isn't Heaven like that? We wear green aprons where I work to identify us as someone who belongs there, someone who supposedly knows what we're doing. Lily wanted to have that identity, of course she could have no idea of what that entailed, of the hours we spend wishing we were somewhere else, of how difficult the identity of the green apron can be to us. Lily could care less about that, Lily wanted to take on our identity so she could go into that back room. I wear the apron and in explaining that the apron is the key to my entry into the room, Lily sees me. Lily wanted what I had. Can I say the same about Christ in my life? Is my light something people notice? Is it something they want? Do I explain with my life how to get where I am going? While our back room at Starbucks is nearly the polar opposite of Heaven, it was the vehicle of my understanding. As much as this was about Lily, it was also about the little girl inside of me.

Some time ago, I reached that point in my life where I realized something was...off. I was missing Heaven by the eleven inches between my head and my heart. I knew what it was to be a Christian, I could do all the motions, say all the right words. Unlike Lily, I knew exactly what my new identity would be, what came with it, I knew what I wanted and I knew how to get there. So I looked up at my Heavenly Daddy and asked Him a question in the same fashion that Lily asked her Father. I asked for the identity of belonging. I wanted to put on the symbol to show the world who I belonged to. The eleven inch gap was closed. I remember feeling like a little girl and I couldn't stop giggling. It was an odd and beautiful freedom. I got to go home at the end of my life and I knew it, for the first time in my life, without a doubt.

Maybe I read far too much into a conversation with a little girl who isn't even as tall as our trash can. Maybe. I tend to do that. God uses weird things like that to teach me the greatest lessons. Maybe it was because I identify with God most as a Father. God is Daddy to me, it is my favorite facet of Him and the one I suppose I cling to the tightest because until the day I die, a part of me will always be the little girl asking to crawl into His lap so He can hold me and I can hear His heart beat. Even when I've made a mess of things, completely botched situations that do not come without their consequences, I can run back to Daddy like the prodigal I am. Daddy takes me in His arms and holds me close and we talk. God is the provider, God is the healer, God understands my every quirk and oddity, He hears the cry of my heart when I too often let it weep in the silence. I am just the little girl that needs her Daddy.

It is that little girl I see reflected in Lily as she lovingly looked up at her Father. "Daddy, can you get me a green apron?"

I'm One of the Fools...

It's like not being able to breathe

I wish it were that simple

It's like screaming at the darkness

If only it were that black and white

I am a creature of light but not an angel

Because I'm one of the fools who rush in

However strong you may see me isn't always the truth

The fragility of my own heart is my greatest frustration

Yet, it is also one of my greatest strengths

At least I like to think so for it is all I can offer

All I have are these pictures, points of light

Lighting up the dark night with brilliance

Beauty I cannot touch, but hold

So I cling to them with trembling hands

Your voice calls to me, sings to me

To deny it would be to deny my own heartbeat

You created me that way, didn't You?

A living paradox of flesh and bone

How easy it is to feel like I'm drowning

Any good thing in me is You

Apart from You, I have nothing

Alone in a crowd while I in isolation

Face every facet I can't fight

Such power there is in words

It's no wonder we want to be heard

I never stopped listening

I wasn't saved for nothing after all

Though too often it is so easy to believe so

So hard to feel rational some days

When I question my own sanity

Is it too late?

This is so far beyond my understanding

The most beautiful parts of my life are

Even the parts that are yet to come

Maybe that's why they scare me

All my cards are on the table

So what do you want to happen?

It was never really my choice to begin with

I feel like I'm fading, less of me and more of You

I believe, only help my unbelief

These dreams can't stand on their own

I'm at the point where I can't either

Sometimes it is divinely all right to be broken

Love only knows if it will be all right in the end

Will you give into fear, how far will you run

Would you even recognize yourself in the end?

All these words at my disposal and I don't know what to say

Though even if I did, I'm not sure it would make a difference

I wish it would, just for once, empty echoes get old

Maybe I'm just rambling nonsense, maybe I'm mad

Maybe I'm simply not as here as I wish to be

In the end, it is not our intent, but our choices

I'd walk away if that's what it took

Taking the pretty pictures of light with me

If that's what it took to convince you

Because I'm one of those fools that rush in

Je suis une enfante qui a perdu son moyen

Qui est le message, est ce que je suis le mouton

Dans mon couer tout ce n'est pas bien

Je te donne dans ton main le couteau

Je tiens ton avenir, tu tiens ma fin

D'etre tout seule, ce n'est pas mon choix

Mon couer bat si doucement mais il bat

Tu as entendu sa musique, ecoute sa chanson

Simplement ecouter a ta familier

Je crois en toi, est ce que c'est difficile

De crois en moi aussi?

All These Beautiful Things I Can't Fight

There are so many things that I could write about. Too many things really, which is nice and at the same time strangely conflicting. As though the stories constantly bouncing around in my head needed competition. This year is coming to a close and it's strangely bittersweet. This year has been, by far, one of the strangest I have survived. That is kind of what it feels like too, that I have survived it. I'm a full fledged, degree holding college student now. I've taken to it a bit better than I expected to. This is encouraging to me, because like anything daunting, I had found myself unworthy or more accurately unable to rise to meet something and overcome it.

I have become a writing fiend. If you want any evidence of that, simply look at the number of notes/ blogs I've put out. I can't keep myself inside my head anymore. It would kind of scare me if I did. I truly think that is why I write, to get my thoughts out of my own head. Though my writing was far more prolific earlier in the year. It's slowed down, mostly due to school. Though I have been working on a different story, which has been wicked fun. I have characters that are completely insane and that has been so much fun to play with. I guess it's because sometimes I feel like I might be losing it. My mind is a very messy and if nothing else, entertaining place. I suppose it's the core of my writing, the ability to place my otherwise random thoughts into words.

I have come through this mess of a college semester with rather fantastic set of grades. This too has been fantastically encouraging. I am smart. I forget that sometimes. When I was younger I used to fight it. Being smart was a one way ticket to unpopularity. I was cast out because I was the curve breaker. Then I hit a point where I didn't care, I was a smart girl and I wasn't going to fight that anymore. There aren't very many places for smart people to express themselves. Being smart doesn't seem to be a treasure in this culture anymore. Then we turn around and scoff when the smart kids are making all the money. I am a smart kid, not a super genius mind you, but I am quite intelligent. Sometimes it can be a bit alienating. It's hard for me to relate to people sometimes. Often I kind of sympathize with the guys from The Big Bang Theory. While I hope I'm not nearly as awkward, I feel I am sometimes. This is made worse in exponential degrees when I'm around a cute boy. I can't even think of what would happen if I was around a cute guy being smart...it would be like dividing by zero or something crazy like that.

It's so easy to feel fragile sometimes. So many people count on other people to be strong. Even the strongest person needs permission to break from time to time. To not allow this is to not allow that person to be human. Humans are fragile, excessively breakable. It's so easy to look over that fact, so easy to forget that we are all imperfect. It is our habit to put people on a pedestal. Those in whom we find attributes worthy of attention or admiration we tend to see as infallible or even invincible. Time and experience are sharp teachers and quite quickly teaches us otherwise. People weren't meant to be put on a pillar. It is unfair both to us and the person we hold in such high esteem. People deserve to be believed in, the same way that every soul deserves a chance to be. So many times we hold the hearts of people in our hands and we're so scared to lose them we hold so tightly that there is no room for them to breathe. I have been guilty of that so many times. I have a deep abiding fear of losing people in my life. It always seems to happen. Losing people is inevitable if you live long enough.

I like to be hopeful, particularly about people. Some say I am far too trusting, and maybe that is true. I believe in people, maybe more than they deserve. Is that even quantifiable? I have been stepped on, stabbed in the back and had my heart broken more times than I can count, but despite it, I've never stopped believing in people. Sometimes just being believed in can change somebody's life. It can make all the difference in the world. I believe in the sanctity of life, in the beauty of the human soul. It would certainly be easier to be less trusting, to be so cynical that I don't believe in anybody anymore. It would be easier for me in the long run, certainly less painful. I can't though. Maybe it's the deep seated optimism, maybe God has given me a heart for people because He knows I can't live alone, without fellowship. My soul needs to be with others. Perhaps it is selfish in nature. Maybe I believe in people so hard because I hope that some day, maybe some day, enough people will believe that same way in me.

Why I Don't Hate Weddings

I want to say here and now that I am a fan of weddings, I really am. I love weddings, I love the idea of marriage, I love married couples, well...you get the idea. I myself have been in several weddings, not twenty seven mind you, but a decent few. I have been nearly everything a girl can be in a wedding; the welcoming party manning the guest sign-in, helping with food, a flower girl, a bridesmaid, and even maid of honor. Always a bridesmaid...

May I say here and now how very much I hate that phrase. Please don't misunderstand me, I have been honored to be in every single wedding I was asked to be a part of, particularly when I have been asked to be in the wedding party. It meant that I made enough of an impact in a woman's life that on what is supposed to be the greatest day of their life, they were given the task of figuring out what three or four women they wanted to be there for them with them beside them to help them and support them in one of the grandest celebrations life has to offer. When given this rather daunting task, I was one of the women that they chose. While their choice has not always necessarily made sense to me, I am honored by it. I have every right to be.

I like attending weddings despite the always awkward time after the ceremony where we all wait for them to finish pictures and munch on whatever interesting finger (and sometimes not so finger) foods that are served to us on little plastic plates and we sit at tables with people we have never met and explain our association to either the bride or groom, sipping on either sweet tea or a punch concoction that somehow remains a mystery while they play nondescript typically uninteresting music in the background.

Then they announce the entrance of the bride and groom. The awkward waiting is replaced by the beautiful moment of the first dance. I personally love this part. I adore the idea that they first dance belongs to them, accompanied by a song that is their own, that we are all invited on a wonderfully intimate moment as they spin (and in some cases stumble) on a dance floor that has been barred from anybody else so that it can be christened by the newly married couple. Some couples talk, some just smile, some blush, some whisper in each others ears, some brides lay their head on their new husbands chests, some get really crazy and throw a few spins in there. This is usually followed by the daddy/ daughter dance. "Butterfly Kisses" used to have the monopoly on this particular moment, but no more! Good ol' SCC comes out with "Cinderella" giving us all another reason to cry at these things...or at least I cry. The Dad holds his daughter and smiles, in part because he is getting rid of her, in part because this day is proof that she has found the happiness that he always hoped she would. They dance and all the world watches as they physically manifest their own bittersweet farewell. For some reason it always brings a tear to my eye. There is such love as they dance, such hope. The father represents both himself and her mother as he sends forth his little girl with the hopes that he raised her well, he trusts her life and well-being to another man in one of the greatest forms of sacrifice in existence today.

After some dancing, typically including some form of line-dance comes the other awkward moment of weddings, well one of many. The slow dance. I've always hated slow dances in my adult life. They just remind me of Prom and basically every other dance I've been to. I sit...alone watching as other happy couples join hands and hold each other close. There have been the rare occasions where a dear friend who was the bride's brother danced with me like he promised, despite the fact his girlfriend and ex were both there. It made me smile because I enjoyed myself. It was just two friends dancing and it meant nothing more. We laughed and I tried not to fall on my face. I have danced with children, twirling them, inducting them into a world that I hope and pray as I hold them in their arms that they won't go through unaccompanied. I pray that they have partners for their slow dances that will inevitably come to pass. Then there was the time that they made me and the boy who had caught the garter dance together, or they instigated it and I had the guts to ask him (which if you know me, took a lot for me to do). Why did they want us to dance? Well because apparently it is a tradition rarely practiced that the girl who catches the bouquet dances with the boy who catches the garter. Which leads me to the inspiration for this whole thing.

As of Saturday evening, I have now caught a total of five bouquets. Five of them. Most girls go through life catching maybe one. Oh no, not me, I have to be weird. So I catch five. Usually, and please believe me when I say this, I only tried to catch it before it hit the ground. I wasn't really going for it, I'm not one of those single girls who tackle and push and fight to catch it. I used to want to, but it wasn't for the sake of catching it, I was just too competitive not to 'win'. I stopped believing in the 'magic' of catching the bouquet quite some time ago. After catching yet another one, (again, simply to save it from hitting the ground (there is picture proof), I only got up to get it because I was called out) I became curious about why this tradition happens in the first place. Like so many things in regards to our odd traditions, the origin is rather barbaric (like did you know the reason bridesmaids used to wear dresses similar to the bride is so that they'd confuse evil spirits? Apparently it was a bit more of a commitment and sacrifice to be a bridesmaid back then, then again, who doesn't want to be a possible scape goat for evil spirits?) and the tradition of throwing the bouquet is no different. The tradition started in fourteenth century France. A bride was considered particularly lucky on her wedding day to the point that as soon as the wedding ceremony was over, there was a stampeding horde typically comprised of single women that would rush her in order to rip off a piece of her wedding dress to obtain a bit of said luck. They would rip pieces off of her dress. So in order to appease the crowd, she would fling her bouquet and run. So you know, they wouldn't stampede her and rip off her dress. Yeah, thankfully nobody does that anymore, but the tradition remains. There is still stampeding in certain cases, some cases of violence, but the origin is barbaric at best. And we follow it, these strange traditions that exist simply because they always have. They are a part of weddings that too often serve as short versions of Valentine's Day to us single folk. Are they intended to do so? I don't think so. They are a celebration that, despite ourselves, as happy as we are for our friend, whether bride or groom, we feel that dull or sometimes searing pain in our hearts that what we see is nothing we have a part in. I have single friends who hate weddings for this very reason and refuse, no matter how close the friend, to accept an invitation to a wedding. Regardless of my reservations on weddings and their often odd and strangely founded traditions, I am not a part of this group.

Why? Because I still believe in love. I believe in it so hard. Have I been hurt? Yeah, not nearly to the extent that many have, but the reasoning behind that is enough for a whole different posting, but I have understood heartbreak. Have I watched two people 'in love' grow to hate each other and go back on their vows? Yes, I have and my heart breaks. Call me naive, I am under the childish delusion that when two people love each other and promise to love each other for the rest of their lives, make a covenant before God (who supposedly brought them together in the first place) that they'll stay together forever. Love is a state of permanence in my mind. Blame it, if you want, on the rather fantastic example of my own parents. They have stayed together and has it been hard? Absolutely, but no songs are ever written about the love stories that come easily. Have I been 'alone' and wouldn't know what it would be like to not be that way? Yes, but I am not one of those girls who need a 'man' in her life to define her. I don't need to be in a relationship to know who I am, a good thing too. I listened at Daniel and Samantha's wedding as they said their vows that they had written to each other, I saw the tears well up in his eyes as he saw her for the first time, I watched the love in their eyes as they danced and it made me smile.

I smiled because I still believe. I believe in love and I believe in the beauty of sharing your life with another person. I believe love is one of the greatest things that God has ever come up with, it is the driving force that perhaps doesn't make the world turn, but it makes the mad spinning worthwhile. I love weddings because I know that some day...some day it will be at my wedding that people will be smiling. It will be my first dance that people will cry to. It will be my eyes that well up with tears while saying my vows. It will be his eyes I stare into with the keen and overwhelming revelation that this man, my dearest friend, is who God has blessed me with and has deemed perfect just for me. It will be my bouquet that I toss at single girls to appease them so I don't get my dress ripped and you better believe that is precisely what I will be thinking about as I do it. I love weddings because even if only for a day, despite what little things go wrong it is a celebration of everything that God created to be right with the world. It is a reflection of Jesus and His Bride. It is something beautiful and despite its absolute madness, I love weddings. I truly, truly do.

How a Room Full of Nerds Made My Heart Feel Home

There are certain situations, certain places, certain people that make you sigh, "My heart is home again." The family reunion I recently attended was definitely one of those. However, one of these situations came in a way that I did not expect remotely. Thursday night was the midnight premier of "Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World" a movie that is based off of a graphic novel series, the sixth and final of which just came out. (You sneaky and clever publicists!) A while back upon viewing a trailer I got excited about this movie. It combined some of my favorite things to watch; graphic novels, fight scenes, video games and nerdy boys. So Tim found the graphic novels and I started looking at what all the hype was about. These graphic novels were clever, they were funny, they were well written. A fellow nerd that I met in Poetry class last semester put together an event: let us gather and watch this movie at midnight.

Through a strange turn of fortunate events, I was able to get hold of tickets to an exclusive pre-screening. So, rushing to finish the newly purchased final book, I met my friend Matty Iden and his brother, surprising my brother with a ticket and we saw the movie...which is awesome by the way. I felt like a bit of a traitor seeing it before the person who had set up the entire get together, but I only had one extra ticket. Seeing the movie only made me more excited for the premier, after all, the tickets I had got for the pre-screening were handed out as a promotion. The midnight showing was for the people who wanted to be there, the people who wanted to see this movie first because they were so excited about it. Then it would be fun, then it would be people who would get the jokes that I was getting and laughing seemingly alone at. So that night after closing, I decided to dress up as a character. The outfit was simple and luckily something I had, after a bit more makeup and some colored hair spray, there I had it. Driving with a smile in my face and a rather disdainful brother in tow, we headed for the meeting place. When I arrived I was welcomed...by the one person at the large table that I actually knew.

Pulling up a chair, I was quickly introduced, including to a girl who, like me, had dressed up as a character. This instantly put me at ease and as conversations buzzed all around me, I found that it was so easy for me to join in. "2011 is going to be a disappointing year in movies? Well the Deadpool movie is coming out." Look of surprise, "You know who Deadpool is?" I can't help but smile as we talk about movies, comic books, anime and a variety of anime and comic books that are being turned into movies and exactly how we felt about it. It was strange for me to be so comfortable around people I had never met before. Despite my typically outgoing nature, I am by nature quite shy. Yet here I was talking to strangers, better yet, guys without a hint of a stutter. It was a strange comfort that I was not used to, but it brought a smile to my face. The theater was quiet when we got there, and getting our seats, more and more people piled in. Then something beautiful happened.

The room was abuzz with laughter and smiles. There were so many groups but people from one group knew the people from another group. I myself knew 5 people who were not a part of the group I came with, which in a theater that size and in a town I don't live in is uncanny. There were shouts of recognition all over and there was even another girl who was 'cosplaying' like myself and the girl who came as Roxie. Yet, despite my slightly strange appearance, I was not stared at like a freak (like the other times I have been to midnight premiers, which I have almost always dressed up for) I was smiled at and given a knowing nod, even winked at...by guys. Oh yeah. There was an overwhelming camaraderie and as the trailers were about to start I leaned in to my friend Jonathon, "I am amongst my own people." He smiled, "It's a good feeling, isn't it?" The trailers started and a thriller came on, a movie that seemed halfway decent until it stated, "From the mind of M. NIGHT SHYMALAN". The echo of boos was not only amusing but unanimous. "Give us back Avatar!" one particular patron shouted. The theater erupted in laughter. Then as the movie itself started, the Universal theme in 8 bit animation, complete with theme music, the whole theater erupted into cheers. I smiled until it hurt. Then Jonathon leaned into me, and what he said struck a chord with me so strong that it inspired this entire blog. "There is SO much love in this room," he said to me. I gasped in the darkness at the sheer truth of it.

Jonathon Hash was right. I looked around in the glimmering light of the screen and it was true. We were all nerds or significant others of nerds. We had that one underlying factor. We were the unpopular kids who at some point had been made fun of at school. We were the weird ones who went to conventions and dressed up as our favorite characters, who knew more about the Marvel and DC universe than how to be in a social situation without being awkward. As we looked at each other, laughing at the same parts, it was understood. As cheesy as it was, this was a safe place, we were among friends, people who understood. Our hearts were home here.

The movie was awesome...again. It really was so much better with people who actually got the jokes. As the credits rolled, there was applause and joyful laughter. Our group (who stayed until after the credits) came out of the theater with smiles on our faces. The ladies who had dressed up with me were gathered and pictures ensued. It was a strange thing to have a large group of people in front of you taking pictures. It is likely one of the closest things I will feel to being famous. Johnathan came in with us and had his friends take pictures. "What's taking so long?" "Well Jonathon, I'm sending you the picture I just took of them and it's taking a long time, see?" The phone was flipped to show a 'sending' bar moving like a snail. "You see how long it's taking, you see it?" We chuckled. "Besides," the picture taker, Aaron continued, "you're surrounded by three hot chicks, I don't know what you're complaining about." Every member of the picture blushed. "All right, get out of the picture, I took yours," another picture, "this is so going to be the background for my phone." I giggled, I was in a picture that was a background on a cute guy's phone.

I walked out of that theater with an inexplicable feeling of joy. I couldn't remember the last time feeling like that around people that weren't my family. Not at work, not at school, not at places where that should be precisely the way I feel. Thursday night was such a beautiful picture of Heaven for me. My heart felt at home and it thrilled me in a way that is hard for a person of my verbosity to explain. I know that there were hearts there that felt the exact same way. "There is SO much love in this room," he had leaned over and said to me.

Reunion of Hearts

This past month I went on a vacation, yes me, I went on a vacation. I went to a family reunion which happened to coincide with my gradparents' 50th anniversary. Fifty years together, the very thought boggles my mind, but it is so beautiful to me. It is very encouraging as well. I know people my age who have already been married and divorced and these two people have been together twice as long as I've been alive.

This trip to Colorado was by far my favorite. It just felt...different. I think it is due, in part, that I have finally forgiven myself. The time that I spent with my family in the mountains is something that I will treasure for a long time.It was wonderful to see my cousins who have grown so much since I saw them last and it was nice to know, that I too have grown...ok, perhaps not physically, but in some ways. The Rocky Mountains have always been a sort of soul solace to me I think. They are comforting to me in a way I can't describe. Mix that with people that I love deeply and it was a very wonderful situation. We laughed together, we played games and we celebrated being a family. It was something I needed more than I realized. I feel continually distanced from the people in my life, usually by my own doing. I need more affection than I know, more perhaps than I can admit to myself. So to span that distance and connect with people whom I love so much, it was a blessing I can't exactly put into words.

All I Have Left

This particular poem is dedicated to/ about a friend of mine. I've been writing a lot of poems lately about the people in my life, I suppose writing says all the things I have never been able to. It is something that I find interesting; I could write about how I feel all day with articulate verbosity and be content, for the most part, with never sharing it with a soul. These poems are like my diary in a way, I share the deepest part of my heart in them and through them, rarely intending for anybody to share them, anybody to understand that hidden part of myself. So here I offer you a peek into my diary as it were. Heartbreak is a universal trait, a feeling as human as our heartbeat. While the experience will vary, the pain reverberates in everything we are. This poem is about my experience. This friend knows of the existence of this poem, but said that he isn't ready for it. However, this poem is one of my best works and I want to share it/ my heart with you. If he reads this, and I truly hope that one day he does, well...I don't know. Step by little step he is coming back into my life and it thrills me in ways I wasn't ready to face. I missed my best friend. So I hope as you read this, that it encourages you or maybe that you can hear the broken beat of your own heart in it. So, if nothing else, please know you are not alone. This is an original work titled: All I Have Left


All I Have Left

I watched it.
From the start, I watched you trickle away
Piece by piece, dissipating from my life like water
Disappearing as you hit the dust
Where the sound of your absence echoed
The last drop pounding the last piece of my heart
You had dared to touch
The sound was deafening
It was painful and I could not bear it
I tried to let that last piece die
But a heart is not one to be severed
It pulsed and pounded, reminding me it remained
So I sought out the only way I knew
To quench the parched ground that had started to crack
But my hands grasped little but sand
Groping for a thing that no longer was there
Staring at my empty hands, my lip quivered
And I mourned the empty, listless nothing
That was now my possession
All I have now are pictures
Primarily in my mind as your face shines
My mind recalling you were my light in dark places
So I was Jean D'Arc crying on my sword
Realizing the sharpest pain was not your absence
But rather that you were no longer willing to fight for me
Though for the longest time I could not see it
Justice and Cupid are blind
Maybe the girl would've rather fallen on her sword
Than to see the beautiful everythings burn in the fire
Did she hear the voice of God?
Did I?