To Live Like That

Posted by intransitionstill

One of the greatest ironies in the world is that often the seemingly happiest people have some of the darkest bits of their soul.

I hope its okay that I’m writing to you. I don’t know if there are rules about this sort of thing. If men in black suits and hats will pop out of a closet somewhere and tell me to stop attempting time travel. If they will suck my brain or steal my memories or lock me away. But you must understand, I’m just so sick of writing to him that I am left with no choice. Someone told me once that in order to stop being hurt by others, one must realize that all we have is ourselves. The only issue is I’m not quite sure I would like to be friends with who I am right now. But I would like that to change, which explains why I’m writing to you on a cloudy Wednesday morning; before the world stirs and the day begins.

I wanted to write you today to tell you that I sure as hell hope that you found love. I don’t care if it is a beautiful man who would rather do nothing with you than anything with anybody else, or if it is art so beautiful you fall within its world every single day. I don’t care if it is friends you give your life to, or a job that fills you with significance every moment. I don’t care if it is a very affectionate mollusc. Just love it. Give your whole heart to it. Let it change you from the inside, let it shift your dreams and change your expectations, and challenge you. Let it free you, and let it entrap you. Let it intoxicate you.  But love something. I need to believe that you do.

Stop giving yourself to lesser intoxications that do not measure up to that love. 10 years ago today you realized that you had not kissed anyone sober in more than a year. Not since him.

Don’t live like that.

They are a terrible thing; drunken kisses. They are a mirage of the lips—they taste like a cool glass of water on the hottest day of summer, and then they disappear like dust before your eyes and spill out on the wreckage below before they ever quench your thirst. And all the searching makes you even thirstier.

I hope you are living as the person you are. I hope you are no longer starving away your wildness; desperately trying to make yourself small— dreaming of taking up less space within the world and within people’s expectations. I hope that you are wildly passionate with a reckless abandon. I hope you fill every ounce of space you inhabit. But most importantly I hope that you have a passion that builds and not destroys.

10 years ago, you finally got sick of getting drunk. You realized that each trivial intoxication was merely an attempt to dull the withdrawal of an intoxication run out. That is not real passion.

Please don’t live like that.

10 years ago, you were sitting in a musty pottery room. You stared down at a lump of clay spinning before you, wondering what it might take to make something beautiful. To become something beautiful. What it might take to scrape away the scaring on a heart so big it broke itself. What it might take to love again. To find passion again.

Dear myself in 10 years: I hope you found out. 

July 4, 2012

(Source: little-brownbook)

Reblogged from mwanzotena | 94,504 notes | June 28, 2012

W. S. Merwin, “Separation”

Posted by intransitionstill

Your absence has gone through me   

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

1 note | June 25, 2012

I know what I deserve now. 

Reblogged from jodiekoo-deactivated20120626 | 1,584 notes | June 15, 2012

I am a Large Person

Posted by intransitionstill

I am a large person.

I am full of ideas. I am brimming with passion. I have big dreams and great ambition. I have a wealth of opinions.

I have big lips—they kiss fiercely, speak loudly, and bring life.

I have a large heart; there is great space for love and there is much room for bruising. I feel intensely and I hurt deeply and I give without the expectation of return.

I have a big laugh, and I have great fears. I am brave and I am vulnerable.

I have a large stomach—I am hungry all the time—hungry for justice and for wholeness, hungry for change and for transformation. Hungry for love and acceptance and for freedom.

I have large feet and they will carry me faithfully—down paths that few others will dare to go, to reach hearts that few others will dare to touch.

 I have big hands. They will tear down what is broken and they will create things that are beautiful. They will give gifts and wipe tears and plant seeds.

I have many numbers. Numbers on a ruler, on a scale, on a calendar, and in my bank account—and I am bigger than them all. I am greater than the need to be measured, to be defined, or to be counted. I am too big to fit your expectations, too large to be confined by your judgments and far too large to fit into your mold.

I am a large person. And I am not afraid of my largeness. 

4 notes | May 29, 2012

Respect yourself enough to walk away from anything that no longer serves you, grows you, or makes you happy.

- (via mwanzotena)

(Source: lezzbfriends)

Reblogged from mwanzotena | 10,666 notes | May 22, 2012

There’s No Place Like Home

Posted by intransitionstill

Sometimes saying “I just want to go home” actually means, “I just want to know where I mean when I say that”. 

May 4, 2012

(Source: icanread)

Reblogged from intotherose-garden | 6,841 notes | May 3, 2012

I know that some days
I seem like nothing more
than a box full of puzzle pieces
spilled out across the floor.

Please uncross your fingers
and promise me
you will not becomes so exhausted
flipping them all back over again
and frantically searching out
my borders
that you forget what picture
I once made, what I will
make again.

- Tyler Knott Gregson (via jodiekoo)

Reblogged from jodiekoo-deactivated20120626 | 1 note | May 1, 2012

We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing — an actor, a writer — I am a person who does things — I write, I act — and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.

- Stephen Fry (via jodiekoo)

Reblogged from jodiekoo-deactivated20120626 | 2 notes | March 29, 2012