roads. (dear you, pt. 12)

love is an art,

love is a balancing act.

—

as I look through pictures,

glimpses of past lives push their way out of the hole I’ve dug for them.

i’ve learned that ‘what if?’ Is a terrible question.

i’ve also found out that ‘why?’ isn’t so bad of one.

we were always told that nobody can really know why things happen the way they do.

and to an extent, i guess that’s true.

but i can’t help but ask it when i think about you.

i think ‘why?’ is a perfectly acceptable question to ask,

because while there may not always be a reason,

i think that there’s always a meaning.

there’s no reason in suffering.

there’s no glory in pain.

but there is revelation in redemption,

and there is purpose to gain.

when i look into the eyes of those i love,

and of those who love me,

i see the power that comes from believing in redemption.

dear you,

why did you do the things you’ve done?

why have you walked the road that’s clearly marked with misery and waste?

and why don’t you see the obvious exits?

on this side of earth, you haven’t permanently sealed your fate.

it’s never too late.

the songs we sing. (dear you, pt. 11)

there’s a lot in a song.

there’s so much more than notes and rhythm.

there’s a road trip.

there’s a sleepless, tired night.

there’s a sunrise, and a new day full of possibilities.

there’s a sunset, and a sense of fulfillment (or lack of).

there’s a rainy/snowy/sunny/cloudy day.

there’s a rainbow.

there’s a hurricane.

there’s the sweet scent and stench of nostalgia.

there’s a promise of new memories.

there’s shredded vocal chords as we find our voices.

there’s the rush of losing yourself, and the thrill of finding it all over again.

there’s the thought that i’m not good enough.

there’s the realization that there is one that is good enough for all of us.

there’s the pain of brokenness.

there’s the power of redemption.

dear you,

when we sing the same songs,

i realize what’s in a song,

and why the sweetest sound of all might be harmony.

you're welcome, i'm sorry. (dear you, ctd.)

why write?

it’s a question i’ve asked myself numerous times.

i still don’t know the answer to it.

there are some simple components that i agonize over, and it trips me up every time.

who is my audience?

this may be the hardest of the questions.

do i write for me? i think that i probably do.

which isn’t a wrong motivation.

you really can’t write for the sake of writing.

it is, to me, by nature a chore. it takes time. thought. effort. all things that are in short supply sometimes.

do i write for the masses? as if my words could possibly be important enough.

i think that sometimes i write for you,

(scratch that — i KNOW that i write sometimes for you),

because you need to hear these things.

or do you? why am i arrogant enough to think that you “need” anything, let alone something from me?

maybe sometimes i write FROM you,

inspired by the both the triumphant and the tragic.

my words have been my asset and my downfall. which is which? i guess that’s up to you.

i labor and agonize over my words, and have to decide if it’s worth it.

yet here i am, so here goes:

dear you,

you’re welcome, and i’m sorry.

it’s up to you to decide which of those you believe in.

nostalgia, and how to abandon nostalgia. (dear you, pt. 9)

i think that this is what it feels like to abandon nostalgia,

because the things that have passed were great,

(in fact, they were incredible),

and the people in the past were great,

(in fact, they seemed incredible),

but the memories seem tainted now.

the rush of those moments and the thrill of the nights,

now stained by stark reminders of where i took myself,

and who i tried to become.

i had it all and lost it all,

only for so many of the ones i thought i loved to become ghosts.

i think this is what it feels like to let go,

because the calls stopped as soon as better options and opportunities presented themselves,

and as soon as i didn’t have anything more to offer that you wanted.

the joy of giving myself away seems squandered now on people who didn’t seem to want to give any of themselves back.

at the end of the day, the more you allow yourself to be treated like a commodity, the more you’ll mistake that for community.

i think this is what it feels like to wake up,

desperate to rewrite the future while taking the best of the past and shaping my present reality.

it’s all so simple now when looking from a distance. it’s painfully obvious and sometimes more painful than usual. but the fight is slowly proving to be worth it.

the things that made me broken are teaching me to be whole.

and so while i miss the many things that I have lost,

i’m learning to embrace the things that i have been given in order to receive far more in the future.

it’s scary and painful and downright exhausting. but it’s a fight worth fighting every time.

dear you,

i miss you, and all of the moments we shared together; all of the laughter and tears and honesty. i wish we could have that again.

but i think this is what it feels like to finally love myself.

grey. (everything ends someday, pt. 4)

life was simpler when things were black and white,

but when things got hazy nothing focused quite right.

i don’t think our eyes have become accustomed to seeing grey.

it’s messy and painful and usually scares me away.

like i don’t belong,

(and yes it is true that we don’t fully belong here, but we should at least be able to set some things down and adjust)

and like love from those around us only covers a limited amount of wrongs.

there’s no words that people have spoken to me lately that have brought anything other than grief.

i’m just trying to find some room to breathe and begging for relief.

there is a promise that i still hold true- that God shines through the darkest days;

it’s just maddening when those you love seem to be adding to the haze.

maybe we weren’t meant to see grey.

maybe we can’t handle the nuances;

maybe we don’t know how to pray.

because life is so unfathomably complex,

and maybe the fall was when we started asking, “why?”

unfiltered, these distinctions, these subtleties are masterpieces and they’re wonderful and inspiring.

maybe the haze has just confused us and caused it to spiral and spin and left us with migraines.

maybe we were meant to see grey,

but maybe i can’t handle it yet.

could you help?

i think you’ve tried.

but maybe after all of the nights like these where i bared my soul for anyone to see, you’ve all grown tired of hearing from me. maybe i’ve burned you out,

because you don’t ask me about it anymore. instead, my progress has been much slower than you wanted, and it’s become a chore for you to try and get me to grow up and figure it out.

so you wave cordially,

smile when you can,

and maybe someday i’ll be useful again.

maybe you know what it’s like to understand grey,

and so for someone to miss it so often feels like a lost cause.

maybe we weren’t meant to see grey.

maybe we were meant to see grey.

right now, it’s blurry.

everything ends someday,

and it ends up right back where you started, picking it up.

only this time, it’s left a stain and now you’re done being let down.

i’m sorry to let you down.