advice

The double-edged sword.

Once I gave advice that iF i want to be loved a certain way, I should share it in that way. If I want flowers, I have to give flowers. If I want attention, I have to give attention. The logic is sound, the process however, is a burden. Why must I give to receive? Why can't I just reap the rewards of loving someone and being doted on for eternity.

Once upon a time, it was that way. Women were looked at like china dolls but they also had to look. behave even think a certain way. So I would rather spend a few minutes each day, sharing the love that I feel, giving the love that I want others to feel, in order to receive it when I need it most back.

Sometimes, I would rather be greedy. But I should always first work on doing more, on being more.

creation

When I write, I don't create worlds, I discover them. I am an explorer finding the ways on maps that are outdated, in lands never explored before. I find my way by scraping through the brush, climbing the highest mountains and drawing all I see before me. For this land that I write about, was already there, it just needed someone to find it.

When I write, I don't create characters, I befriend to them. I learn about their hopes and their fears, their dreams and their worries. They become a friend of mine that I want to spend every minute getting to know better because they aren't just someone who I make up, they are someone who I genuinely care about.

When I write, I don't create stories, I share them. The stories are there lost in the twists and turns that life takes us on but sometimes we need to spend extra time focusing on a moment, another minute diving deeper into someone else's reasoning, another breath taking in that marvelous sunset. I don't create stories, they... create me.

demonized

What happens when technology consumes her soul? When the world gets lost, relationships fade, when the reality sets in that this is not her life? That her mindset is not her own and that she has stopped being herself? Will it be too late? Will the demon inside of us have already consumed her before she found the will to power down?

It won't happen like the flip of a switch, but it will happen to her. As her eyes glue onto another show and byte by byte, her DNA seems to alter from who she was to what she will become. She may forget the words to her favorite song. She may forget whole memories in her life and will develop blurry edges on reality. Her cooking abilities will deteriorate, her romantic dinners will be in front of Youtube. Even her thoughts will stop being her own. 

And is it really so bad? Why should she be herself when she can be one and the same as the masses. Another extension of the technological arm. She can meld with the group and be just like the rest. Give up dreams, give up direction, give up the drive that always got her somewhere new. Give up creating and breaking and allow failure to define her. For if it defines her, it defines them too and at least she isn't alone. 

But does she really want to forget where that small town girl went or why a cookie on a stick was important to her? Will she wake up one day and want to recreate herself from the soup eating, flesh consuming monster that sits in her own hand, that answers every question she can type and begs for her time allowing her to do... and be... nothing. Will she be able to bounce back from the demons that lay in the palm of her hand, to the girl who won't stop believin'? Or will she be too far gone to even care if that girl exists. 

slower

There is something almost magical to the slower pace of life. The ability to get lost, steal away and find peace. A chance to swoop in and pick up a friend, challenge a lifelong idea or get lost in the midnight sky. There is something mystical to sitting around a fire, getting lost in a good book and stealing away another piece of homemade pie. There is something supernatural about getting lost on the open road, stealing away into boredom or into ourselves, and finding the time to encourage beauty. Life is made up of these moments, not the world online, not a video game of predetermined outcomes, not celebrity drama, but it is made of seconds lost in someone's eyes, minutes looking at the sunset, years of laughter and a lifetime of these perfect, little moments. 

didn't know better

When we are young and dumb and innocent we feel things so much stronger, we believe in things so much more. Yet as time goes on we get hardened to this world we live in, hardened to see what life has in store for us and so many others. And with that hardness, we lose the sense of shock, the sense of intense grief, we lose a sense of who we were... when we didn't know better.

more alive

"Brinnggg" her phone went off and it was the moment everything changed. She had just pulled up to the Starbucks, feeling triumphant at finishing yet another class and completing yet another masterpiece. But this phone call slammed her into reality. "Her sister... a car crash... dead upon arrival." What had meant to be a celebration turned into a melancholy trance. Where she walked in, ordered and stared at the hustle and bustle around her, like ants in a hill, running around each other, minding their own business, men and women on a mission. It was like their lives hadn't disintegrated in front of their eyes. The constant hum of commotion has her breath caught in her own chest because somehow each one of these people were alive... she was alive... and surely, if they were, if she was, so was her sister. If she just stayed in this shop and if the ants kept doing their running, then the truth may escape her and for a moment, she could feel more alive. 

treasures

"Dink" goes the quiet ping of the door chime as she walked in as if floating through time. Her eyes danced around the shelves filled of pages that were, in turn, penetrated with treasures. She looked for a book calling her closer, as a few always do, begging to be opened and for the story to be explored. She traveled through eras forgotten and stories not so often told. As her nose smelled the sweet, earthy scent of history and poetry, murder and suspense. She recognized that she may never be able to read them all, but some will call to her, reach out to her soul and as she touches their covers she will inhale their identity and need for nothing more.