Scattered Verses

I must have over a dozen notebooks scattered throughout my room. None of them have been designated a specific purpose. Rather they all have, in no particular order, song lyrics I relate to, to-do lists, scribble love notes, food shopping lists, journal entries, packing lists, and unfinished poetry. I enjoy grabbing up one and flipping through, wondering what was troubling my mind at the time. Recently, I found a notebook in my car and flipped to this entry from November 9, 2012:

I've gone off the deep end, love. I hit the water hard, without thinking much about how badly a belly flop would hurt. But hell, it felt like I was flying up until that cold water slapped my face and knocked the vital happy breath out of my chest. It hurts, I'm cold and helplessly flailing about just trying to find the surface. At this point, I've lost touch, I've lost all reason. I'm reaching in all directions but grasping nothing at all. 
You reach down and pull me up for a breath, smile and say, "I missed you!" You take no note of my panicked state, in fact, you don't even notice that I don't know how to swim or that my face is red from the impact of the fall. You are bliss and radiate in all conditions. You take me higher.
So it is for you, my love, and for me, my wretched and mangled confidence, that I will change. Adopting a mindframe of compassion and mindfulness over discipline and restriction. I want to be beautiful for you, and I want to feel happy like I did when I was in control of my own life.
Here's to the beginning of something great. And so the journey begins with a new awakening!

Six blank pages later, in the same notebook, I came across this entry, written in red pen and dated October 26, 2012:

My mind is buzzing. The emotions emerged from some ignored place deep inside, like air pockets bubbling up from thick winter molasses ten seconds in the microwave. Or was that just gas from my intestines? Whatever it was, my face felt the effects and my cheeks reddened almost as quickly as an electric burner on the stove set to high. My eyes narrowed and began to sweat, or maybe I just hoped it was sweat to accompany the burning in my face. Suppressing the waterfall of tears came as no easy task, but it had to be done because such an unexpected rainfall would most likely cause thunder showers, and no one needs lightening in this setting. 
So was it an attack? Only to my soul. It was the fractured board on the stairway through the back of the house, the route I never take for obvious reasons. It was the stray cat that usually digs through the neighbors garbage, but tonight it would seek my fresh trashbag and pounce from around the corner to catch me off-guard. It was, essentially, reality slapping my in the face after taking off is mask which he had worn for so long pretending to be my beautiful, smiling, assuring friend. It was not an attack at all. But nonetheless, I wasn't prepared for it. 
What am I going to do with my life? When am I going to pay off my school debts? Why am I unfazed and unconcerned about pondering these questions everyday of my life? Why today did you wake me from my sweet sweet slumber that I did not realize how much I really do enjoy until I am disturbed from it?
I'm not ready to move on.
I'm not even ready to think about moving on. But that's the thought that will keep me up tonight. 
When tomorrows sun wakes from the horizon, the morning will bring the ignorant bliss back. The flowers of my mind and chirping birds of my heart will wake like it's their first ever morning - a new birth - and I will be okay.
But right now, I feel attacked.

Reading back over them, I still have no idea what and who those entries are about. I enjoy the vagueness of it all, though. The poetic inspiration that vulnerability can foster. I find myself pining to be the victim, the heartbroken damsel. To feel an ache of longing that stirs metaphors and allows the words to flow more freely, unrestricted by the thickness of a wholesome love, whether for oneself, another, or life. I'm finding it much healthier and progressive to count the starts that shine through on a stormy night rather than the clouds. 

Babe, you're a different breed of lover. You know who I want to be and you push me to be it. Most other lovers assure me that I'm perfect the way I am. Your confidence pierces through my sheath of comfort, creating holes through which I see a better, more enjoyable life. Your style is coated thick with the debris that settles when arrogance and honesty collide. I have to remind myself not to take you the wrong way, because you always mean well. I feel that our relationship doesn't demand justification, nor does it promise prosperity. It simply is what it is today. Tomorrow it will be whatever it will be tomorrow. Simple as that? Let's not over-think it. I wonder, sometimes, what it was that threw me into your orbit. I suppose it was some power too explosive and impulsive to put my finger on. I guess I'll never know.

Writing has been a huge part of my life and self-expression. I rarely broadcast these emotions, but rather keep them tightly pressed between blank lined pages that I find years later and regret never applying them to some sort of creative endeavor. I decided to start blogging again. A lot of my posts may be laden with verses I've dug up from some dusty notebook or an old journal entry, but I will try to open up my mind to more regular postings of my adventures as well.

I'm getting worse at saying goodbye... 
But you didn't break my heart, truly. You made it fuller. You expanded it's capacity to love - nature, science, olives, good tequila, the blunder of love itself. I fell for you, and you fell for me, and then we fell apart. And that's okay. It would have happened another way if it was supposed to.