'Cause Love is Like Playing with Fire...

I'm his. He's mine. That's it.


Cute; right ?

That's how it should be. And if it's not -- re-evaluation is definitely in order. His fingers should fit neatly in between yours; perfectly. And when you squeeze his hand; he should squeeze back. A light squeeze tells you : I'm here. You're safe. And you always will be as long as I'm here. If you have to fight for their hand; maybe you should just let them be free...in their mind; a glove is probably safer than the protection of anything you and your hands could ever give them.

Ugh; I feel repetitive but uhh; let me tell you something about love. It will ALWAYS be bigger than you. It's out of your control. You can't help who you love. And similarly; you can't help who loves you.

I'm watching a fire burn from afar.
Uncontrollably.
It's already destroyed many-a-things
that has fallen into its path.
I don't want you to die in this fire.
Maybe let it singe parts of you
so you know not to dive into
wild fires that don't care if you get burned.
You'll have 3rd degrees that go deep
and the fire will continue to grow larger
as if it lives and breathes.
It won't change for you.
It won't die down for you.
It won't let you tame it;
rename it
and it damn sure won't let you claim it.
I want to save you.
But you're not mines to save.
So I watch from a distance
as you stand in the path of fire;
awaiting what you think is a beautiful rage.
I don't want this to ruin you
but lovin you obviously doesn't equal a rescue.

I know a lot more than I should. I wish I was still naive and unaware. That's foolish; right ? Oh well. I just randomly wrote that poem. That was the whole reason for the post I guess. *Shrugs* As my buddy said; I'm havin one of those days...

Because that’s what people do. They leap, and hope to God they can fly, because otherwise, you just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, why in the hell did I jump? But here I am, falling, and the only one that makes me feel like I can fly, is you.

 -Hitch.

Thoughts of an Insomniac.

I think he's beautiful...


Looking back at pictures and the things he used to say to me; I'm sure that once upon a time, he loved me as much as I thought he did, if not more...

Blah. Blah. Blah...


I still think about him alot...even know I'm not supposed to be and I shouldn't be. I think about how sweet 'I love you' sounded from his lips and how I felt like my reply "I love you more' was a lie; not because I didn't {because God knows I loved him with everything I had} but because I felt he loved me that much. In a way that was almost unbearable to be away from him for longer than a few hours...I felt invincible with him. Invincible and helpless at the same time...

I think that love...has a way of making someone apart of you; your better half and nonsense like that. And I'd hate to think that someone undeserving or just anyone in general has had that part of me...I've handled somethings really bad between us but I think for the most part; I handled this one thing pretty well...And I don't think anyone knows how bad this one situation has broke me. I'm pretty hurt by it...I didn't realize how hurt until about an hour ago. It's one of those things that will always bother me probably...

I don't think I'll ever forgive her.


I've run out of random thoughts to embarrass myself with...I'm actually pretty tired but sleep is hard to come by now-a-days...always, always thinking...about him, or how I miss the shit outta my best friend, why nothing is going the way I want it to go. I don't really believe in all the beautiful things I once did; like love and best friends; I mean I do...but nothing quite feels the same as it used to...and I'm a cry baby...whatever. I guess there's some strength somewhere in all of this.

I need someone to tell my secrets too...but I don't see me telling anyone everything anymore.

I think that his hugs are magic and could solve every problem.
I think that his forehead kisses would still send chills through my body.
And I can't even imagine how big the smile on my face would be if he hugged me from behind, slid his hand into mines and told me he loved me...

No one needs to read this...but if you have know that I think I'm a complete idiot and I wish I would've just went to sleep...=(

Something I Needed to Read.

I'm further in than ever before; smh...

In honor of National Eating Disorders Awareness week, we wanted to share a beautiful story written by a former TWLOHA intern, Stephanie Koszalka. Please read it and enjoy remembering that your life and your story are powerful. No self-determined imperfection can change that.

---

Dear Body,

I’ve always let some imperfection or another stand in the way of me seeing what you truly are, that you are beautiful. You are a divine creation housing the most valuable thing known to the universe, my soul. I’m beginning to realize that a person’s soul has the capacity to radiate light that transcends all the characteristics that I have been conditioned to believe are flaws.

You naturally tell a story. Your blue-green veins are like a map to where your heart has been and where it is going. The curve of your waist and the shape of your cheekbones tell a tale of heritage and ethnicity. There are crayon markings on the wall somewhere that has measured your height throughout the years. Always returning to the same spot to see how you’ve changed.

Your eyes bare resemblance to nature. They are a deep forest green with golden yellow sunflower flecks. Your faded birthmark, once beet red, brought me shame because all I wanted was to conform. It now reminds me of how unique you are and all I want is to be different.

Your body begins as a story but continues with new chapters throughout your life. Some are chapters of sadness and pain, others of joy, and all of growth. Each chapter a blank canvas meant to be painted by our experiences. Photos are memories but so are our bodies in a way that’s more real, no posing and no fakeness.

I’m realizing these things now, but I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize them before. I’ve done everything I could to destroy the canvas and deface and burn the pages of different chapters.

I’ve waged war on you before; used razor blades to feel and drugs to numb. I’ve used caffeine to stay awake and alcohol to sleep. Abusing the side effects of my prescription drugs like loss of appetite, to deliberately starve myself into making you skinnier.  I’ve spent far too much time on a scale that merely weighs your effect on gravity, not the depth of your beauty. I wanted you to look like one of those girls in the magazines.

But in the ruins there is still a canvas. There is still beauty in your brokenness. The faded scars show healing reminding me that even though I’ve been in dark places, I’ve survived and learned and become stronger.

Although the war is over, the world still takes its toll. You have calluses on your hands from me writing too much and concentrating too hard. Yet the words are beautiful and the studying is worth it. You have the ache when it rains from broken bones, and stretch marks from growing too fast. You have burns from jobs and scars from falls. But those experiences were worth it.  

Dear body, as I grow older I worry about how you will age. Together we gain wisdom and wrinkles, after being young and beautiful and naïve. The wisdom tells us that the beauty doesn’t subside, it only changes, and more of it comes from within.  So I won’t worry when my hair doesn’t look just right, or when I do something stupidly funny and emerge with another scar because you are telling a story. And what would I be without my story and my past?

TWLOHA