Tonight marks my transition as a human being. I went to a Buddhist chanting and as I walked in, the phrase "nam myoho renge kyo" was being repeated over and over again. What stood out to me was the word Renge, which stands for the lotus flower. As corny as it may sound, I chose this to be one of my future daughter's names. The whole concept begins with how a bud grows in the mud, a representation of all the dirty emotions and phases of life. However, in that mud and negativity grows a lotus flower. It's beautiful as its petal reflect off hints of sunlight. I am a lotus, and I am proud of my mud. From now on, this phrase will become my chant and I will stick by it and live by it. This phrase embodies everything I believe in.
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This eternal ache feels heavy. I can't breathe under the poison I created, I'm letting it feed off of me. Allowing it to consume me entirely. I'm just another moment, I don't have a past, because having a past means I have an identity. I don't have an identity, I'm whoever you want me to be. I can be the best and worst you've ever had. I'll let you scratch the surface, but you'll never get to the core - I'm filled with adrenaline, and I'm tired of talking. Tape my mouth shut with your voice, nobody can tame me. I don't listen. I never listen. I speak my art, I move in my art, I am art.
Tangled in your voice, I can't help but imagine what it'd be like to be wrapped up in your words. I feel the warmth of your soul even though you're not there and the only connection I have to you is a cellphone. I'm intrigued by you and your corny jokes. You hit all the sweet spots with your puns, and I'm laughing. Eyes wrinkled, dimples caving in, I feel my heart beating. I like you because you're nothing like him.
"He doesn't deserve you, I mean that" Do you know how to cook?
I can cook metaphors by boiling down the chaos in my mind. How does it taste? Bittersweet. Don't let it's beauty fool you. How do you taste? I taste like all the guys who've kissed me and left. You need a sweet tooth to handle me. And what if I touched you? You'll only find pieces. What are your secrets? I keep them in my eyes. It'll take time for you to unravel them. Can I hold you? I'm fragile, don't drop me. I bruise easily. Are you in love? I'm loving myself, but his voice is still echoing in my head. Did he love you? I was summer to him - temporary. Will he come back? He has a new body to hold. Are you eating? I've been eating leftover memories for two weeks. Why are there dark circles under your eyes? The pain makes me stay up at night. Do you wake up early? The pain wakes me up too. What are you listening to? Sounds to help silent my thoughts. Do you like someone new? If only I could hear his voice and look into his eyes His simplicity drives me wild. Does he know? He's too good and I'm too complicated. I'm protecting him from me. What is your favorite season? I'm falling like the leaves, but I've always found love in the summer. Are you crazy? Creators will always be insane. Can I be crazy with you? You can't handle my madness. What did you love about him? How he loved me. Who do you look up to? I'm looking up at god everyday, asking why. Do you feel cold? I was never warm, even in his arms. What are you filled with? Bad intentions and a broken soul. Can I keep you? I'm the kind of girl you can't hold onto. Why? Because I was meant to give memories - not stay. "Someday you’ll find someone Who will treat you like a goddess Instead of simply telling you That you are one" Confidence. I've been completely drenched in it, and my best ensemble is the one where I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'll walk with my head held high and my eyes ready to take on the world. I'm no longer going to cripple into a state of weakness - I am going to do something that I have always dreaded, and that is fight. I am going to fight with myself, and the only chasing I'll do is chasing my feelings for him away. There's no point in holding onto someone so useless. Get up, don't hide under the covers. Rise from the ashes, you're a phoenix who'll light a wildfire wherever you go. Grow like the roses, its called breaking up so don't start breaking down just yet. Break free, and kiss him and his pathetic behavior goodbye.
"He’s moved on, but I’m moving ahead" I have a soft heart that keeps crawling back to the memories of when we were okay, but right now, in this exact moment, I'm letting you go - and you're gone and I'm ready to take on everything. Which includes not being with you. You've been erased from my lips, and your voice is now foreign. You're another old page in the book, like the rest of them - you've been granted your biggest wish. You can chase after your next prey, and I'll sit here waiting gracefully for the next man who'll hold me like the diamond that I am. I'm smiling for you, and because I loved you I'm thankful that you found a soul who can finally make you feel whole. The presence of love is within me and I feel whole too. I don't know why but I'm actually really excited for you. I'm proud of you, and I'm happy she has found someone like you and you've found someone like her. Thank you for letting me go, and doing whatever you did, because my eyes are opening and I see all the possibilities and opportunities shining on me. I see it, and you've brought me a step closer to a romance so pure with a man who'll cherish me and my love for a lifetime. He's on his way and he'll be here someday.
I thought the roses had wilted, but to my surprise they just bloomed even more beautifully and abundantly. They're reborn every June, and I anticipate their arrival. Their shade of pink changes according to my moods, or so I believe. They were a delicate, fragile baby pink - the shade that I can confidentially say matched my soul in June. Just a few weeks ago I noticed their petals wilting and the buds slipping. I knew it was their end, and I kissed the pre-summer memories goodbye along with them. Little did I know that they'd survive to see July. There's more of them, and the newborns have a more passionate color. I'd like to think that these roses in particular follow me. After all, they aren't even mine - they're the neighbors. Every year they slip into a secret love affair with my backyard - crawling through my washed out gate, as if they know how much I've been yearning to see them. Every year I wait and wait for the roses, and they never disappoint - I can count on them.
I need to stop wanting so I could begin receiving and reaping the fruit from my soul that has worked so hard to let you go. Swinging, eyes closed, cool breeze crawling against my fragile skin, I feel your presence behind me even though I'm trying to cave all these amorous emotions in. It's peaceful, I'm alone with a book I read halfway and dried tears wiped away on my sleeves- my heart tangles in a frenzy and the sound of a bike now gives me anxiety. I can't stop now, when I close my eyes I felt a man behind me, he was just a tension, the park was completely empty.
I would definitely, without a question be the tortoise - I'm slow, but eventually I get there. I've always envied the hares of the modern day world: the people who can move on quickly, make progress quickly and pick themselves up quickly. Time and time again I've tried to become the hare, but quick just isn't my pace. I find that when I slowly take time to heal myself, to do what I love and to progress without the need to compete with a hare, I end up doing and feeling the best. Being a tortoise means having to deal with the tender emotion of feeling left behind, but what exactly am I left behind from? The tortoise didn't have the desire to catch up, nor did he try to. He was simply mindful of himself, and he was not threatened by the hare. The tortoise's pace didn't matter, it was the fact that he kept moving that mattered. Eventually the universe played in his favor when the hare took a nap, and the rest is history.
I'm becoming infatuated with him. He became my shelter when I was thrown into the storm and oddly enough he also became my comfort. He doesn't know me, and that's exactly how I want to keep it. What attracts you? He attracts me, and the way he's kept me up after midnight is strange because everyone knows I become dull after ten. I'm fixated on the curiosity ; I've never heard his voice, and I've never looked into his eyes but when I talk to him he seems to look into mine. I'm overthinking it again and making up stories in my head. He's too good and I'm too complicated - we'll never mix.
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