universe threads // to feel vol. 03

I'm buzzing again.

No atom inside me can keep still. They don't want to.

I am the plants in our home, an abundance of green deep breaths and I am the crystals finding light in all the corners. Beauty there, here, and right over there.

These hands, they can do and they can make. They can embrace and pour words swirled up from the tandem dance between my heart and brain. These bits of memory flow mellifluously to you and you and you. To me. I want to grab them, knuckle white and not let a single thread go.

You see, I fantasize the cosmos letting down these long threads from where they are to where I physically am. Glowing tethers from the corners of stars. Behind them, between orbits, within. And they reach me -- little reminders of my purpose. Of what I am made of, what I can do. They flutter when I am too still. And so, here I am. Being as absolutely un-still as my body can be.

To Feel // Vol. 02

Last night I couldn't rest,

odd and out of place.

I often go out heavy.

Sleep quickly, surely arrives.

But fussy turns and tosses,

filled my side of the bed.

Then your breath, steady and rhythmic,

my very own pendulum.

I eavesdropped on your breathing,

carefully synching mine with yours.

Inhale a beat shorter than the let out.

I did the same.

And in that moment,

our energies meshed.

Together breathing, 

the sweetest mechanical thing,

letting sleep permeate my mind.

You offer me comfort, even in slumber, 

unconsciously, unknowingly, 

you are there.

To Feel // Vol. 01

Will there ever be a time in space, in existence, where all the thoughts will be thought, every invention from then on would be stale repeats. Feelings felt, predetermined sensations. Greys and in-betweens.

Surely though, surely, I wouldn't mind one bit because if I get to feel what I feel with you, all the other replications of being, every unoriginal thing wouldn't matter at all.

Words and pages.

Oh the corner of  my heart that holds all my muses, tight and safe, is surely ready to burst. In fact, if I were to show the lists I have on my phone to any professor I've ever had, they'd cringe at all the unfinished bits -- sentences leading nowhere, a surplus of topics from tiny poems and musings I write, to addresses of dear friends, recipes, HBO program reminders, and the always frequent flyer read this book! memo.

But perhaps the guiltiest and utmost accusable is my love affair with journals. I have much too many but never enough. They hold what comes out of my head at those unpredictable times of the evening -- and day for that matter. Art, poems, quotes new and old, pressed flowers and calligraphy practice are all tucked away between those covers. And I mustn't forget blackout poetry -- being terrifically challenging in all the best ways. It is my newest hobby. I do intend to come up with a sorting method, for space and sanity, but for now I shall photograph them. Consider this post an ode to my collection. Aren't they magic?

Here.

I wanted to create a space where I keep things that make me happy, moments I can easily return to, outside of social media, outside of the confines of a square filtered photo, outside of 140 characters. Somewhere I can document my world the way I want to. Because life is too precious to ignore. 

I thought of making this private, just a sacred place for my eyes only, but then that would just be kind of selfish. I journal by hand anyway, so I’ll write out my best kept secrets there. This blog is a reminder of my findings of happiness. And to share them with you, whoever you are.