The moments through that purse your grandmother gave you; still on your shelf, holding her scent and her loving 10 dollars as a gift. The moments with that leaf she gave you; still within the pages of your book, making an aesthetic outline, which she craved to see. The moments when she spoke, the moments when you speak; moments are beautiful. Moments that become memories, those are indescribable.
#be glad for a moment #moments are all it takes #thoughts
My mind drifted to that single moment that sparked my seemingly eternal but naive hope.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
Even when I do something embarrassing in front of you and want to hide from you, your arms are still the only security blanket I feel safe to hide in.
“Hey, snap out? What’s weird?”
“Nothing, the day they invent mind readers, you can figure it out.”
“Not cool, that’ll be forever long.”
“Who says we don’t have forever long?”
(I can’t help my thoughts from gravitating towards your pull. I’m irrational in this manner; whimsical in this manner) I couldn’t help my thoughts from gravitating towards your pull. I was irrational in this manner; whimsical in this manner. (If you find me, great; if you keep me, better) If you found me, great; if you kept me, better. (But, if you don’t the seasons will still change) But, you didn’t and the seasons are still changing, the moon still rotating, the plants still breathing, people still talking, thinking, laughing, crying. (Still, you’re always going to be a lingering chapter, I don’t doubt that thought will cease) And now, you’re not a lingering chapter, and heavens am I glad that I have no doubts these thoughts have ceased.
Edited Today.
Sometimes inspiration feels like it peaks through after that draining, suffocating, solid glass in your brain shatters.
Waiting for that glass to shatter is tedious, but when it finally does, and trust that it will, rays of light enter the dark vault inhabiting your mind. With that shatter, freshness seeps away the stifling air created by the glass box in your mind.
With that shatter, translucence takes over your mind. With that shatter, the invisible becomes visible. With that shatter, invincibility is a possibility. With that shatter, the scribbled notes on your desk become pages of flourishing poetry. With that shatter, you walk downstairs with a smile on your face, a heart ready to laugh, and a soul that’s ready to last. With that shatter, breathing becomes easy again. In, out; inhale, exhale. With that shatter, breathing is an unconscious act again. With that shatter, your world shines, your world illuminates, you illuminate, you mean it when you smile, and you mean it when you’re too tired to give useless spaces time. With that shatter, irrelevance blurs. With that shatter comes motivation, and a confidence that replenishes your doubts. With that shatter, inspiration strikes for a new tomorrow that’s anticipating light and joy you finally know and not just think that you deserve. And once you’re at a stage beyond the need for a glass in your mind to shatter, which without a doubt can come, you’ll know that inspiration was always at your fingertips. You’ll know that you’ve always been in control of when that glass shatters.
Sometimes a song comes on, and it takes you back to “used to.”
The way the sun used to peaked through your room, offering hope, glory, and anticipation in your innocent world. The way that you used to sing first thing in the morning, and piss your cousin off, giving her nightmares about being her eternal alarm clock.
The way in which summers meant going back home to your 35-degree cosmopolitan city in the east, which you were so used to, and still are; or, at least, want to be.
The way that family reunions used to be home.
The way you used to laugh with your beautifully immature cousins over the stupidest things because you were the family’s comics, and 11, and free.
The way you used to be a “nerd” for the first few years of high-school, but also the way you used to be happy, head-shakingly trying to moonwalk in your private moments.
The way your circle used to be small, but also the way it was safe, it was pleasant. The way you used to be young, innocent and unaware of any pain. What is pain?
Sometimes a song comes on, and it triggers certain sensations, a warmth, a light, a scent; That scent of cement when graced with water; and all of them combined make you realize that it’s okay to go back to “used to” in some ways. Growth is great, but part of it means taking the right steps to go back to a form of “used to” that fits your happiness now, of course if “used to” ever was happy. Maybe the right song is all you need to realize that life is good; Life is o.k. If you look through and behind the veil of distractions that reside only in your head, all those things that “used to” are still there and they’re waiting for you to return their love. “Used to,” is the core, and momentary figments of glitter can never surpass your core. So I guess I’m saying, it’s cool for me to be inspired towards taking a step back to that alluring vision of “used to.”
Just Typing 