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I don’t know what to think anymore, sometimes. I’m unsure where my life is headed. I feel like the days are passing me by and I’m not noticing many of them, time is leaving me behind. I will not be forgotten. How many times must I be knocked down before I find my footing, find my way? Vague directions, vague plans, and everytime I finally think things are settling and I’m finding a rhythm, a new variable is introduced. And every time, without fail, that variable throws me off-kilter once more.

I need to see my city, I need to breathe again. I need to see you. I miss you, more than words can say, every day. New York, you call my name, you and everything you hold.

This town is killing my spirit. Sometimes I feel like I’m over-dramatizing when I talk about Colorado, but it’s true. The days go by and I forget the bigger life because forgetting is easier than remembering. I forget who I was, who I am, because the pain of absence is still so fresh. There is nothing else in this world that makes my heart leap so much as seeing that Manhattan skyline — in films, photographs, anywhere I can find it. I have never seared anything into my memory so clearly as I have the appearance of New York City, never mapped anything so firmly into my conscious as those streets. I close my eyes in dark moments and there’s a shining city behind my eyelids, tracing and retracing every step I ever took. It seems like another lifetime, a reverie, and I want it back so badly I could die for it. Every personality it holds, every memory, every sound.

It won’t be long now.


Making you an offer,
still runs great,
looking for a brand new start:
A special, one time deal
on a preowned heart.

Someday soon I’ll be free of this place. For now, it’s about making it as tolerable as possible until that night train comes and carries me into a foreign dawn.

Someday soon I’ll be free of this place. For now, it’s about making it as tolerable as possible until that night train comes and carries me into a foreign dawn.


There was never a better Christmas, or Christmas Eve. Three services, three candlelit moments… Pure adoration.

I’ve fallen in love with the idea of “Thin Places” recently: those places or events in life where the dividing line between the holy and the ordinary is very thin, to the point that the ordinary becomes holy and the holy becomes ordinary.

Christmas, to me and to quite a few people I think, is a thin place. The shimmering lights, the candles, the evergreen, the joy — it’s a magical time of year, and the time that I can hear my soul crying out for that something more. It’s a strange thing that humans ever started the search for some higher being. Who came up with the idea of a soul? But it’s this time of year that I can really feel my bones calling their maker, feel my body singing for its heavenly lover. 

So thankful for a savior. A baby that came to rule the nations. A startling thought.

Follow the star to a place unexpected
Would you believe, after all we’ve projected,
A child in a manger? Is this who we’ve waited for?

chaotic nature

Desires conflict with desires, conflict with undeniable facts. We choose the paths that we think will make us happiest in the end. Instant gratification is the path for the chaotic at heart, and I’ve been there, done that, and am over that route — for now. No matter how badly I want it now. Discipline is a skill I was never very apt at learning. 

And on another note

NYC in less than a month. Ah! One month until I can breathe again. Could I be any more excited? I really don’t think so.


I bought a car. 

I don’t think it’s quite sunk in that I am the owner of a vehicle. Maybe it will on the way to work later. 

Either way, pictures are coming soon! He’s a delightful deep shade of green. 

Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.
Elizabeth Taylor

One week

until my most favorite eve of the year.
until the world is filled with candlelight.
until carols and mistletoe and evergreen and cinnamon flavor the air.
until we celebrate our savior.

one week
until i see you again. 

all of this thrills me to the bone.
winter, you are my favorite season.


Our love
is urgent.
Your kiss, my touch,
that frantic need to close the gaps between two bodies
like all I am
will shatter as shrapnel
if we do not.
I crave you always.
There is a place
folded in your arms reserved for me,
and I’ve found my belonging place there where I was never looking;
it has always been in you. 


Never been more happy to have food poisoning, and one, just one, pink line. The anxiety of waiting three minutes is simply agonizing, but then relief hits and you go on living your life with another experience under your belt and the knowledge that maybe these plans you’ve drawn up and written on the mirror for your future won’t actually prove to have merely been traced in sand.