Breathe raw

Rely on not oneself, but the heart, however deep it may be.

I’m pretty sure I just got my heart broken. It’s the way you see her, the way you cross your barriers and incomparable sight that just releases blindness to everyone around you, even to the blind. Because it’s you and her, just you and her. Her and you. No one compares. No one can replace. No one could be… worse.

It’s my first college crush. I don’t know why I should even go there. I’m better than this, better than getting distracted by these kinds of things. My mind is broad but so open, empty but not empty; I fill the space with things that can actually blow it. Things that can blow your mind too. Things that you do not believe I have. Things I create. Imagine.

We talked about life, and how wonderful it is. You know, it doesn’t work the same way when you try to give yourself advice. They were kind. I just gave in. But hopefully my little gestures and words of wisdom helped someone. Hopefully. I just want to cry. It is nothing to me. Nothing. It just makes you feel good. And letting out what you’ve been smoking on is a more vibrant, fresh, and tired feeling inside. Interesting dynamic of combination. So reluctant. So critical. So bitter. I tried. But I need not try. I need to just believe in myself and my hardship through days like these. Because we give off energy, the negativity continues to multiply. When you wake up, and put it to an end, realizations are the key to turning it around. A complete 360. You glare at the bad things, the mistakes, but there were the little prices in between, bestowed between. Except, they are microscopic and, let alone, superior. Only, the superior, and strong minds give the reluctant radar, the feeling and vibe, to lure itself that way.

Shoot. Fuck it. Life is wonderful. And all those little things will mean nothing in the long run. Maybe it didn’t have to be said, or thought. Maybe you can just live. Maybe breathing is all that matters. NO. Life has its precious moments, moments of pleasure but yet, bring joy to oneself for a lifetime. And gosh darn it, I am happy. Keep to yourself. They don’t ask, so we don’t tell them. If you respect and treat others maturely, you are more mature than you may see. Forget it. We- I, will not let myself fall into a depression just because some boy does not see me the way I see myself. It’s time to be free, time to let go and say, “Well sir, everything’s great.” Because it is.

Don’t hold back. Give your all. And if you do hold back, just remember to breathe, and be you.

The essence of second guessing and third person intentions are formed, informed. Delinquet phrases and carefully minded serenity. Juice. Juicy juicy stories and utter shy calls. Lots of metaphors and similes. For one, the “smoking” means what I’ve stuck my head in, what I’ve got myself believing. Breathing.   

I feel like I’d have t write this down before anything to get a hold of myself, so I can unspool my brain and unwrap my heart, unclog my soul, and notice that it is only stronger, no wound noticeable, not even inconspicuously. Love is strong. But, what is love? I'll tell you what I do know. It is the last word, shared, independently increased, unsaid, and contagious.

When you’re alone, it’s a different feeling. Well, yeah, we all stand alone whether you have evolved yet or you haven’t. But standing invisibly is like being ignored, cold remarked and secluded. I felt uninvolved, unwanted. In my own world? No. I didn’t share conversation. I was just short sentenced. I was very eager to get out and repress.

I ignored texts, phone calls, small kind acts from them, her, him. You. I reject on such a manly move. I was on the edge. You did not catch me. But I caught myself. I’d like to think that it wasn’t YOU, per say, who I tagged to. It was merely your ways, your sweetness and just a show that allowed me to see the bright light in people. It was your etiquette. I understand. It wasn’t your attraction, although you were handsome.

It could be the fact that I'd put it down before I get a word up. What I'm also saying is that, I'd rather write this all down, the way I feel, before I call my friend back to confess what my bad day has turned into. All is well. Maybe someone's listening here. Maybe my voice is heard.

In “Worn Me Down” by Rachel Yamagata, she whispers. She whispers the line, “She’s so pretty, she’s so damn bright.” She’s beautiful. A face of an angel. The way you carry yourself in her presence. You’re just my muse. Nothing heartly. Nothing healthy or unhealthy. Uninfected. Yet, I’m so intrigued. Maybe I should be a Doctor, because I really want to see what’s in people’s heads. Perhaps I fell a little for your superior prince ways but you’re my story. You’re just my story, my character. It’s easier creating from sctracth, but you were already built, and I cannot exaggerate, give, or take from you. You are you. And that’s all that matters.

See, writing does assist in realizing what the missing piece of the problem is.

Life is wonderful. And it only took me a page of drastic typing to remember that.

I do not need to prove anything to age myself. I am young. You were once young, too. They call me "baby" but I'm sure I could whoop some ass on smarter motives. I don't judge, though.

A lot of the time, when I break sentences, it’s a whole new subject. A lot of the time, it isn’t. But I’ll tell you what. These are all about different people. In the same room. But different causes, all connecting.

Twitting, twirling, whirling.

I began this post feeling like a typical, naive, teenager who thinks about love and the end of the world. I leave, pondering about why I sound that way and how silly and dumbfounded I was. Well not dumb, because we all have lame feelings sometimes. But they are real. I'm stronger. Your heart will never be broken, unless you get shot.