Not too long ago I used to swoon. You know, that swooning, dancing feeling you get when you feel like the stars align at just the right position to reflect a light in your once dull eyes.
I would collect similarities, connect the corners, into a warm quilt of heart beats and burning cheeks.
But similarities don’t equate love. Similarities aren’t meant to combine together in a zipper of mirrored images. And when mutual feelings come together like the horizon of sea and sky, you need to wonder exactly how deep is that sea of conversation, and how vast is that sky of possibility.
I used to have a list, innate at first, written down once or twice at girlish conventions in preteen times, then reformatted and reimagined within the grand corridors of my immature mind. Who doesn’t have a list?
I would have easily, easily feigned a connection to anyone that remotely resembled that list. Of course, it’s spelled “feigned” here and now. But it used to be spelled “match”. As if some algorithm for romance and future happiness existed between two straight columns of attributes and interests awaiting matching socks. The similarities between so and so would be checked off, like a crossword box.
Today an old man asked me about the book I was reading. And I replied. Total of maybe 7 lines each, and that was our conversation. Change up the situation to a guy around my age, and change my mentality to the tala before she can begin to imagine typing this. I would have looked at him, eyes crinkled from that refreshing smile of new encounters, behind my pitch-black pupils a lens that is silently matching my data and Stranger’s data together in that algorithm of romance.
It took me more than a few good hearts, unique minds, and priceless conversation for me to break the list. To not swoon over the slightest similarity, but rather, listen to what that attribute means to them. To not look at someone as a hypothetical partner, but gaze at their aspirations and how they’ve molded themselves using their talents, their interests. Not how their talents and interests correlate to my own. To appreciate a person.
The second I stopped trying to see qualities of companionship and compatibility, I started seeing the quietest corners of even the loudest souls. And it is beautiful. But not in the, beautiful, perfect for me. Beautiful to describe them and only them. A radiance I never would have seen had I limited my vision to a list of superficial talents and attributes and generic personality traits of a teenage love story.
What’s your favorite time of day and why? Where do you go to just think? How much does your family mean to you? Who are you when nobody is watching?
The answers to these are what makes me fall. Not swoon, fall. Because my version of love can’t be created necessarily through the similarities I see in a person, but their own uniqueness that I would want to listen to and share for a lifetime.
I’ve been sitting in the Jazzman’s booth for almost 3 hours
Something inside me wanted to hear young Tala’s voice. I went to my archive and started reading posts from 2010. All rants. All so happy and grammar-less and tennis practice and food.
I don’t know why.. but I started to tear up.
Only 4 years ago, but it feels like I’m reading the blog of a little girl who lives across the street. Or a little girl passing by, hand-in-hand with her mother. A little girl fidgeting with her shoelaces, a little girl counting on her fingertips, a little girl with a light bookbag. A little girl sitting in the Jazzman’s booth for almost 3 hours.
She is so lucky to have been happy. To still be happy. To be carefree, to be loving, to value and appreciate.
I’m scared of her future.
I hope she continues down the right path.
I don’t know how to protect her from heartbreak.
Why doesn’t she dream at night anymore?
What happened to her love for writing?
Why can’t I take care of her the way I used to?
Why can’t I find the time to commit to her?
Why haven’t I encouraged her to continue her hobbies?
How can I spell reality for her, in s-o-f-t letters?
I don’t ever want to let go of her hand. I don’t ever want to see her cry.
Should have known the mid a.m. messes with your mind, disintegrates the walls of apathetic muse. Should have known my thoughts are the loudest when the night is the quietest It scares me how fast time is traveling Because it’s all so..undetectable. One day, you’re sitting on a bench, licking the side of a quarter melted ice cream sandwich, only to throw out a wrapper into a frost-crusted trashcan. One day, you’re meeting people for the first time, saying hello and then
Somewhere, someone is closing their eyes. And when they open it, they won’t be there anymore.
Time is the scariest, most powerful force. Slow, poisonous, healing
I’m lying here with the chill march air seeping out of the already tightly shut windows, frosting up the metal sides. The grey illuminates through the slits of the blinds, leaving everything in this room as stale as the sound of all the books left unopened. The snow was once wonderful, but now it just seems to linger, hardening and icing over, the crunch of salt and slow rhythmic beats of heels crunching and scraping the ground, making trails throughout campus, never looking up to see new eyes. I’m trapped in this winter wonderland of icyhot lungs and frozen stars, and all of the work I promised I’d commit to- slipping through my fingers as fast as the rain from last fall.
I am uninterested and unmotivated. I find education and learning within people, I find discovery and excitement within conversation I am so privileged yet so aloof What if spring comes, as sweet and innocent as it had been just last year But i’ll be left behind unable to thaw
“We have a natural tendency to assume that a remarkable chemistry between two souls is confirmation that they are meant to be together. In the heat of profound feelings, it seems counter-intuitive to imagine ourselves separate from our beloved. But chemistry and longevity are not natural bedfellows. Just because we feel earth-shatteringly alive with someone doesn’t mean they are supposed to be our …life partner. They may have come for a very different reason - to awaken us, to expand us, to shatter us so wide open that we can never close again. Perhaps they were sent from afar to polish the rough diamond of your soul before vanishing into eternity. Perhaps they just came to give you new eyes. Better we surrender our expectations when the beloved comes. (S)he may just be dropping in for a visit.”—Jeff Brown (via birthofasupervillain)
I just became scared of myself
I turn my head on my pillow
!!!.. !!!.. !!!..
Why is my heartbeat so heavy and loud
My heart is beating. Actually beating.
Well yeah Tala, that’s what hearts tend to do.
No..how is it so automatic..I can feel the half-paced vibrations on my ear pressed against my pillow. I put my hand to my chest and feel the delicate organ of my own body dancing under my skin. How scary..am I in control of this? Not at all..it’s happening on it’s own. It’s part of me, yet it is not me. What if it just stops?
What if it speeds up faster than my body can accommodate?
What gave the part the capability to destroy the whole?
How scary that a whole system of organs and factoryline-like processes are occuring inside me, that I have absolutely no control of.
What if they start a riot?
As lame as this thought came to be, from a childish fear of the unknown within (literally), I can’t help but realize how amazing our bodies really are.
My body is giving me its all, so I should return the favor. Not to waste a day doing nothing.
I’ll give my heart a reason to keep beating, sometimes faster, expand my stomach, stretch my face muscles.
I don’t have control over my organs, and that scares me..
But I do have control over the reason they function in the first place.
I don’t know, this may make no sense in the morning.