Thanks for the inspiration.

I feel inspired when the fire in my heart is burning it’s brightest. When emotions and feelings of love or hate or sadness or despair are coursing through my veins. Sometimes I feel numb to the world, as if walking through it as a zombie instead of a woman. At times I feel completely uninspired, but lately, thanks to you, I’ve felt extremely inspired. The roller coaster of emotions I’ve felt over the last month have allowed me to perfect the art of spilling these emotions out onto the page in front of me.

One of the most difficult things in life is to express feelings as words.

My inspiration has lead me to the realization that I must move on. I refuse to sit on the back burner. If you had fallen for me the way I did for you then you’d have never let me go. And you should have let me go completely, not asked me to wait patiently on the back burner while we built a “friendship” and let time do the rest. Perhaps I’m being unreasonable. But taking things slow isn’t in my DNA. I am a reckless romantic with a slight tinge of masochism. Because life is just too short not to grasp every piece of happiness and potential life throws my way. So you’re being kept at a distance. And that little spot in my heart for you I so thoughtfully reserved will most likely shrink in time. You’ll become a part of my past I look back on with apathy, hopefully…eventually.

Thanks for making me feel something again. I was starting to worry I was broken in that regard.

To the man who will never read this.

To the man who will never read this:

I would like to tell you something. It’s straight from my scarred, romantic heart. When first we met, I wasn’t sure what to think about you. I eyed you up and down, wary of you. I found it attractive the way you carried yourself. You stood tall and lumbering, but not in an aggressive way. I was not intimidated as much as I was intrigued. I will admit I didn’t find you as attractive as I do now. But from the first date we went on, I began to fall in love with your mind. I began to fall in love with your in depth answers to life’s most interesting questions. I began to fall in love with the stories you’d tell, and how animated they made you. The way your left lip moved a little higher when you spoke, and the way your eyes seemed to see so much more of me than anyone else’s when you’d look at me.

I fell in love with the softness of your hands, even though they were used for hard work and calloused.

I fell in love with your body. It is carved into a masterpiece from life and dedication. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you’re beautiful. I have fallen for the man I know now. And although I don’t know everything about you, nor will I ever, I just wanted you to hear this. Even though you’ll never read this.

I’ve fallen head over heels for you. And for now I believe keeping you with me fondly but at a distance is what’s best.

I hope I get to keep loving you, beautiful man.


I often wonder if there is a place in this world for my heart. For the longest time I can remember feeling that dull ache in it. Like a small weight had been placed upon it and refused to move. They say the best writers are those with a tortured soul. That is how my soul feels…tortured, used, defeated.

And yet, I still persevere. I still hope and dream that one day, I will meet a soul like mine. One that is reckless and beautiful. One that abandons all doubt and jumps in head first because life is beautiful and mysterious. And there must be a place in this world for my affection. I don’t just want any warm body next to mine. I want one that I am attached to by invisible strings of love and electricity. I want to feel someone with every part of my being, and perhaps one day the weight on my heart will lifted and my soul will no longer feel the burden of the world.


When I was young heartbreak felt so…permanent. A dull ache in my chest that I never thought would go away. But time and time again I was proven wrong. Heartbreak isn’t permanent, it goes away, dissipates with time. Unfortunately that doesn’t make it any simpler or ease the pain any more when it happens. That dull ache is still there, that pit in your stomach still making itself at home. Killing your appetite, your drive, and nearly bringing you to tears while living your life. With the gained wisdom to know that this too shall pass, we are forced to live in a type of prison cell of disappointment and sadness, until one day a key is thrown in and we are allowed out.

I saw nothing but tomorrows with him. Felt nothing but electricity and love when we were together. To have that ripped away from me was like stealing exactly what life is worth living for. I was falling in love with you.

Fuck. You.

A story.

I’d like to tell you a story. A story about a girl who is currently wrapped in a soft peach colored blanket, curled on her bed writing this, to you. I write this in hopes that reading it will perhaps make you understand yourself better, or better yet, would help you understand life a little better.

This girl I want to tell you about cries sometimes. And when she cries it’s like the flood gates to every emotion in the human brain opens and pours freely. And if the movies were real, the pain behind these tears that fall would move mountains and shake the earth. But instead, these massive feelings and emotions that overtake this girl at times are transformed into small beads of salty water that fall freely down from the soft, beautiful cheeks of this girl.

And sometimes there are tissues strewn about, damp and wilted from the tears. And throwing them away after these crying sessions tends to serve as a cleansing of sorts. Out with the old, in with the new. At other times, the tears are too much and so this girl pours a large glass of wine to help ease the pain that the weight of the world causes her weary shoulders. Her weary heart.

And I want to be honest about this story. I want to tell you that sometimes this girl wishes she could turn it all off. She’s thought about certain options that aren’t legal, or healthy. She’s thought deep dark thoughts that she wouldn’t share with anyone. Yes, I’d like to be very honest when I say that this girl has thought about life without herself. A quick moment of impulse carried out with careful regard. But this girl hasn’t, and most likely wouldn’t, even though sometimes life seems so blatantly unfair she wishes she couldn’t feel, or be anymore.

But instead she buries herself in her blankets, or a man, or something else. And she rides out the emotions like a soldier in a war against themselves. And she could scream, if it weren’t frowned upon but she doesn’t for fear of society. And she could punch walls or throws things off her balcony, but she doesn’t because then she’d be crazy. She could ask all the difficult questions and question everything, but then she’d be known as something other than a polite young lady.

And finally, i’d like to say, that a long time ago, years ago, there was a fire in her heart that never went out. A strength that never dwindled until years of disappointment and let downs, of heartbreaks and betrayals, lead her to where she is now. Sitting in her room, wrapped in a soft peach colored blanket, tissues surrounding her, as she writes her heart out onto a computer screen and drinks a glass of her favorite red wine.

And she waits on a call from a man, because he said he’d call so she waits. And perhaps this time when she answers she will ask all the difficult questions. And that fire in her heart will ignite again, and she will realize that she deserves nothing but the best and if she can’t get the best from a man, she can get the best from herself.

Or, he may not call. Because people don’t do many things they say they’ll do and nothing surprises this girl anymore.


A gift.

It has recently occurred to me that I don’t understand life. I never did, and I fear many others don’t either. Life after 30, especially, is presenting itself as being extremely difficult. You see, I didn’t get married in my 20’s. I stuck with my beliefs as far as never wanting children, and now here I am, 30 and childless. I am not unhappy. In fact, these choices I have made have left me unbelievably happy and grateful. But I’d like to be really…honest.

Honestly, life has fucked me up. I’m not talking about the terrible or unfortunate situations in my past. We all go through heartbreak and sadness and loss. This is not new, it is a part of life that we all must experience. I am talking about the weight of life itself. The realization that in reality, life itself doesn’t hold very much meaning. In the big scheme of things, we live and we die and we leave a small mark. This realization, the one of mortality and morality, is difficult to accept at times. And the depth of said realization can affect us in ways we might not realize until a specific moment in our lives.

That moment for me is right now. I am in such a hurry to love, to give, to receive and to FEEL, that I forget how to do anything else. I feel like I run short on time. One day I will die. And it may be years from now, or tomorrow. And I’d like my last living moments to be full of memories, not regrets. I don’t want to regret not living enough. I don’t want to regret not being loved enough. I don’t want to die alone, although in truth we all do.

I don’t want to live my life in loneliness but I feel most lonely when I am with a lot of other people. There are few people in my life that I can be around for long periods of time without wanting to be alone. This seems like a pattern for most the older they become.

Finally, I want to say that I don’t understand my heart. Young love is so exciting, new. We can love freely and openly and kindly. We embrace it fully and we are not ashamed, or scared. In time these relationships will shape us into the lovers we are as we get older. Will we become liars? Runners? Ship jumpers? Or will we remember to love fully, without regard or fear, until the day we die? I try. But deep down it is in me to be a runner. It is in me to overthink. It is in me to feel so fucking much that it feels as if I feel nothing at all.


My switch.

I want a switch. One that is delicately installed somewhere on my body. Hidden from the eyes of others. This switch will be my saving grace. I’ll flip it off when I get sick of feeling. When life get’s to be too much. This magic switch will be the barrier between my heart and my brain. I want to shut off the circuit that connects the two, and just not feel anything for awhile. For however long I want, and then perhaps I’ll flip the switch back on.

Perhaps not though…maybe not feeling anything is better than feeling everything at all times. My empathy is my blessing and my curse. My innocence is barely hanging on. I feel so much…does this make me crazy? Does it make me crazy that I can’t wait until the day I can utter those three beautiful words to you? Does it make me crazy that my brain still tells me to run even though I never would? Does it make me crazy that I’m falling for you more and more each day? And mostly, does it make me crazy that I can’t stand how I feel so much more than you, but stick around anyways?

If I had that beautiful switch I’d turn it off for a very long time.


I felt something last night. Something strange and new and wonderful. It had been forever since I’d felt it, and never this intensely. As we laid together in your bed, wrapped around each other in the late night, I felt what it is to be human and to feel. With my head resting on your chest I could hear your heartbeat, quick and steady, and I wanted to say:

“You’re alive, I’m alive. We won’t be here forever, but I’m so damn grateful to be here now, listening to the sound if you living, being a part of that. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

But I didn’t. I reveled in it. In the way your skin felt beneath my hands, soft and warm. Breathing in your air, your scent. Feeling safe and warm and loved in the comfort of your strong arms. I felt what it is to be alive, what is worth living for, and I dream of having it each day from now until I am no longer alive.


It’s not you that I wish to forget. Its what you made me feel. That connection, like some sort of drug; an addiction. I’m not ready to quit, and that makes it that much more difficult. I could barely grasp it, that slightly tangible feeling of hope. Throw me a lifesaver to rescue me from the realization that this is all there is. A lifetime of smooth talkers, manipulators and users. I gave you the easy way out, you just weren’t supposed to take it.

You were supposed to stay.