Blushing Animosity

You don't talk to me the same.
I told you that the signs show, you promised that you were different.
No one is different.
Is it safe to still love you?

On a lighter note, Jesus is constant.

Simple

I am at a loss. This is the most difficult summer. It is impossible to put things otherwise. But in such a light, this has also, simultaneously, been the most uplifting summer. I've never fought against my flesh so hard, stayed up so recklessly in the midnights, and questioned this existence to such an extent before. And thus, I've never seen the love of Jesus to such a radiant shine and hue since He redeemed me. It is, in no other proper way, ethereal.

I simply cannot do this life alone.

Epiphany

Nope, didn't have one yet.

Hark!

I spend most of my internet minutes visiting this amazing website that hosts an author and her awesome comics that are based on literary and historical figures. By George, I've learned more about various histories and various literaries(?) that my simpleton mind may soon burst! From laughter or awesome knowledge, I dare not say. I keep wanting to pick up a few of the mentioned novels and just spend the next few months reading... but that's quite unrealistic and a tad bit anti. I don't want to grow too pale. So all thanks to Kate, as if we are friends and whatnot right.

Hey self! Yea, me!

It's always difficult to put a price on happiness, or even to define true joy within the conditions of human retrospect. Laying in bed tonight, I came to the stark realization that graduating from high school, no, entering college, has been one of the best and happiest transitions I have ever endured. I say endured because the transition wasn't exactly a brisk walk in the park, and I say stark because I hadn't come to full terms with such an epiphany in it's rawest form as of late. Ask me what my most fondest memories of the past two years in college are and I will spit them out without a second pause. They've always lingered in my memory as just that, memories, but I've never brought forth the courage to analyze them as anything more than precious. Perhaps my resentment toward entering a world of futile responsibilities and mundane schedules has manifested tenfold since the start of my summer. Yes, quite. I am scared to graduate and although it shall be a move toward higher education nonetheless, it'll be different altogether. My happiest memories of college revolve around affection and comfort--times of ne'er do well phases, moments of truth, and simply knowing that everything would possibly probably be quite fine. As for this summer, I won't have that. I mean, I will be lucky to prove ownership for a partial fill, but until August rolls around again... it's hard for me to type such a cliche but, it's really all up in the air.

On a side note, I only just realized that my Art 176 class for summer school is in the second session... not for another two months. Nice one, self. You always manage to bring out the best in me.

Watered down coffee

I am sitting here, not crosslegged or Indian style, but lengthwise and straightlegged. My Mac is providing to be more than enough of a heating source on my lap and thus will probably leave light-pink dots as an afterthought. Or an aforethought?

I am waiting here, not desperately or in suspense, but longingly and lovingly. With every buzz of my phone, I can't help skipping the beats of my heart. Oh, be still my heart. If only the contractions and bursts of blood in and out of my ventricles could be silenced and stilled. Maybe then I could write a proper blog. Or perhaps I should turn off the television. It's ridiculous nonsense that they play in that box.

I am reading here, not wanderingly or in leisure, but with purpose and intention. My Bible speaks lengths into my soul, it stirs up from within a daily transformation and thirst to live the Gospel. I am ashamed of myself, yet proud of the daily triumphs He bestows upon my lowly head. I turn off the television.

Maybe then we can talk?

Shouts

The word "shout" has such intense implications -- that singular noun or verb can bring forth memories of broken parents, stir up mixed feelings of animosity, reverberate scenes from "Sister Act," and maybe even follow through with another duplicate of itself. I hear them now, two voices together in shout. Not shouting. Not even in heartfelt outbursts. But in shout, kind of like in love, but twisted and just as passionate. Why do people shout? Why must the selfishness we craft in craftiness be allowed to fester when it is so damn obvious that the rotting of pride and prejudice will poison and toxify our lungs, our fingertips, our cores? Without my fingertips, I cannot caress your face, lace my fingers into yours, and memorize the sneaky bumps on your chin. Without my lungs, it's so difficult to inhale your scent, so unfortunate to not be able to primitively recognize your presence. Why must we shout in shouts? Let's shout in whispers, in single tears, in wordless nothings, in smirks, and in love. Love. Not shout.