I was wondering about the universe earlier and why we’re all here and where we’re going and how everything came to be as it is today. We all have our thoughts and our beliefs and our theories and our ideas and our faith systems about what’s true or what’s out there and what isn’t, but no one really knows more than the next person. Sometimes I just need a little perspective. I just need to remember that in this vast universe, I am less than equivalent to a grain of sand. I am invisible and insignificant to all but a very few people. And I don’t know all the answers. No one does. There is a robust number of things we don’t even know we don’t know about, than what we already know we don’t know, let alone what we might actually know.
But it’s okay, you know. It’s okay to feel small, to take a step outside of yourself and see everything for what it is. It’s almost calming, and strangely relieving to realize how trivial and unnecessarily complicated our lives tend to be. It’s okay to look at the big picture, to guess, to wonder, to admit that you know little to nothing, or even to feel like you know it all.

It’s okay.

Sometimes I can’t sleep and it reminds me of being in high school again. When it does, I cringe at the thought because high school was full of dark days and depression and I never want to experience the pain of my early adolescent years ever again.
I still have my seldom moments of sadness and mental trauma, but before, those “moments” felt endless and now I don’t experience that continuous pain anymore. The miserable human being inside of me is now barely there, and trust me, endless vs. barely there is quite a far stretch. I don’t know if you understand, but loving someone and being loved back so strongly has changed me beyond what I ever knew possible. I might be brittle and cold on the outside at times, but in my heart I am as weak and vulnerable as a blade of grass beneath an oncoming boot. It’s the way I am and always will be. I’m not tough. I’m naive, dependent, repressed, and I always tend to think that everyone else must hate me for being like this. They tire of me, they don’t care to know me, they’d be just fine if I left or died tomorrow. It seems I’m pessimistic, I guess, and unconfident in my persona, but I’ve always had these thoughts and I can’t help them being there.
I was so alone before, and when you’re alone, all you’re left to do is drown in the wanderings of your mind. It’s hard to escape the mind once you’ve dug such a deep, self-destructive hole. I’d walk home by myself from high school in the hot summer heat and think quite a lot about giving up. I would consider lying in the center of the road in the hopes of my frail body meeting an oncoming car. I’d stop and sit behind the trees that line my neighborhood walls where I could be hidden from view, just to cry, and to simply put off going home for just a while longer. I’d think about meeting some savior-like stranger on the street who would take me far away from everyone and everything. I’d look around for a sign of someone who might care, but no one was ever there.
I remember a specific phase during high school when I felt absolutely alone and unwanted by everyone. There wasn’t a single friendly face to at least pass the time with. During that phase, I’d wait by myself under a particular tree after school every day, where no one could see me. Sometimes it would be hours before I’d find someone in my family to bring me home.
On one particular day, I remember feeling so broken and so empty inside. I sat under the tree and did what I do best during those seemingly endless hours of waiting—I played with fallen leaves on the ground. Sitting by myself, I found a pretty little ladybug in the leaves. It made me happy. After the terrible, desolate day I was having, this ladybug running along my palms was the single, unexpected thing that made me somewhat happy. Like a little red miracle. Except, it wasn’t long before I lost the ladybug. I searched for him, and then my worst fear was realized. I lifted up my right foot and there he was, visibly lifeless. In my attempt to find the ladybug, I had killed him with my very own foot… this little piece of joy that had made me happy for a moment, gone, just like that.
And I was pathetically devastated.
Along with the ladybug, I think something inside of me broke off and died that day. Still sitting alone in my spot beneath the tree, I immediately started balling when all of this happened. I cried a lot throughout the rest of that day, mourning both the ladybug and the tiny piece of joy I had lost, the brief joy I hadn’t experienced in such a long time. I’m hopeless, I think.
I have never felt so alone and reactive in my worries as I did back then. But I don’t feel alone anymore. I don’t place all the weight of the world on trivial nonsense anymore. I don’t feel so fragile and breakable when I’m with him. I feel like half of a whole. Like I found the key to the missing piece that once kept me from feeling okay and having acceptance toward life. If I had to relive high school again, I would take what I’ve learned and go back with the sole intention of finding him sooner. He’s the only person who I’ve ever felt genuinely loves me, for all my good and bad parts. If that isn’t something actually worth crying over, I don’t know what is.

We can rigidly explore, sway along endless spirals of new experience, walk till the depths of the planet in our bare toes. We can drive until our minds go numb from hearing the same tunes sounding from my phone or until our fingers bleed at the edge of the steering wheel. Any venture you want, sweetheart. It would surely reek of excellence no matter what we did or where we went. Just the two of us, with that silly wink you emit when you turn to me, and that reticent look I respond with when I turn from you. I’m still shy, and sometimes I don’t know how to verbally explain the drumming of my heart, but I like it this way. I like our spark, our appetite to be alive. The world is our oyster. What does that even mean… I think it means we have the rest of our lives in front of us to simply do. We will do this and that and everything else there is to be done, but we don’t have to do it right now. The time that others would call “wasted” is usually my favorite time, you know. Just me and you and you and me. Wasting seconds that turn into hours that turn into days that turn into years together. Just to look at you. Just to gaze at you and wonder how such a warmhearted, faultless person could possibly love the troubled absurdity that is me. Just looking at you and holding your hand and doing nothing but that. Nothing together is always the best kind of nothing… isn’t that true. Because it’s all in the journey, not the destination, or something similar, right? I think I’ve come to understand that saying all too well. And with my understanding, I’d rather let you sleep, let you relax, let you dream your pretty little imaginations into an eight hour abyss of rightful well rest.
Sleep well, sweetheart, and tomorrow we will continue doing whatever it is we so effortlessly do.

I love mornings when I’m getting ready for the day, doing my hair, and putting on clothes because for some reason the confidence just flows and I’m freakishly euphoric about everything.
I feel pretty. My hair feels light and soft, my body feels right and comfortable, my energy is on high. And I usually choose whatever random love song is stuck in my head on that particular morning and blast it on repeat. Then I go on to jump around and break out in dance while flat ironing my hair because being senselessly in love feels so amazingly good.
My morning ritual probably sounds ridiculous.

Anonymous asked: Do you and Kyle ever run out of things to say?

Hmm, I’m not quite sure how to answer this question.
It’s not like we’re constantly trying to keep a conversation going… At night, when we’re at our separate homes, even if we’re not talking, we’ll keep the phone on anyway just for the satisfaction of having each other there on the line, if you understand what I mean.
When I’m with other people, I feel like I have to keep a conversation going, or contribute to it somehow so as to not come off as rude or something… but with Kyle, I’ve never felt any sort of force in needing to “keep things interesting”. When we have something stirring to talk about, we can keep the topic going for what seems like forever. Even if we don’t keep a single topic going, that topic will lead us onto another random topic, which will lead us onto something else, and so on and so forth. But if we’re not conversing, it’s just as well if I’m sitting on his bed doing my homework and he’s sitting in his chair strumming a guitar. We don’t spend our time thinking, “okay, now what do I say next?” We’re not so focused on talking with each other, because all that really matters is that we’re simply with each other.
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that, even with all the time we spend together, we’ve never had a problem in trying to find things to say. And we don’t have a problem with sitting quietly together and just enjoying one another’s company. It seems like we always have something to do or are able to find some way to keep ourselves entertained, anyway.

TL;DR — No.