10 posts tagged “heart”

I love so much and think so little. Spend my time doing, instead of contemplating. I mean, I think enough, I just don't over do. I think that's why I'm so happy. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I think far too much than I'm meant to, but I think I work on balancing it out with the whole "wearing my heart on my sleeve" thing. It works for me, at least. 

I have far too much time on my hands, and not enough to do. I keep myself busy with little tasks and things I can laugh at later. Its probably a "self protection" thing One of those things you do to keep yourself from thinking. Maybe that's why I think so little. I'm not too sure. 

I spend a lot of my time doing things people may see as "childish". I escape into disney movies, building forts in my bedroom, coloring in coloring books, and mixing funny things together to see how it'll taste.  I'm a teenager, but I'll be doing this until I'm 75 I'm sure. At least I hope. 

Hope. That's another big thing. I hope for a lot of things. Hoping for hope is the biggest. Another thing about me is that I don't "hope" for material things. Near never, though I have been known for the occasional materialistic want. I hope for experiences. I hope to be able to put myself into situations where I can change myself. Where I can change the way I think. Better myself. 

I don't take myself too seriously. Come to think of it, I don't take myself seriously at all. I'm a simple person. I don't think too much. I worry just enough for the ones I care about. I don't have any hidden meanings, or things I wish I would have said. I'm good at the art of shrugging things off. 

As doctor seusse once said, "think what you want, but mean what you say" something along those lines anyways. 

You're so afraid to continue what we have,
you know something's there,
you feel just as much as I do when you touch me,
you like it just as much as I do when you kiss me,
it's just you're pulling away now because you know that if you don't pull away soon you might find yourself falling in love?

As we wallow in self-pity after a heart-wrenching end to a relationship once so cherished, we have only the aftermath to blame.

Much like the tragic anatomy of a train wreck, the aftermath alone stings hearts and depresses minds. The event itself is a brilliance of chaos, a burst of ferocity with no deception, no tears, no anger. Even shock hasn't arrived. The moment is explosive but uneventful.

The wind that breathes life into tragedy happens in the moments following. And this is true of all our life's events. Only consequences lead to emotion. Happiness is a function of something else, as is love and hate, fear and courage.

Our own thoughts are often predictors of such consequences, and this power inadvertently influences even the strongest hearts. More than not, this is what we might label "irrationality."

And irrationality is the furnace in which heartbreak thrives most abundantly.

It's the Why did he hurt me? Is he happy without me? as much as it is Everything was so perfect.—when, indeed, it was not.

Shut the Fuck Up
And this irrational course to which our hearts so effortlessly damn themselves after tragedy—this is the christening of self-pity, self-deception, self-frustration, self-everything.

We analyze and question every move we've ever made in this fragile state.

We consume ourselves with torture.

We are, in every regard, masochists in the shadow of heartbreak.

Most of us distance ourselves from tragedy with time, and though the self-everything will hardly vanish entirely, time bandages those wounds begun by an event and left open by our minds.

But isn't there something else, something other than time, to mend our hearts? Perhaps another relationship? A selfish rebound. A new found busyness, maybe? Distractions.

Or maybe it's even simpler than that. Maybe we can just tell ourselves to shut the f*ck up. Tell ourselves: "Listen, I really like you and all, but we've mourned and we've mourned. There's nothing we can do. Life is passing us by. Our irrationality fuels our wounds, it does not heal them."

Acceptance
What I suggest isn't that we banish heartbreak. Rather, we embrace it for all it's earned. We exhaust heartbreak with our own burst of ferocity. And then we advance ourselves by acceptance—an affirmative appeal rather than a passive anticipation.

We must accept that our hearts were broken rather than torture ourselves over the Whys and Ifs. Acceptance, with time, will double our efforts to recover the pieces of our broken hearts.

Acceptance means growth. It means accepting that more heartbreak is inevitable. It means saying, "And still, I know I will remain the person I am. I will hurt and I will recover just as I have today."

I miss you, I miss you so much. I miss the old you.
The one that would tell me that he loves me, the one that would always want to see me.
I miss they guy who would randomly write on my wall and tell me that he'd want to spend the rest of his life with me.
I miss those nights where it just be you and I.
I miss the way we'd talk, talk about the future or cars and sometimes dresses. I miss you walking me to the train station. I miss the guy who'd ride the train home with me.
There is so much that I wish remained the same. Will it go back to the way it was? I can't stand to loose you, I lost you twice. And it devastated me, I can't loose you again.
And here I am, wondering if things will work out. Trying to make things right, hoping it'll go back to the way it was.
But are you willing to do the same?

Sometimes I hate being right. I hate getting these feelings, I hate being able to know something bad is going to happen, and not being able to do anything about it.
I get this little tingle where my heart is supposed to be, my stomach feels like it's been flipped. I get really sleepy and I dream. These dreams are not what I want to see. These dreams, I do not want.
The line between reality and dreamland fades as time goes by, and soon both worlds collide.
As of now, my stomach and heart are tingling. I slept today, I slept yesterday.
Sleeping, something that doesn't come too easily. Even after all that sleeping; I am tired. So very tired, I want to rest, shut my eyes for real this time and see nothing at all.

I really do hope I am wrong this time, please let me be wrong. I hope I cannot sleep again, I hope I don't dream. I hope what's written in your palm is a lie.

Let me address something quickly: very, very, very few people know what love actually is.

Love isn't being stupid and not letting go when someone hurts you,
that's stupid. that's desperation. that's the feeling of being afraid to be alone.

I hate kids claiming they're in love, because that's a total load of crap. Very few people know what love is.
You have to grow up to understand love, be mature. most of you- aren't, sadly.
They know what "afraid-to-be-alone" syndrome is or the "omg-he's-so-sweet/hot" but they don't know love
BECAUSE "OMG! HE PROBABLY JUST WANTS IN YOUR PANTS!!!"

they think it's that fuzzy feeling in your tummy.
that's a crush. another, simpler word for infatuation.

love is being there for somebody.
being their best friend.
accepting the fact that they make mistakes,
working at it. but not letting them run over you.
it's knowing not to let go when things get hard.
it's not letting your friends know every detail of your relationship
BECAUSE your relationship is your business.
not Sally's. or Sue's. or Bob's. or whatever your friend's name is.

The repetition of every day life kills.
It ruins the flow of my creative juices. No joke. On days that I sleep in, I go to bed feeling exhausted, and yet, I never sleep on the weekends, when I should want rest. I don’t.
It would be a waste of freedom.
Why spend time on parole in seclusion, you know? I’m only tired on weekdays - only when I know I have to drag myself out of my fucking room to take a shower and go to school, and then maybe off to work. Maybe I’m not tired. Maybe it’s just a natural defense against running myself into the ground with routine.
I feel pale, and sick, and run down... For no reason. I eat right. I see the light of day. I breathe fresh air all the time. I love the outdoors. Shit. I'm pretty content with my life. But between Monday and Friday I feel so transient... My head isn’t in the clouds - My feet aren’t on the ground. Where am I?
I don’t know, but frankly, it sucks.

I have some good friends. We party or talk about 'deep' stuff or I can just tell them anything I want. The occasional dramatic scene is worth it. People naturally don’t get along with one another. It’s all a matter of how tolerant people are. I have some tolerant friends. In turn, I think I put up with my share of bullshit. It’s like a cycle of tough loving. But it works. It keeps me sane. In the end I think we really do love each other. bahaha, aweee?

So I’ve decided to spill it; the beans, the juice, my guts... Whatever you want to call it, consider it spilled.
Up to this point, I feel like I’ve done an excellent job of keeping just about everything true about myself, to myself... and for good reason - what people don’t know, people can’t use against you. I guess that’s my first confession. I fucking despise the way people operate. The way people go out of their way to find things out, only to throw them senselessly (BLINDLY) into conversation later. I don’t know if its intentional, (I guess that sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t,) but frankly, it gets to me. Its the same kind of prying aggravation I feel when someone starts moving shit around in my room, or on my table. Stop putting hills in my rugs! Please. Call me OCD but if I put something somewhere, chances are, I wanted it there and it should remain that way. Its the same for anyone else. Let one’s own business remain that way.

anyways.

I’ve fallen into a depression lately - not emotionally, but I feel like my ability to open up to people has peaked over the past two years. I used to be so ready to say anything, without caring how it affected me, but recently I’ve become so protective of myself, not because I’m afraid of getting hurt by others, but because I might make myself look bad-- it’s disgusting. I never used to be so self-absorbed. Its like in every situation, I’m wearing a mask... Not just one mask, in fact, but many masks; Masks to hide masks between people - to hide certain sides of myself from those who disapprove where others don’t. I try so hard to win the approval of everyone. Why? Fucked if I know. I just love being the center of attention I guess.

And all this time I thought myself to be humble.

No sir. not at all.

But then, who really is humble?
Everyone wants to be loved, right? So am I wrong in looking out for my own well being? Who knows? It makes me sick to my stomach, regardless. I’ve unknowingly stumbled across so many insecurities lately that I feel like a different person at times. It’s like I’ve been born all over again, to a world where I have to carry myself differently. I’m still opinionated, I’m still eagerly in search of answers, but my motives have changed. I do it for myself now; for the praise and admiration I earn as a result of my actions, not for the simple pleasure found in just "doing it".
Maybe its all just part of growing up, as they say. Maturing... You know? But does it continue to change?
 
Will I stop acting like such an asshole? Who knows. It worries me. I don’t want to be like this, but its who I’ve become... What’s worse is that I don’t know who or what to blame for the transformation. That would be too easy, right?

For the past few months all I ever did was think of you. All day, all night; I'd sit there and wish things were like the ways they were before. I miss those long walks we took everyday. The way we would talk about living together after high school, spending every moment of my life with you.
I don't know if you realize that you mean so much to me, much more than anything.
I miss you, I missed you before. It's sunny out, and the weather is reminding me of you. Remember last year, everyday: I'd spend everyday with you. I'd give anything, anything for those days. Anything to have to back, back the way you were back then.
And now you're gone, planning to move far far away, hundreds of miles away, in a sunny place, where you can walk everyday. And here I am, staying in New York, knowing that I will miss you terribly, more than I miss you now.
Having thoughts of moving to paradise to, along with you; but I don't know if you'd want me there.

Love stinks. It really does. People would warn me about love, about how it screws you up. How it plays tricks on you. I remember being younger, dating guys for the hell of it. Never realizing that one day the tables would turn on me.
I never had relationship issues, the thing with me was that I'd get over guys pretty easy. It was simple: just get a new guy. Plus I've never been left before, so I had no reason to worry.
But now, I'm older, things are a bit more serious. I fell for a guy, I fell hard and fast, don't even know why. I've never fallen so hard before, never have I thought of someone like this before. But here I am, same girl from a few months back, same girl who would never let a guy take control of her emotions, same girl who said "I would never get hurt, because I usually hurt the guys."
Yeah, the same girl. The one who'd everyone look at and think that she'd never fall for a guy like that. No, I was too strong, too strong to love like that. Too strong to have a silly emotion to take control of my entire life.
Look at me now, I'm the one hurt. I'm the one thinking to myself "Wtf happened?" How could I let this happen? How did I loose myself like this?
It hurts to look back at the girl I used to be, will I ever be like her again? Will I ever be as strong as her? I've learned my lesson, I really have.
I'm going back, back to my old ways. Back to the ruthless, apathetic little girl. The girl with no emotions what-so-ever. The girl I really am.

We all know the story of Pandora and her box. At her time, humans lived in happiness and had no troubles. Pandora was given a box as a gift, but she was told not to open it. But Pandora's curiosity got the best of her, one day she could take no more so she opened the box.
Out came misery, illness, grief, sadness, and all the sorrow of the world. At the very end out came hope.
That little ray of hope that flew out of Pandora's box keeps me going. That little bit of hope lets me believe that he will come back to me.
Although we look at hope as a good thing, we rarely see how it can tear us apart. Why should be be hoping for a better life? Why should we hope to have our love come back to us? Why couldn't Pandora keep her stupid box shut?
This is why we have sadness in the world, because a pretty little featherhead couldn't do a simple task.