“Hope has its own distinct kind of pain. Allowing oneself to hope — realistically, clear-sightedly, understanding the odds of change — is tying your heart to your sleeve, vulnerable as a new bruise.”
The holiday always asked me what I wanted to do
It looked at me with grace and wondered if I would celebrate its history
I always told it ‘no’ but deep inside, I wanted to tell it ‘yes’
For many years, I never let it bother me — the holidays, the family and tradition
I pretended it was okay to be alone because I really only knew it that way
Then I learned what it was like to be with company
And I couldn’t bare to spend another holiday alone
Our baby grew inside of me
And I told it how loved it was
When I spent the holiday alone
(but with its presence)
I had my husband right there on the other end
Assuring him one day we’d celebrate in full swing
That day hasn’t come, but it is on the horizon
I wish for the day when we are all together
There is no boundary between us
We are together and all-knowing…
We’ve made the right decision
Andrew Bockhold finds a new appreciation for the family newspaper route he hated working as a kid, before it was shut down.
A cross between a photography blog and a nature and gardening blog, Exploring Colour is where Liz, a New Zealand-based blogger, explores her passion for colorful textures and shares thoughts on beauty and art.
Everything feels how it should be.
I got married last week. It was a small gathering.
I was dressed in white and Terrell dressed in blue.
He was handsome, as always.
He chose his vows so delicately, I almost cried.
He didn’t have to write down his words because they came so naturally.
I wrote down my words, wondering if I said everything as eloquently as he did.
I already miss him.
He left today on a plane back to Missouri.
I know we have this beautiful bond that I can’t quite explain to anyone else.
He took the bus (a foreign bus system to him).
But just like the man I married, he was able to figure everything out (like he always did)
When I first moved to Washington, I felt like I made a mistake.
I was here, completely alone.
I didn’t even have a bed, yet I was pregnant with horrible growing pains.
I didn’t have a bond with anyone at work yet and people were still kind of feeling me out.
I questioned my decision often and felt like I made a decision out of impulse.
When Terrell came to visit, I realized that this was the right decision.
It became clear to me that even though I was here by myself physically, he was here in so many other ways
He was in my heart (and always will be)
He’s the other half of our growing baby
He is the reason I can go to sleep at night knowing that myself and our baby are safe
He is the happiness that spreads throughout my veins.
Our story is like no other.
Maybe to some, we seem like the opposite
Maybe to some, we, well, it doesn’t matter
We’ve worked so hard to get to where we are.
Even when we sit and do nothing, it feels like we’re doing everything.
When something feels so perfect, how do you hold onto it?
What do you do when the physicality isn’t there?
I miss you so much and I will always be in your heart,
While you’re far away.
I think I gave myself an image in my head that was far from the truth. Isn’t that what we always do? When we approached the airport in Portland, I realized that it wasn’t just a series of mountainous overlooks. It was more of a flat place (with potential). In my head, I thought I would come back to a dreary oasis that would make me long for my bed. Instead, I felt a sense of normalcy – like everything I pictured in my head was just something I had made up.
Why do I feel comfort in sadness?
Why does a sad song feel happy?
That’s how it felt to land.
Sadness brings a strange sense of hope. Strange in the sense that it doesn’t sound like the appropriate way to categorize sadness. It’s as if I can stand to be sad and at the same time understand that it is temporary.
I am telling myself I made false promises. I told myself I wanted to feel like the Pacific Northwest but didn’t know how. Oregon feels like the ocean just left me. The ocean left and I can’t quite find it.
I made a promise I couldn’t keep. I envisioned something different than reality (once it set in). I have become a product of my dreams. When I landed, I wanted to feel something more. I just never felt it. I like the flat, but enjoy the rolling hills.
Oregon felt like a sad song – a sad song that made me happy. I didn’t want to admit that I promised myself the mountains but landed in the plains.
In the beauty of natural light, I see the sun peak through
We find that even in the master of disguise and the shadow of a blank apartment wall,
you are the guise we talk to
You are the window we look out to
When our troubles seem less human
You are the apartment wall
That bleeds a window.
The anthropologist studies the objects left behind by migrants as they cross the border.