Twenty One.

I bought a grown up wallet and grown up heels in preparation for today.

Life is busy, and straining,
but oh-so-exciting.
:)

Medium Rare

It's weird, how fast time passes when you feel like everything is finally moving along. And then there's that one moment that brings it all to a crashing halt. The heart is a strange thing. I have this theory, that the heart is a soft, raw piece of soul that you're born with. When you're young, it's super soft, and as you get older and innocence fades, your heart gradually toughens up. The more hurt, the more pain, and the tougher that once-soft piece of soul becomes.

I'm at the point where it's all tough all the way around, but there's that small center piece that's still soft. Think of it as..medium rare.

Dear God, please don't overcook my heart.

The Pretentiousness of Being a Lady

Today's topic: guys vs. girls. Do guys have it easier? Or do girls get away with more? Then there's that whole "girls get special treatment" argument. Snicker. (sad but true) All joking aside, I was meant to be a boy. My parents were going to name me Isaac. Then...out popped I.

Thus, I never quite accepted the idea of being a lady. Mom forced me into frilly dresses by elementary school, and to her despair I ruined them all. Then came the ugly days. The "damn what happened to your face" days. Being a girl is hard, not gonna lie. You know what they say...if the fence needs to be painted, paint it? Well. This fence needs to be painted.

Which leads me to confess.

Sometimes I'd rather be a boy.

Till Death do us Part

Recently, I've been thinking about death and what comes after. Not heaven per se; I can't even begin to imagine the lovely splendor of it. What I mean is, what comes after for the rest of us after a loved one has passed? I have yet to experience the lost of a beloved, and even so, I feel that it would break my heart.

It isn't so much the morbidness of it, don't get me wrong. Rather lately I feel different toward the ones who surround me, and I can't help but think about how much time I have left with them.

Untitled

For some, it is simpler to erase,
to set aside things that once were
that no longer will be,
without further thought or time.

Others, who stare at the remaining pieces,
those who think upon time
Where time furthers thought
and thought again
Perhaps never quite simple,
but simple enough.

Which one of these is not like the other?
Neither one,
nor the other
share either or.

Of sadness, of memory, of pain?
Each and such are dispersed
for some and the other,
equally mounted and heaped over
Until they are intertwined as one again.

Forgotten?
Never, loss is loss,
For what means is it to gain?

For some, for others
neither way exceeds the other
But in the end, to mend,
To carry on, in what way they best can.