dig out your soul

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art – write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.

Go on adventures, fall asleep in the woods with friends, wander around the city at night, sit in a coffee shop on your own, write on bathroom stalls, leave notes in library books, dress up for yourself, give to others, smile a lot.

How do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen your soul?

Someday, we’ll run into each other again, I know it. Maybe I’ll be older and smarter and just plain better. If that happens, that’s when I’ll deserve you. But now, at this moment, you can’t hook your boat to mine, because I’m liable to sink us both.

I didn’t tell anyone about you, except maybe the moon. I’d sneak out past midnight, when the night is at its darkest, the moon at its brightest, and the sky at its prettiest. I’d stay outside for hours singing songs only the moon could hear. I’d tell her all about you - what you look like, what you seem like, what you feel like. I told her about how you and I met, and I think she was shocked on how vividly I remembered it. I also told her about your eyes and how I almost always get lost in them. Truthfully, she knows everything I know about you. These are things I can’t tell anyone else; it’s a secret I can only share with her. Sometimes, I think she responds. You know, sometimes she slighty changes colors. And sometimes, the nightlight looks like it’s dancing. But some nights she looks tired, maybe I’m not the only one talking to her. I once asked her, if you talk to her too. And if so, do you tell her about me the same way I tell her about you?

Kinda wanna cut my hair.. kinda want it to be longer

Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but ‘Mom’s’ probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.