we are not the sum of our experiences
merely the vessel that holds them all together

every fragment
its own story
don’t condemn me
for the parts you never knew

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what it feels like

you asked me what it feels like

I didn’t have the word for it because maybe there isn’t
ONE
so I gave you several

I told you then that
it’s like when you’re searching for this incredible place that you’ve heard so much about but never been…
and then you open your eyes and realize
you were already there

what I didn’t say
is that this place exists inside of us;
double rooms with a shared door
and a deadbolt that’s been opened before
it takes two to unlock it,
but doors are meant to be opened

before that,
it’s like waiting for the rain when you can no longer stand the heat,
and when it finally comes,
it wasn’t even about the breeze,
but you remember that you forgot that
you really just like the feel of the water against your skin

skin has a memory deeper than itself
it remembers what we forgot –
how to open up
how to hold on
touch doesn’t have to be physical for it to still be felt

I don’t need to tell you how often I think of you,
you’re already in all the margins of my writings –
the scrawlings of the underside of my subconscious breathe in the spaces we’ve created in the distance between us, and
distance isn’t the only measurement of an interval between two people;
distance doesn’t necessarily mean far, but when it does
sometimes the shortest route between two points in time is through the words
i miss you

and somewhere between the thoughts you catch me having,
intercepted not interrupted, my path resets in space,
and I’m hurdling at lightspeed towards your smile’s gravitational pull
because this universe may be big
but this
this is much bigger

so
when you asked me what it feels like,
even if I took all the words in existence and arranged and rearranged them
until a million and a half strings of paper letters had wrapped themselves around the moon, twice –
I still wouldn’t have the precise words to say

it feels…right.

Saying What I Mean and Meaning What I Say

I can’t help but think what amazing people I have in my life.

I visited a good friend of my Dad’s on New Year’s Day. They’ve been playing basketball together on Saturdays as far back as I can remember. As soon as we sat down, he (my Dad’s friend) began expressing what a great man he thought my Dad was and how fortunate my sister and I are to have him as a father, among many other kind words. He spoke so highly and so fondly of my Dad, I couldn’t help but be proud. He then proceeded to explain that he believes in telling the important people in his life just how great he thinks they are in front of them because the best words are often spoken of people post-humously and he thinks it’s much more significant to let others know how you feel about them in person. It’s more meaningful that way. Why save the best things you have to say to them when they can no longer hear it?

That conversation got me thinking, as good exchanges do. What a beautiful philosophy. Shouldn’t we tell our loved ones how much they mean to us? And often. Life is unpredictable and we never know when or what our last words to someone will be. Joining this new train of thought with the one involving the contemplation of new year’s resolutions, I’ve decided to make that one of my resolutions for 2015 and beyond. From now on I want to tell those around me how truly wonderful I think they are when I think it. Usually, I’m one to save words of kindness like that for special occasions, such as birthdays or holidays, but when I really think about it, what’s the use in waiting for a “special” day? Every day is what we make of it, after all.