New Beginnings

I have been desperately thrashing at the mysterious layer of bricks veiling the future in an attempt to answer a solitary question that is driving me mad: there is an unexplored universe next door, will you come with me?

 

It started early in the summer.

I woke up from an unusually long drinking binge to not only a vicious hangover, but a lingering face projected on the backs of my eyelids. Due to the foolish amounts of alcohol consumed, I was unable to recollect the hazy details surrounding that face. To say I became obsessed with courting him would be a lack of intensity. Details were steadily revealed to me, but the cloudy specifics never became completely lucid. I was visibly overtaken and consumed by this face and immediately wanted to know all of the perplexing eccentricities of his character.

It didn’t take long until we became inseparable. We spent days utterly captivated by each other in the immobilizing heat. He told me my lavender curls reminded him of a mermaid. I told him the scar above his right eyebrow resembled Frankenstein. His innocent fingertips grazed my porcelain skin as if it were made of glass, cautious not to damage the delicate exterior. I breathed him in and felt dizzy by his allure.

Something about the warmth of the midsummer sun, the dancing clouds, his golden brown skin, and the endless nights under the amethyst sky made that entire summer feel like one drastically prolonged kaleidoscopic daydream. When the end of August crept up behind us we didn’t know what had hit us. All of the sudden, time was fleeting so rapidly we could not stop for a second to catch our breath.

The first time we said goodbye was in my driveway. I cried until I felt dazed and weak; he wiped my tears and embraced my trembling body in the moonlight. The future seemed so emphatically against us, though I so desperately prayed for the contrary. As frantically as I attempted to hold onto that summer, a new chapter was opening up and there was nothing that could stop it from becoming a colorful, utopian memory.

Since then, we’ve said goodbye in parking lots, hotels, out of car windows, city streets, and bedrooms and even though a year has gone by, the torture of watching you leave never gets any easier.

It was the winter of my life and he was my only essence of warmth. I remember being entirely submerged inside of his oversized jacket, embracing him tightly with every ounce of strength I had. Whenever he left, the sky instantaneously shifted to a pale, lackluster gray, and my body shivered from the agonizing chill.

We went on enchanting escapades, hand-in-hand in the frosty air, and kissed under fireworks in Central Park. The cold, crystal January sky led to a desperate desire to eliminate the distance between us. But, reality hit us like a ton of bricks; I had to attend my last semester of school and he had to go back to work. Temporary insanity. Being apart again planted pessimistic, impractical thoughts in our minds and misery in our hearts. I held onto his sentences, his smiles, his unspoken thoughts, and his glaucous blue eyes. Time was our enemy, but we annihilated it, because after a bone-chilling winter, waking up to a warm spring day is pure ecstasy.

Since then, we have said hello in doorways, city streets, parking lots, cars, driveways, and bedrooms. Side-by-side we have said hello to new places, new people, new experiences, and new beginnings. However, one new beginning remains unknown.

The universe is calling. It’s time to explore.

Life has brought me to a colorful room, and surrounding me is an infinite number of doors. The one I choose to take can determine the next “hello.” But I don’t want to go alone. I can’t go alone. Will you come with me?

brief ramblings while laying in bed

thoughts at 12:15pm
i want to wake up to your sleepy yawns and bedroom eyes every morning;
i'd smile, then snuggle close and drift back to sleep for a few hours in your arms.

12:38
my favorite noise
is that of your heavy breathing
and sharply drawn gasps
when i give myself to you
and our bodies blend together

12:44
i bet the moon is lonely
staring down at a world so dark and quiet
but if it only knew how much we long for it
and feel dazzled and dizzied by it's presence
oh, moon don't hide away
illuminate our violet sky

1:00
your eyes tell stories
they speak to me each time they meet mine
yours are lighter, with a bit more blue
but i always pretend they're the same
when they meet it's an abrupt and awkward handshake
but then after a few seconds they have become the best of friends
yours telling stories and secrets that even your mouth would not expose
mine shyly observing with amour

Map to Paradise

The best part of me is hidden. You cannot see it; I cannot see it. But, I can feel it. When I close my eyes, I am exhaustively overcome by it.

Ever since I can remember I have had an insatiable desire to genuinely capture every moment, every experience, and every sensation. I have always found a way to perceive the most tragic and forgotten moments in the most exquisite ways. This feeling was never forced, nor was it cognitively identifiable. I kept a diary from the moment I began kindergarten. Yet, the only days I seemed to extensively write about were the ones I felt disheartened or enraged. Those were the moments that I felt were indispensable to my life; those were the moments I wanted to commit to memory. Pouring my heart out onto paper allowed me to analyze the situations and alter my responses to them. It was then that I realized that writing helps you decide who you are. Writing teaches you how to live and how to be vulnerable. It teaches you how to take conventional experiences and turn them into works of art.

As a child, I would hear a single word or phrase and it would replay in my mind tirelessly like a song. I would dwell on words or sentences I found stimulating or radiant and attempt to insert them into my daily vocabulary. I found the assembling of words to be fascinating; therefore, reading came almost as a reflex to me at a young age. One of my lasting memories involves me reading stories to my kindergarten class. In elementary school, excitement would overcome me when we would learn our vocabulary lists for the week. To my astonishment, everyone else moaned and groaned at the thought of memorizing these words, so I tried to keep my enthusiasm discreet. I would pick out my favorite word from the class list and ask my friends which one was their favorite.  I quickly discovered that the other kids did not usually choose a favorite unless I forced it out of them.  As the years passed and I frequently changed my ideal profession from a dancer, to a marine biologist, to a psychologist, somehow I always integrated that I aspired to write a novel. As the career path I envisioned incessantly changed, that remained constant.

Fast forward to present day. As I sit on campus between classes I observe those around me. I study their habits, their words, and their nonverbal communication as they abruptly pass by.  I wish to capture every detail in my mind so I can record it on paper. Just as I did when I was in kindergarten, I keep a journal that travels with me at all times, for unexpected ideas or experiences that I must embrace.

It has been a stimulating journey to reach this peak of realization. I have changed my mind innumerable times over my future career choice. I began college as a psychology major, switched to business communication with a focus in marketing, then to journalism, followed by advertising. Throughout the metamorphosis I had failed to acknowledge what I am sincerely passionate about. What I have discovered on this journey is that your passion, your essence, it will find you. You cannot lie to yourself. Once you uncover it, it demands to be let forth.

Writing is my passion, my craft. Though I am not its finest craftsman, I feel an overwhelming acceptance from the universe when I admit this to myself. I find words mesmerizing and I want to arrange them in eloquent segments and share the products with everyone. Exposing this hidden passion can be a grueling adventure, but the extraordinary feeling returned is an escape to paradise.

The best part of me is hidden and when I close my eyes, I am exhaustively overcome by it.