A girl can dream, can’t she?

Do you ever know your feelings, but are fearful of expressing them? I don’t want to be awkward. I don’t want to ruin a friendship or seem over-the-top. How do you express feelings to someone? Rather, how do you express feelings for someone? Oh, what a slippery ice I walk upon when it comes to these things! A slippery ice indeed! 

A little while ago I blogged about wanting to feel that fluttery love-like feeling. I’m feeling it. Perhaps it has come with the slow replenishing of my emotions in general, or maybe not. I don’t know. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m in love, though. I’m not sure I ever have been, nor will I ever be. Any love-related feeling, however, I will accept with open arms–or an open heart, I should say. 

I suppose I’ll just keep this to myself. A relationship would never work out, realistically. I’d probably freak him out by even expressing my feelings. There’s a slim chance he’d feel the same way. And even if he did, we’d not be able to see each other often. Also, all relationships have an end (for the most part), and it would probably ruin our friendship. So I’ll keep this to myself.

Oh, but trying to rationally think through this will do no good. I’ll let my heart free, but not my tongue. No, not my tongue. I can feel the fluttering love all I want, but I’ll never be able to express it to him. I can only hope that somehow, by slim chance, he’ll feel the same toward me–and express it himself.

But that would be selfish to expect him to express his feelings. I wouldn’t want to put that on him, if he does have feelings for me. Which I’m sure he doesn’t. But a girl can dream, can’t she? A girl can dream. 

And dream I shall. 

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Better Alive

I remember, back in fifth grade, sitting near the boys at lunch. I guess it was because I didn’t really have anywhere else to sit. One of them decided to talk about me. Because you know, a girl can’t just eat her lunch in peace. “I think Abigail would be better off dead,” said the leader of the boys. His friends laughed and agreed–all but one. One of them was hesitant. I looked at him with large, pleading eyes. For just a moment, I thought he’d debate them. I thought he’d stick up for me and say, “Actually, she has worth as a human being.” The boy was faltering. He was cracking. I was hoping that the crack of doubt in him would widen just enough for me to squeeze through and convince him that I mattered. But the crack closed up. He sealed it. “Well, I don’t want to be mean,” he said. “But yeah, it’d probably be better for everyone.” After that, I never saw a crack in him. When I thought I did, it turned out only to be false. When I thought he was enjoying my company, it turned out he was only using me as entertainment to laugh at how stupid I was. 

This specific memory has been quite troubling for me, especially considering my current situation. Instead of just letting that memory be, however, I’m doing something about it. I’m going to change my story. I’m going to alter what happened, in my mind, so I can empower myself. Let’s pretend this is what really happened, beginning just after the boy agreed with his friends: 

“Actually, I’m a human being who has just as much worth as you do. Nothing you say can define who I am, because you’re not in control of my life. Your statements are simply untrue, and I reject them. Oh, and would you like me to throw your trash away?” 

Bad writing isn’t published. So why should I publish hurtful, weak, and untrue statements in the book of my life? I’m not publishing that statement anymore. I can trash it, along with the other stacks of lies that have been submitted to me. I mean, did they really think I’d publish those statements? Really? The fact that I’m alive is a huge slap in the face to them.

“I think Abigail would be better off dead.” If by dead, you mean alive, then yes. Most certainly. 

 

 

 

InspiraBee

WARNING: I was halfway through writing this when I realized that oh, this isn’t actually how flowers work. This isn’t actually scientifically correct at all. How did I pass first grade? Anyways, I understand that this isn’t correct. I just liked the idea too much to completely erase everything and start over with a new analogy. Try to overlook the problems and get my underlying meaning, okay? The truth is that I am trying my hand at inspirational writing again after a mind-numbing haze, and it’s really difficult. Really. I’ve spent a long time just staring into my computer screen wondering where to begin. I promise it’ll get better. I promise. Just bear with me until I get my brain back, alright? It may be awhile.  

Inspiration is all around us. I like to imagine this inspiration as a field of flowers. Each of us as an adorable, fuzzy bumblebee flying next to our heads. The bumblebee pollinates are own personal field and no one else’s. The InspiraBee is ours. When a flower is pollinated, it begins to bloom. When it’s in full bloom, that’s when we get a brilliant idea. Sometimes the ideas bloom for a very long time. Sometimes they die off immediately. This is caused either by the lifespan of the flower, or our diligence in taking care of it. When we neglect to tend to an idea or cultivate it, it withers away. Sometimes it dies forever, sometimes the petals just fall off until it’s pollinated and restarts the entire process over again. So mostly, we have a fair amount of control over what we do with our inspiration flowers.

A problem occurs when your InspiraBee refuses to pollinate. It sits on your head and does nothing. The flowers don’t bloom. You sit in your field, feeling entirely unfulfilled and meaningless. You can look over your pretty white picket fence and see your neighbor’s garden. “Hey, look at these flowers! Aren’t they neat?” he says, cheerfully holding a painted watering can. You smile and nod, but begin to feel bitter and jealous. All your neighbors have wonderful gardens, and yours is bare and colorless. “Curse you, you hideous bee!” You try beating your fuzzy friend, but it only stings you. Frustrated, you go inside and don’t come out for a very, very long time.

When you emerge again, you check your garden. It’s gorgeous. InspiraBee was there the whole time. You look to your neighbor’s garden and notice that the old flowers have died, and new ones are coming in. Your flowers are not duds. They’re only late bloomers. Everything was okay the whole time. 

 

Solitary Bliss

Solitary Bliss

This is a picture of the swing I used to sit on in my later elementary years. Nobody talked to me. I always brought out my clipboard, pencils, and a good amount of lined paper. I wrote. I wrote for the entire twenty minutes. Sometimes I drew, too. It was lonely, but I became so used to it that after a while, it didn’t seem so lonely anymore. I was engrossed in my own little worlds and fantasies.

This photo, by the way, was taken by me. And heavily edited. I’m new to all this, sorry.

A Year of Broken Promises

I haven’t really made any New Year’s resolutions this year. I have in the past, but I don’t think I will this year. They’re pointless and silly, and bound to end up in a pile of empty, broken promises. Do you know how many people become gym members in January, only to quit altogether just a few months later? Life is difficult, let’s face it. No amount of gym memberships, pounds you promise to lose, or poems you hope to write will ever change that. Ever. The oversimplified, cheery optimism is sickening this time of year. Have you thought about the millions of things that could set you back from keeping your promise? Have you considered the possibility of this coming year being the worst ever? Of course, it’s always nice to think that 2014 will be a wonderful year, but the inevitable pain that is to come in the next twelve months is not to be ignored. Don’t rope yourself into promises you know that you cannot and will never keep. Doing so will only add to your crushing and debilitating sense of disappointment and failure next December. 

A good way to look at things is to expect the worst and assume doom in most situations. That way, it is almost certain to turn out better than expected. Setting one’s expectations low can give him or her a false sense of accomplishment. And wouldn’t you rather have a false sense of accomplishment than a very real sense of failure? Everybody wants to feel like a winner. So feel like that! Make sure you allow yourself to do so. 

In short, make goals, but never expect to achieve them. Make achieving them simply an extra bonus. Nobody wants to feel like a loser. So don’t. Don’t feel like a loser this year. Be a winner–a stagnant winner, but still a winner.

Make your resolution living. Live this year. Survive. That’s it.

Happy New Year!