Happy Birthday

"Happy Birthday! We miss you!"

And it's true. All three of us miss you.

2008: A precious little girl. With the little red patch on her face. A little bit of you and I sown in.

2009: A fragile paper box. Tiny little handmade stars. Beautiful memories with every little fold

2010: Thoughts. Emotions. Love. These words.

I saw him yesterday... and he was either engrossed in the complexity that is a crossword puzzle that he held in his hand, or he didn't want to talk to me. Knowing him it's quite possibly both at once. I wanted to reach out, and hug him like I would have done ages ago... I know it's not too long ago, and yet to me it feels like ages... but I knew it would have been inappropriate. That my feelings would not be reciprocated. I want to say that I know because I am so sure, and yet, I do not know, and the little flicker in my heart called hope wants to say he was holding himself back too. The part of me that always keeps me here on earth though... is telling me just how wrong I am.

I was foolish, and when I was asked to choose, I didn't choose him. I chose someone new, someone fresh, someone who I thought wouldn't give me the tumultuous life that I had lead with today's birthday boy. I was so wrong, and now it's too late to fix the mistake I made. All of the hurt I did to someone I honestly loved. Still love. I promised him that I would always love him, no matter what happened. It's true though, I do still love him. The one promise I have honestly kept with him. The rest I can't go back and fix either. So many mistakes to such a jewel, that I didn't realize I had. Perhaps he was right. Sometimes the girl has to do the chasing. Especially when she doesn't deserve the man she chases. A man shouldn't chase a girl who doesn't deserve him ever. All of the things society and chivalry say that a man should do for a lady, should also be reciprocated.

So now, because anything else would be inapporopriate. These words are my birthday gift to you this year.

I'm so sorry for everything. You were right all along, and you didn't deserve the abuse I put you through. You didn't deserve, the fighting, the arguements, the unreciprocated love. You didn't deserve the pain I put you through. You didn't deserve the confusion, any of it. You still don't. All of the mistakes were my own. You were never at fault. You still aren't. I miss you. And despite all of the broken promises to you, I have kept one. I love you.

Disconnected

I love to hear him play you know. There's something in the way the notes blend together, and more importantly, in the way you blend yourself into the music. I love to feel the vibrations in the air, and to watch him... to feel him in the air. He doesn't understand why that's what I say that I love about him the most. If only he could see himself the way that I do when he plays. He is confident. He is strong. He is everything that he is when he plays, and yet there is so much more he can be. Even I can't explain the wonder I feel when he plays. How he draws me in, and makes my heart and soul stir. If only he could see through my eyes, feel through my skin.
He didn't play as he usually does. He had mistakes even I could recognize, and the sound was dead... I didn't feel. Of course as usual he was pleasant to listen to, and how entertaining. It was still enjoyable, but something was different and I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand what it could have been. I could feel that he and I had been tense. Was his lack of feeling my own fault? Did I do something to kill his music? True he played the music well... but it wasn't his music. It was... music. Though nothing near his.
I chase after him. I ask him to play for me. Classical music. No accompaniment. Just him.
It was beautiful. To follow the notes. I could feel him again. I could feel his nervousness, and yet in that he threw himself into the music. It was beautiful. I didn't even notice as the people came towards us and played.
I wish he could throw himself into his emotions like that all the time. It's never good to disconnect yourself.

Hold On

Hold on to what is good,

Even if it is a handful of earth.

Hold on to what you believe in,

Even if it is a tree which stands by itself.

Hold on to what you must do,

Even if it is a long way from here.

Hold on to life,

Even when it is easier to let go.

Hold on to my hand,

Even when I have gone away from you.

Happiness

What defines happiness? That is a question that i have struggled to figure out for a long time. How are you supposed to define a happy person. It cannot merely be acting happy. Anyone can act happy at any time, even if they are going through the deepest agony that they felt they could ever go through. How are you supposed to know if you are sincerely and truly happy at a certain point in time? How do you know that this "happiness" isn't just the result of practicing being happy for so long that now you seem a happy person? Life is too short to spend time being sad, angry, and hurt. While, as humans, these emotions seem so difficult to ignore or break away from, these things must happen for a person to live a good life. People have every right to feel hurt. But in this hurt, they can feel happiness coming from within. I know it sounds crazy, but it can happen. I've seen it, I understand it.

And on the topic of a human's short life, is it really so short? Or is it that life seems so short because of the wasted time doing things that don't matter at all? People waste their time with allowing themselves to stay angry, and by doing things that in reality shouldn't matter to them at all because it holds no benefit to their life in the end. In the end, it will just be wasted time. And maybe this is what makes life feel so short, as if we needed to find some way to give ourselves an excuse for the things that we may do. Life is too short, we say, to not enjoy it in the way we want to. But is this really true? Or are we just lying to ourselves to we don't feel guilt for the things we as humans have done?

Giggly Tidbits

He. Me. Laughter. Right now it is unexplainable. That, and I feel like a foolish giggly girl. Is it not possible for me to simply spend time with a friend of mine, who is of the opposite sex, and not feel so giggly?
Yes. I know they exist. I have several of them, but why now? Why while I'm healing? Healed. To be truly healed though, I must be healed for a span of time... So I may be healed, but I am still healing. I was hurt. I had been hurt. He asked about it... and tried to make me feel better about it all.
We talked about the nonsensical... And I wanted to be close to him. I liked being close to him. It was not instant attraction. It is not even strong attraction... and yet I was. Why? How? Just a thought.  A tidbit. Am I alone in this? Is it just me? Please tell me I'm not the only one who has thought this before.
He was so changed from my memory... And that was only two years ago. He has lost that squishy teddy bear look to him, and now... He is growing into a young man... More then that, a young gentleman. He is taller, leaner, his face elongated.
What did he see when he looked at me? Had I changed? It may feel like it was long ago when we met, but in the terms of a lifetime, it was just a blink of an eye...I wonder what I look like now, to those I haven't seen in the longest time... What do they think of me?
Or am I still that child? Am I still that loud little girl? I don't feel as if I have changed... I rather feel that I am very much the same.

Suffering is Joy?

As I was going through all of the posts on this blog, and trying to label each blog entry concerning it's topic, something came across my mind. Why is it that so many of my entries are so unhappy? Is it that I am an unhappy person at heart, despite my "bubblyness"? Is it possibly that I truly can't tap into the happy state of mind that I at least seem to put myself out as? I cannot even begin to enter the realm of being able to say "I am truly happy". Or can I? I suppose it would depend on your definition of happiness at first.
A friend of mine used to say that true happiness cannot exist, because when one is happy all the time, they forget sadness and it becomes non-existent for them. And with the philosophy that cold is only the absence of heat, one could state that happiness is only the absence of sadness. What if it was the other way around though? What if sadness is the absence of happiness?
Then this thought crossed my mind: "Why isn't the great question of happiness wildly discussed?"
The greatest philosophers in the history of all mankind have questioned happiness, why doesn't the common man? Great philosophers accepted sadness, and the common man questions it?
Perhaps those great philosophers have accepted the fact that sadness exists in our lives. If one is to dwell in their sadness they can never receive the joy from the things in life that give it out. The common man though searches to escape suffering... What if the key to our suffering is our suffering itself?
I don't write about my happy thoughts or feelings as often, because I am contented to stew in my joy and hold onto it for as long as I can. When I am sad... I write to try and push all that sadness out of me, and to get past that sadness to reach my joy. To try and turn fortune's wheel a little bit faster. I, like the rest of society, don't want to suffer. Yet these great thinkers among men have accepted their suffering and lived perfectly wonderful lives. In a sense, because they were doing what they wanted to do, they were happy.
When we suffer, we appreciate those happy moments more. When we are happy those suffering moments are all the more distant. Most definitely not similar to a state of balanced equilibrium, chemically speaking. So maybe those philosophers do have it right. Maybe we were made to suffer, so that happy moments are all the better for us. Like yin and yang, you can't have one without the other. You cannot be happy if you have never been sad. You cannot feel joy if you have never suffered.
So perhaps it is this, for you my readers. It is not that I am not a happy person. It is not that I can't tap into the happy parts of myself when I write. It is not that I am a young girl obsessed with the drama of life. It is that when I am happy, I am at peace.