Empty Heart

I rediscovered this while rummaging through old writing notes- a short story. I hope you enjoy it!

She had stumbled across the room without meaning to. She'd just been exploring the house. It was starting to get old and shabby, and the dust was accumulating. It needed maintenance. This room particularly appeared to not have been entered in months, at least. She coughed as the door ruffled the dust layer atop the cold tile.

The walls of this room were barren, only un-patched nail holes showing where pictures had once hung. The paint was peeling in those places, and around the edges of the room, baring the drywall to the air. Furniture was sparse, and all bore white vinyl dust covers. Vague impressions were the only clue to what each item might be. There was one window on the east side, but it did not allow much light to pass, as the panes were encrusted with accumulated filth. A bare light-bulb hung in the northwest corner of the room. The wires were bared in a way that seemed slightly dangerous, but the light flickered to life. It illuminated and shadowed, making the space leap into sharp relief. Small bugs scurried out of the way.

She looked around the room. It seemed so desolate, so empty. If only she could afford to reside in the house and keep it well, but its upkeep was often beyond her meager budget and time. As it was, it seemed to be only a drain on her resources, yet she couldn't bring herself to sell it. It was a gorgeous old mansion, full of large, clear windows with views of the sunrise and the trees, and spacious rooms with open closets and play areas, sweeping stairs and gorgeous antique furniture. Its current shabby state had likely brought the value down, yet any with the proper eye would recognize it as a gem. This room especially would deter any prospective buyers.

Perhaps she could try renting it out again. She'd have to screen the tenants a little better; the last time, they'd destroyed some priceless parts of the house, and damaged others. This time she would have to be more careful- if she even rented it. Would it be worth it? She'd always thought maybe one day a renter would become a buyer. It had almost happened before, once or twice, but the deal always fell through. Perhaps they tired of the sound of the wind, or the isolated location, or perhaps they found a better, newer home. Whatever the reason, it hadn't happened yet. She held out hope, however. Someday she'd meet someone who was meant to live in this house, who fit these rooms like they were built for that purpose. Who would love it the way she did, but who could afford its constant upkeep.

Yes, she resolved. She'd try to rent out the rooms one more time.


There'd be a lot of cleaning to be done first. Starting with this room. Sighing, she tramped out to her car to retrieve the Windex and repair supplies. She'd bring the house to life again. Starting with that empty room.

Blue

today the city haze is blue
like my heart; the shade is true
clear as the sky cloudless above
but darker, my heart, with love

blue is the color of love i believe
as wide as the sky as far as we see
friends and family herein abound
in a sea of love. can you hear the sound?

waves roll in and out like the tide
but this sea is entirely inside
of a heart not mine, i am for sure
a resident of this sea azure

we all have a sea within our soul
and a tide only rarely within our control
it's blue like skies and the city haze
and here is where i'll spend all of my days


















PAD Day 31

Brain & Heart

Sorry it's really rough, I was half asleep when I wrote this.

Brain: It will never work out, you know.

Heart: I don't care!

B: You will.

H: Will not!

B: Look, he's not even paying attention to you. There's no hope.

H: There's always hope! If I try reeaallllyyyyyy hard.

B: Look. Guys like him just don't like girls like you, okay? Remember what happened last time.

H: I've grown since that happened! It won't happen again.

B: You're doing it again.

H: What?

B: Don't you see he's exactly like him?

H: Well.....maybe.....but it doesn't matter!

B: It does! He'll break you too, silly Heart. They always do. They always will

H: Shut up! Shut up! I won't listen to you. Something will work out someday! I just know it.

B:.........

H: Shut up.

B: I just don't want you to get hurt again.

H: Yeah. I know. But I can't stop myself. I don't want to.

B: Why?

H: Well isn't this better than thinking it's hopeless? At least a little?

B: No.

H: Well of course you wouldn't think so. But I do. So there.

B: Please don't. You're going on a mission. You want that too.

H: Yeah. Hey maybe that's why they don't see me! Cuz nothing can happen until I've served a mission.

B: Stop. Just stop. You're being ridiculous.

H: Sshhhhh. Ridiculous comforts me.

B: They'll never see you.

H: They will. They have to.

Three Ways

In the past week or so, I've been through a lot. And there are three people who really helped me make it through. This was a hard time, and there are very few people that I trust, that I talked to. And these three helped in ways that I think everyone needs.

The first listened. She let me cry and talk it out. She allowed me to let out all my pent up emotion and hurt. She simply listened. This is so important. Today it seems most people don't listen. Rather than empathizing, they try immediately to fix the problem. They try to tell you what you're doing wrong. They judge your problem and give solutions-which can be helpful, but not all the time, and not usually for me. This person-my mother-listening to me meant a lot, because it's so rare today.

The second person didn't judge me. My best friend allowed me to simply be. With what happened, I was so afraid to open up, because it was the result of a decision I made. It would have been easy to judge, and I was scared they would. But this friend did not. She heard me out and didn't judge, like another might have.

The third protected me. I say protected, but it was kind of joking. He said he'd beat up anyone who hurt me, but really the message was that he was there to protect my heart. That meant a great deal to me.

In a way, I suppose, these three things are kind of the same. Yet they are so different as well. Because the people were different, the places we were in, the place I was in.

I guess the point is that it means so much to have friends who stand behind you, people who you can trust. And though I don't trust easily, it's hard to lose my trust once it's been gained. In this situation, I learned of three people that I can truly trust, because of how they reacted to a person in need.

My challenge is this: be that person. Love without asking, without always having to fix the problems. Love by listening, by not judging, and by protecting. You'll win people's hearts. I promise.

I Paint My Toenails Red

I paint my toenails red

On days when my life falls apart

Carefully and neatly

At least, this is in order

Outwardly, an expression

I have it together

Inwardly, an explosion

I know nothing at all

My red toenails line up in a row

Ten little soldiers marching off to war

The war is really in my mind

The heart and the mind meeting on the field of battle

But my toenails are red

I struggle with chaos and pressure

The world beating me into a pulp

I try to find a way, the way

I know most of it but the details are lost to darkness

It's the details I struggle with

It's my heart that is hurting

It's blood colors my emotions

At least my toenails are red

Today, it's changing

I'm locking my door to pressure

I'll decide when I'm ready

Today I'm growing up and pushing back 

I will decide for me

And not because it's what I'm told

This will lead me on my own path

And someday, when I can see the details

Someday I'll stop painting my toenails red

Vulnerability

This post is so honest I can't believe I'm posting it. Hello world, here's my heart, don't break it please.

I read a blog recently that assigned numbers to the men she'd cared for. Mine are not numbers, but months. I needed to write this. It's like therapy, isn't it, writing.

This is one of my greatest fears. This post. Actually, more like two. The fear of giving too much of myself and the fear of showing others how unsure I really am. How much I have left to figure out. I'm stalling here, writing this. Maybe you'll get bored and not finish reading it. No? Okay.

To my January
We had a fun time, didn't we. The two of us, though sometimes I wonder if you really ever cared or if you just wanted to. You were way too old for me, and I still wonder to this day why you were attracted to me at all, a stupid, immature 16-year-old girl who thought she had beaten her insecurity because you lifted her up.

You did help pull me out of that dark place, those horrible insecurities, the crushing sense that I'd never be enough, the feeling that I should end it all now, before I did irreparable damage to this world I love so dearly. However, relying on you was never the right way. I never even really knew you, but I knew how you made me feel, and little-girl-me thought that would be enough. Even though we barely saw each other. Even though we only talked over Facebook because of my lack of a phone. Or I borrowed a friend's phone, a friend that had known you far longer than I had.

I remember one time you walked to my house to let me borrow a book for AP English. You brought your dog, and we just talked for an hour or two, sitting on the grass. We never even really touched- you never reached for my hand, I never got to lean against you.

One time, I was fed up with my home life. I messaged you and we walked to Sonic and got ice cream. One time, we met up at the park. We always just talked, about silly stuff, about fun stuff. But we barely saw each other for real, except for these few times.

I remember Valentine's Day. Lunch at the Asia Inn. I had shrimp. You brought me flowers and a purple octopus, from an inside joke I barely remembered. I kept him around. His name is Sir.

Then it just ended. My family took a media holiday before I had the chance to tell you, and when I got back on, you were distant. You were cold. And slowly, you stopped responding to my messages. For a while it was simply pleasantries. And then that stopped as well. I have the book you let me borrow, I said. Nothing. Please come take it back, I said. I know you saw the messages (Facebook is a stalker, yeah?) but you never replied and I'm not sure why. And on Thanksgiving, I sent you a letter, about how grateful I was for what you'd been to me. I was over it, long over it, but I wish it had ended better than getting blocked from messaging you again. We died slowly, didn't we, an improbable flame sputtering in the gutter. And though we never would have worked out, though I'm long over you, sometimes, I still find myself searching for that resolution, for that final "this is done" that you denied me so many times.

I still have your book.

To my February
You. Where do I start? You never knew the depth of my feelings for you. It was immensely hard, not to tell you, but it wasn't me you wanted- it was my friend. And after everything, I still think you two would be perfect together, even if you end up as "the best couple who never dated" in the yearbook. It was hard, having to content myself with being your friend. We're still friends, to this day, thank goodness, and you're one of the best people I know. I don't think you ever saw me that way, but either way, you taught me so much.

You were, I think, the first person I ever really truly cared for- no stupid infatuation, no simple crush, and if anything, that made it worse for me. Though being your friend somehow was enough. Enough, but never enough, in a weird contradictory way.

I have so many memories. So many conversations. So few souvenirs from the times we've spent. A couple pictures, and the memories in my mind. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

All those times backstage during the plays-remember the mote and the beam? The picture of you with those glasses that we probably shouldn't have been messing with, seeing as they were a prop. Driving to the gas station, accidentally driving back with the emergency brake on. The long letters on the posters- I still re-read them sometimes, and laugh. You could always make me laugh.

Someday you'll make a great husband for a great woman, probably a girl we've neither of us met. Someday you'll be famous, you'll change the world. Thank you for the time we spent, no matter how you saw me during that time. What we had, what we have, my friend, that is enough for me.

To my August
I don't know what happened with you. I don't know why we were ever anything. Oh, wait, I do. You pushed so hard. You were my first kiss, and all I knew about you was your name and that you played in the band at your high school. But we got along alright, holding hands that first night, sitting outside the church dance when I got sick to my stomach.

Our story is simple. Co-chairs of the Youth Committee. I knew almost everyone, but I'd never met you. We barely spoke before that night, within the meetings, and especially outside them. I knew nothing about you but what ward you were in. Which is, coincidentally, now February's ward. (Geez, just let me completely give away who everyone is. But this is good. This will be good for me.) At the night of the youth conference dance, you somehow always ended up nearby. And I made you laugh. We danced, you pulled me close, and you were my first kiss. Right then, with hardly any warning.

I hardly knew you, and now I wonder why I didn't stop you from taking so much from me. I opened my front door, and you wanted straight to the bedroom, pardon the analogy. I liked the way it made me feel, to have someone to kiss, to hold, but I came to my senses soon enough. It was easy to tell you no after that, easy to stop you. It lasted maybe a month, I think.

I still see you every now and then. I'll spot you, and I'll wonder, what are you doing now? And then I realize I don't really care about you anymore, I care about the memory of the way you made me feel.

I saw you a while later with another girl. I wonder if you're doing to her what you did to me. It broke my heart a little, but not a whole lot, because I realized you aren't the kind of guy I should have serious feelings about anyway. Not a total jerk, which is honestly how I felt for the first few months after it happened. But not worth that much of my heart- sorry.

To my May
Oh, May. My May. Perhaps you'll guess who you are. I know you have read my blog before. But will you see yourself in my words? It's always been a struggle not to give you too much. Nearly a year now, I've cared for you. You were the opposite of August, not pushing too hard, taking what I was willing to give and being okay with it. Not to say you haven't asked for more, and I've said no. But you listened and respected that, which meant so much.

You once wrote me the story of the way we were. I think this might be my version in return. I'm not sure I want you to read this at all, actually. You know what, stop right here. (I know you won't. Wishful thinking)

Gradually this year, you worked your way deeper into my heart than any before. (This will give away who you are if nothing else does). You're my best friend (see?) and I trust you more than I thought I could. I am comfortable around you, physically, mentally, emotionally. You've been a shoulder to cry on. You've seen me stressed, angry, sad, tired (read: loopy), depressed, happy, joyful, eager, in more ways than anyone ever before. You've always been there, and I feel like I know you too, the way I hope you know me. I know the curve of your smile, the feel of your hands, the sound of your laugh, and the way you are when you're sad or tired. I know when you want to kiss me by the way your heart beats in your throat. I wonder if you'll regret letting me have so much of you someday. At least I was your first kiss, though I can't be your last.

I never wanted to hurt you but inevitably, that's what I'll do, and I'm sure you know it too. There's no way around it.

I've said it before that I didn't want a high school relationship. I've said it so many times, posted about it, thought it to death. I've instead said to you "Wait until I graduate." But, now, I'm not sure I can even give you that. I'm not sure it would be right, nor would it be fair to you. Heck, even what I've given you may have been too much. Thinking about it is breaking me in places I didn't know could break, and I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. Being around you feels so right, and we fit together like puzzle pieces, but not the right ones. I know, there's no future in our relationship except for as friends. I know, I'm going away to college in the fall. I'll be on a mission in a year. I know, you're young, and you'll get over me quickly. What I don't know is if I can say no to you again this summer, and it breaks my heart to think about it. But when I think of you, and a future, I know that to make it there you'd have to be someone you're not. And it's you I fell for, and that's the hardest thing, isn't it? That you can at once be my heart's best friend, and my heart's worst enemy. That your choices break my heart and your chances at being a major part of my future.

Where you're concerned, though, I'm weak. I can think about it logically here, in black and white, with a keyboard under my fingertips, but I'm sure when I see you I'll fall again. You're my drug, the thing I don't know how to live without anymore, and I don't know how to just be best friends, and I won't give that up. Even if I can't give you the romantic relationship that I think we both kind of long for, I won't give up my best friend, the person that has been there when no one else was, that I trust completely. I hope you feel the same, and know I'll always be here. I'll be the best friend you ever had. Any further is gray.

We'll see where the future leads, May, though the ending I already know. But the winding path may have a few surprises in its corners before it splits us apart.

Please, please don't judge me too badly on this post. It was what I needed to write, to get my heart in order. Because in the end, I am who I am and that me is wildly unsure

Age of the Heart Growing Up

I'm not at all qualified to say any of this, and I know it. But I think I'll say it anyway, if only to see if I may be right! I'd definitely appreciate a comment one way or the other :)

What age do hearts truly grow up and make that leap between immature and mature, between loving for your benefit, and loving for theirs? For me, it was junior year. The one I fell for first (previously referred to as February) was younger, but definitely an incredible person. However, there was no benefit to me from falling for him. He never reciprocated my feelings beyond that of a friend. To this day, I believe he is in love with one of my best friends, who in turn has a boyfriend. What a mess we all are, huh?

The point is, that was the time that I first truly cared for someone like that beyond for what I thought they could give me. It doesn't mean I was immune to that previous, immature feeling (see August) but it does mean I'd made that leap, and I discovered what it felt like to really love someone. (As I don't think he reads this blog, I feel comfortable posting it. Maybe he'll see it someday and figure it out, maybe he won't).

As I've talked to many of my friends (which are oddly mostly of the male variety) I've seen a pattern. Around the age at which they can drive (16-17) is about the age that the heart seems to make that leap. I'd like to talk to more of them about it, but truly, how awkward would that be? "Hey, what's up? Um, you wanna tell me about the time you first fell in love?" I think for some of my female friends it may have been a little bit younger, but the majority seem to be about the same time. Junior year.

Anyway, I'm not qualified to make any assumptions at all, and I'd love to hear from some other people! Especially stories, if you're comfortable. The stories are always the best part. What age did you first fall in love?

Music and My Life

Today, I got the chance to do something I haven't had a chance to do for a long time: go outside.

It was (mostly) warm, the sun was shining, and I had two of my friends with me. We sat by a tree, one of my friends with her guitar, and we sang. We just sang every song we could think of. We did also talk (that's what girls do) but it was mostly singing, with some basic harmonies. It was a wonderful experience.

While we were singing, I had a revelation. I realized how much music is a part of my life. My soul is embedded, ensconced, irrevocably bound within the music (I actually basically live in the choir room of my school). It is a part of me, interwoven with my identity.

Music is amazing. It contains emotion and poetry, love and heartbreak. It communicates to every stage of human existence, every pain and joy. For me, this is especially true with choral music. I adore the harmonies, the interlacing voices, and most especially the feeling of singing one, of being a part of something bigger. I found a family through music. The words also speak to me many times. There are songs for every occasion and every emotion. Music is a part of everything, if you listen closely.