Saltwater memories

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Hello I am here to give a little update on my life, things are very good at the moment.

I’ve gotten closer to a lot of different people, old friends and new; I enjoy this so very much because I’m allowing myself to glow and prosper at my full potential.

That’s another thing, realizing my full potential. It’s something that has provided so much new love and happiness that I didn’t know I could provide for myself before; something I know cannot be taken away by anyone but myself. For the first time I’m not relying on another human being to make me happy—which is quite mature in my eyes.

And I feel no guilt for growing, changing, becoming my better self. I’ve come to terms that if I lose people in the process of my individual growth that it’s ok. I’ve already manually cut off the negative parts of my life and no longer seek revenge for those who have wronged me; I only hope they find peace within their heartbreaking souls.

So who knows what’s next for me this upcoming year, it’s my senior year which is a big one. I just wish for success in areas of my life that I strive in, people that love me and genuinely push for my excellence, and finally for this glow to remain unchanged and constant.

fairytale land

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Once upon a time there was a girl just like you or me. She had her good days but most were lackluster, never terribly awful but you could tell things were dimmed.

She cried more times she’d care to admit to anyone but herself and poured all her love into others’ empty canteens. Now this wasn’t always a bad thing, it made her feel whole—less numb—but people take advantage of such kind souls.

Her friends compared her to the sun, a comparison she never really minded and secretly loved; the sun was life, it was everything she had forced herself to believe she was. But on the inside she was dying, the glow in her heart dangerously close to being snuffed out.

And it was. Day by day, bit by bit, ever so discreetly but oh so prominent the light dissipated. Her body was cold, frail, so very very vulnerable.

We all know these stories, we know that the girl finds her knight in shining armor to save the day and ignite life into the story.

But this is not that kind of story.

Instead of waiting for someone else to make her whole like she had so many times before, the girl did something even more remarkable and beautiful.

She reached deep down inside of herself and found the leftover remains of all the love she had placed aside for others; and with those delicate slivers she stitched and pasted together a different kind of love for herself.

A vibrant, solid kind of love that no one else can take; it grows in strength as you grow and fills you with earth shattering happiness.

It was the kind of love that transformed this young girl into the heroine of her own story.

You see self-love does that to a person; reshapes the heart, opens the eyes, supplies wisdom to the mind.

And turns suns into supernovas.

An older sister’s sentiment

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My dear little sister,

I write to you now typing with one hand on a small phone screen as the other smooths your hair while you drift off to sleep. It is in this moment I can forget that soon you will be 13 years old, for you will always be my little one.

Day by day you grow and as these moments drift in and out I can still see glimpses of your innocence. Nights like these are gentle reminders that you are still maturing and finding your way.

You walked into my room this evening with tears rolling down your cheeks, you gave a gentle salutation and went to your room without another sound; but then I heard your whimpers. I walked in your room and asked what was wrong, you said it was your head but I knew it was your heart. So I curled up next to you on your bed in the dark and held you until finally your eyes shut.

We fight a lot, you and I, but no matter how angry I get or how frustrating you can be you are my little baby. The one thing in this world I couldn’t bear to lose. But still I don’t think you realize how much I care, how much I am willing to care for you when our own mother turns the other cheek.

Tonight is the first night that I have realized this time next year I will be in the process of moving out and starting anew, and you will be on your way to high school; both of us starting new yet frightening chapters.

I just want you to know that whenever you need me, no matter how far away I seem, I will always come back to hold you in the dark and wait until you fall asleep.

Love always,

your big sister.

I think we’re the ones

 

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I think we’re the lucky ones.

I’ve seen relationships around me rise and fall in the darkest of ways, I’ve seen people sob until their eyes could barely lubricate themselves and scream until their voices ran hoarse. I’ve heard stories of manipulation and mind games tearing even the kindest people apart, twisted them into mangled heaps of their former selves.

I think I made it out with only minimal mental scars and a heart that still beats at a normal pace.

I think you think about me from time to time and feel a familiar ache, I think you feel some sort of regret; I think you wish you could still reach out and touch my hand without me jerking back or flinching, with fear frozen in my half brightened eyes.

I think about you during thunderstorms, how easy it would be to send you a message asking you to be back in my life. How the sound of rainfall seems to soothe me to sleep just like your touch once did; I think about how our love was like lightning—fast, electrifying, and lethal.

I think about how stupid it is of me to keep thinking about you, how I keep writing about you. I’ve never written this much about one person, not since those 72 hours of utter hell last year.

I think we’re the lucky ones because if we really tried, we could start over again. And I think neither of us would really mind that at all.

But I think we’re the ones that were made to slowly poison each other; we just get to enjoy the process as we ride along.

Cotton&Fabric Softener

 

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I still have that t-shirt you let me borrow, the blank gray one with no discernible features other than its basic neckline and criss cross stitching along the hem.

Usually it’s buried deep beneath a tower of old shirts at the bottom of my second drawer on the right, sometimes I grab it by accident and before I know it I’m wearing it around the house, times like right now as I type this.

The signature cologne you wear has long since been worn away by wash after wash, the only thing left is the faint smell of green apples from my detergent that reminds me of home when I need it most; it keeps me grounded, focused on what’s ahead of me instead of behind.

I would never confess to others that I kept this, the hypocrisy that would underly all of the advice I’ve given to others would come to light; but out of all the things I’ve kept from you, the bracelet, the stuffed animals, the poloroid of us in my kitchen that resides on my wall—none hold a candle to this simple weaving of cotton I wear.

Because in another life, a life that seems so far away at this point, you wore it too.

And you never asked for it back.

 

 

Quelle?

 

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I don’t know what to write about but here I am typing away on this damn keyboard.

I am different waves of emotion, happy yet sad yet for some reason boiling with rage. I was in London a short while ago for 9 days with fellow theatre kids from my school; the memories of the trip are too plentiful to record here but just know that I was the happiest I have been with other people in a very long time. Each night was filled with the sounds of my shrill laughter and countless inside jokes I will treasure for years to come.

And I really miss it. God, I miss it. The expectation of my life had melted away, I was my authentic self–nothing held back. All of the thoughts that were echoed from my lips were celebrated by all who listened, and the support and love I felt from the masses was incredible.

Sadly, life seems duller back home. I’ve tried really hard not to feel this way, to not make others feel like their efforts are inadequate, but going from 9 whole days of action filled adventures to idly sitting around your house isn’t the easiest of transitions. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells again; not knowing how to properly act around people in my life is one of my biggest pet peeves. It sounds selfish I know, but I had gotten comfortable with not having to diminish myself for the sake of others.

I had no worries. I could breathe without worrying about the people around me, without having to constantly check up on others. And although you would think being around certain people would worsen my mental health progress, it strengthened it. It allowed me to face my past trauma and stare it straight down–making it cower and shrivel away.

So I fear being back will undo all of that progress, that not being forced to cope with my demons will allow me to relax back into unhealthy habits of over analyzing and bottling up the smallest sign of distress. I just need routine to keep my ever so wandering mind from pulling me near the edge again.

Or maybe a person…I haven’t seriously considered needing a person in my life again. Yes, I’ve professed wanting a body to hold or kiss from time to time, but never really anything meaningful. I miss having something tangible to call my own; a pair of eyes shining brightly, an adorable smile, hands to reach out and hold close to my heart or encircling my face with a touch identical to brush strokes on a canvas.

I think I’ve just had an epiphany.