Being Beautiful Means Being Our Crazy, Silly, Embarrassing Selves and Loving Every Moment of It
Yesterday I read a story about a girl and about her love. Love for a boy who she fell for much too quickly, and love for a new beginning of which brought her more excitement than she’d felt in years. It was a new adventure, a promise of a better future, a story of love much like the others where the doe-eyed main character dives in head-first, believing that this was it, that this was the real deal.
The past couple of weeks have been very much up and down. For the first two weeks I was miserable, and albeit probably just as miserable to be around (bless my family for always being so patient and understanding). I had a very difficult time adjusting to the changes that were unfolding because it felt as though some of the best parts of my life, as well as the parts that I was looking forward to were slowly vanishing. It felt like a domino effect, one thing leading to the other with a succession of change that felt completely beyond my control.
I often find myself in a state of reflection, combing through aspects of my life, contemplating my experiences, teasing out lessons here and there. It used to clear my head, but nowadays, I feel trapped by the clutter, as if pushing against the walls only …
I know that there’s a million places that you could be, But here you sit, on this bench, existing in this moment with me. I often wonder why you waited, why your patience never jaded, How much space and time’s between us, yet your spirit …