Home in heart

Home is where we feel safe, home is where we can wake our mind up when we feel like it, home is where nothing matters except the nourishing of our hearts and the warmth of seeing the face of those we love. Home is where we know we can conquer anything, irrespective if we may not be as strong as we see fit, with the others under that roof we defy strength. We learn the love of life under that roof, we learn the sanity of being alone and that its good, we learn that safety is in confidence, we learn that vulnerability is one hundred percent acceptable under that roof, and that in weak and strength and tears in pain so hard we feel it in our stomach from the crying we have a crease, a visible crease in our stomach from being bent over in pain, and in our hearts actual legitiment aching we think death isnt far atleast mentally, people die mentally all the time, no one has a funeral. They check out walk through this life as if they are just an on looker watching from above. They are numb show no emotion in it or what they do. They merely are just beings, they are the people we choose to not surround ourselves by, they are the people that will never be happy with something as minut as waiting for a flower saved in the road to bloom, blooming maybe from a fresh cut stem and clean water, or for the glass half full type it is a representation of love. And love is what made it grow,made it grow in that glass on the counter in the kitchen under the roof of that house. That house, that heart under that roof called home.

pent up

There is something about writing that makes me feel as though I'm wiped clean of all my pressing emotional issues. Truth be told I'm not but the fact that I can write them all down and not know who reads or what is taken from it by anyone who reads it makes me feel like I am braver than I am. Because although half of the words I type I would never say in person, I still feel better because atleast theyre out of me. I feel strongest when I'm alone, because I can be anything I want, and anyone who wants to approach me takes the risk of meeting someone new and has no idea who I am. I love strangers, they're fun. They don't care about where you've been they care about what you're doing and what you bring to the conversation and what you can relate to with them. Sometimes strangers are just as alone, worn, happy, or eager as you. The best conversations I've ever had and the happiest feelings I get come from strangers, sometimes just watching them and making up stories about them in my head, makes it fun. To think where they came from, or what they're doing, or why are they so happy or angry. People are fascinating and they're everywhere, being bored is never an option and you can always learn something about yourself from a stranger.

heart shaped like an oak tree

angry as if their is a hole in bottom of my heart and every emotion is like a rock that just drops through like a hole in a well. I cannot describe this numb over bearing feeling of not caring about anything, except obviously I care about something cause it bothers me enough to write about it. Death is scary to think how fast one person being gone can affect others, first hand we never realize how important time can be, and In that I question my place in life right now, what I'm doing and why. Why I'm here instead of somewhere else, why I can dream about somewhere everyday and still find reason to not be there. For life is about doing what we want all in right timing, but what is time, we never know when we're going to leave this crazy world. And much as I have made it a point most of my life to be able to say at the end of the night if I die in my sleep I'd die happy, it's not always that easy. Everyday I sit with the same fear, controlling my day...what if. What if I've said it a million times but in every single disection of every action of every day I think what if I did it differently. Sounds crazy, and yes at this point I'm beginning to think so, I have spent the past 2 hours looking for a stolen bike, and a lost cat. The bike yes very important seeing as to how it was my fathers birthday present, the cat also important because the owner of that cat wonders everyday like I, what if she would have been paying more attention, and how she'd never let her cat be an outside cat had she anticipated this happening. It is the fourteenth day the cat has been missing and although they know the cat is probably gone, they still come everyday and post a different flyer...I love hope and if everyday we had the hope that those people do about their cat, everyone would feel weightless or atleast a huge burden lifted because in hope we find everything will be ok,maybe not right away or anytime soon, but the fact that eventually it will makes a slight ease of mind seem like a huge piece.