It's true. The tree. 

I am it's core. And there 

is no such thing

as change

just

branches and layers

of infinite range

And today, when I lay worried, 

along with every leaf of me that ever saw the sunlight being filtered through their brothers, 

Messy stuff in retrospect

I guess the things is that I tend to forget what a lovely and wonderful person you are Because I just find that so ordinary

Somewhere deep within me  sits a little open box, within are doubt and wondering,  comparison and clocks 

The box is open, as I said,  the contents being free to walk along my trains of thought whispering to me

You need to know for sure, they say,  you really must be certain they make me want to look and see what's behind the curtain

But then a round glassed figure came,  she looked inside the box and told me that I can look past these whisperings and talks

And sure enough, I realized,  through things that made me question,  I now can see the beauty and  the love of my expression

You make me want to read of love,  You make me want to find it. You make me want to recognize,  While I, because of you, was blinded.

Those are things that bothered me,  why did I need to seek? For answers that my love was good,  'Normal', so to speak.

But now that weight has lifted and, I feel more able to enjoy, films of romances and kisses,  but they're not of my favorite boy.

You are my friend, my equal,  We just are you and me,  But in comparison I lost the view,  The significance of 'we'

I used to feel  proud and I used to feel stressed out.  I used to feel like I should do everything I could   but I did not   and still   I was rewarded    and so I used to feel good.

I used to think that working hard was a part of me.  I used to think that the good grades were proof of me     being a hard worker and     an intelligent girl.  I used to think that it was will power and discipline. I used to think that I could stop if I wanted to,   but I did not want to   because  I used to think I'd loose a part of me. 

But then the bubble of expectations started growing and with it my need to live up to them and I became the hard working girl I had pretended to be. I became what I had wanted become, what I had been waiting for. I became honest, anything, everything. I became perfect while the pressure inside the bubble increased. 

I think I knew but didn't see because I believed in the bubble, finally believed I could be everything, and that that was a part of me.

And then the bubble had to burst  because this time it was different because this time I started seeing and I didn't understand because I thought I was strong and I thought I was everything and I thought I was perfect and I thought I could be anything and I thought I had to show that to others.

And so then another told me that I was not perfect. That I did everything perfectly but I was not because I couldn't and wouldn't take care of me. 

The perfectionism had spread to the point where I was making sure that that thing I feared would be perfect. That my future would be perfect. That the perfect image of the perfect girl living the perfect life would stay perfect. Because if it wouldn't, I would lose who I was. 

Then I saw I could not stop I would not stop because the perfectionism was a part of me and if I let that go who would I be?

- But I'm stopping. And I am getting back bits of who I used to be. No wait, not who I used to be.  What I used to be like.  I have always been me.  I just wasn't always sure what being me required. 

I guess I am starting to see that it doesn't require anything to be me.

JG. 

when I with the help of everyone close to me discovered

the way  the corners of my mouth move and my eyes twinkle and my expression  reminds of my guilty grin when I was  innocently young

it made so much more sense and proved me so much more than the evidence my mind was trying to collect

I wonder who you are sometimes, what hides behind the blue. The blue and grey I know so well  and you say I've seen right through.  The blue and grey surrounded by many well-wishers of those that stick onto my finger when I, remove them from your nose.

I think that I have told you once but it is so often a thought that your blue and grey and well-wishers, are the true sketches that I sought. 

Drawings of the human eye might not be very rare,  but it's in revealing real expression  and passing empty stare.  The wrinkled lines that let me know,  the smile upon your lips. Even when I'm too up-close,  to see your cheerful twitch. 

Sometimes those pretty pieces,  seem unnatural to me. It's like at first you recognize, but then question what you see. No face I ever came across, held details so surreal. Artists have got the power to  go beyond that field. 

At least that's what I thought until you let me see your blue.  Your blue and grey and well-wishers,  I knew, then, they were true.

But even before I realized,  this beauty does exist. I had seen a different kind,  vague through cloudy mist.  You'd seen me looking at you,  instead of to your blue.  Your blue and grey and well-wishers-  no really, just at you. 

You told me that you knew then,  it would all be quite all right. In just one glance I showed you,  where to seek the light.  I was not aware of this,  until you made me see.  You showed me and I showed you.  The core of you and me. 

So many truths find their way,  to others via blue. Blue and grey and well-wishers,  a truth from me to you. 

But still I sometimes wonder,  about the world behind the blue.  The world you're in each single day,  and the place for me there, too. 

I know what you look like,  about the outside I am sure.  But behind the blue and grey and well-wishers,  I still am finding more. 

I was trying to distinguish the letters of the words that were dancing before my teared up eyes through my with droplets covered glasses when I decided to get up and go to my brothers room. I knew of course he would ask me what was wrong, and since I've got trouble answering such a question I stood before my mirror and thought of what I would tell him.  That's when my mind was blank again and I couldn't think of a thing to say. 

The one moment my upset mind is full of thoughts and I know exactly what it is that I am dealing with. The other I just snap out of it and my whole vision has changed. The one moment I know I should talk to someone about it. The other I don't see the point because actually there's really nothing wrong, and I would only exhaust myself with my complaints and pessimistic thoughts. 

I didn't go to my brothers room. 

And I get so tired of the changing scenery. 

I guess what I'm afraid of is not the change my life will undergo is not the people I will lose  is not the places I'll say goodbye to and not the scary paths I'll choose

I think what I'm afraid of most is the change within myself Am I staying truly me,  and what even does that mean?

I am aware of all the influences  my choices have on me I think of all the consequences my mind is never free

It's this awareness that makes me anxious this vision of my future It's that I'm in control myself  I feel responsible

But I'm so young and tired too, of thinking about this all I am afraid that I'll regret and fall and fall and fall

I'm wearing your shirt and a nice woolen scarf in the old-fashioned kind of deep pretty pink that my mother bought me because she thinks that nice woolen scarfs in the old-fashioned kind of deep pretty pink make me feel better

And as I breath in both your scent and the smell of the brand new nice woolen scarf

She is kind of right

In art intuition is enough they say

In love intuition is enough they say

In life intuition is enough as well I hope

But I'm not sure if my guessed  inner voices will be enough to be able to cope

Youth is a terrifying thing we are afraid to waste.

So we go  to seek our memories and collect stories of how things had begun, as well as how they all went wrong. 

Youth  is the soothing assurance that if things do go wrong

at least you were young.

Sometimes it happens that in the smile of someone who is happy you can see who they truly are. They are the most beautiful kind of people. Caught up in a moment without worries and concerns they lose their masks. When they realise that everything else around them is irrelevant, when everything - everyone - that makes them desperate or down, falls away. That is when you can see them as the person they truly are. The person that deserves to be happy.

You deserve to be happy.

And then- You are wise  like an old man and beautiful like an angel.

But you are not the woman of my dreams because I cannot dream that good.