Fewer than 10 fingers

I can count on my fingers how many days I have left until I get married.

Questions everyone always asks us:

  1. Are you excited?
  2. When’s the big day?
  3. Where are you going on your honeymoon?
  4. How did you meet?

Answers for you, my Readers.

  1. Yes of course we’re excited
  2. Fewer than 10 fingers away
  3. South
  4. Junior high

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing you all for a long time. I have spent much time this summer delving into the new and exciting world of Netflix. My roommate let us all share her Netflix account, but in my new post-wedding apartment we won’t have a TV! Hm… that probably indicates an eventual rise in the frequency of blog posts. We shall see.

I am not watching the Olympics, but I am aware that it is going on.

I am trying to pick a career but I get bats in my stomach every time I imagine myself as a real adult living the day-in, day-out work life. After I graduated from school, and now that the wedding is almost here, I feel a little purposeless. *sigh*

I have a cold, I think, and I’m trying to squelch it before I get married. Honey and lemon water, anyone?

Anyway, hi. I remember you. I miss you. I don’t know where I am in my life or what my future blogging patterns will be, but please know that you guys have a place in my heart. Wish me luck on my new marriage adventure, eh?

Something Worth Waiting For

I didn’t cry when he proposed to me, but I’m crying now. Looking at the pictures of the proposal, his perfect face glowing with happiness, fills me with an emotion so deep I didn’t even know it existed. I don’t know if it has a name. It involves the knowledge of how unbearable life has been in the past, and seeing how far I have come–how far God has carried me. I am so overcome with gratitude and awe that he, the best, most kind, sincere, and loving human I know, not only loves me, but wants to spend eternity with me.

Depression can suffocate all hope of a happy future, as I know it has done for me. But I urge you to hold on. Please. After all these years, now my tears are of gratitude for my blessed life; of faith in a bright and beautiful future. The darkness, isolation, and hopelessness of my past are quieted by the joy I receive from my relationship with this man. I have felt like there was no more happiness possible for me in life, and now I am the happiest woman on earth.

* * *

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul
And it’s the only thing that I know,
I swear it will get easier,
Remember that with every piece of you
And it’s the only thing we take with us when we die

We keep this love in this photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts were never broken
And time’s forever frozen still

Poetry Friday: White Ribbons

White Ribbons

The white house on the corner,
with lavender blooms tracing the fence till
fall, where the little girl had worn her
hair up, hiding behind her sharpened pencil.

Worn her hair up, blonde curls in white ribbons. Molly
read her fairytales in the treetops, dreaming
of walnuts, and castles, and red trolleys.
Sunlight poured through curtain leaves; shining, streaming.

Sunlight poured onto old story pages, shafts of
gold on black print. Molly swung her feet, her
hands on low branches, and through the air her laughter
fell upon the ears of Peter.

Her laughter fell, but sighed soft now,
quiet like a hymn in church. But Peter, all he
did was smile and walk, turning down
the lane, and behind him treaded Molly.

Turning down the lane, he began to run,
his feet barely touching earth. Molly
watched with wide eyes; she had come
from her fairytales, quiet like snowflakes, following.

Come from her fairytales, blonde curls in white
ribbons, and she looked at the sky.
She untied her hair, wore it down, reflecting light.
Peter taught her to run; she learned how to fly.

* * *

The white house on the corner,
with gentle blossoms on trees where birds
sang, where the little girl had worn her
hair up, hiding behind her whispered words.

White ribbons on low branches, sunbeams on blonde curls.
A book between their laps, children dreamed of
warm raindrops in August. A boy and girl
read softly to each other, learning how to love.

I’ll Be Okay

A girl likes a boy, and sometimes loves him. She gets on fine without him for many years. They keep in contact and make each other laugh. She misses him often but it gets better with time.

She grows up and learns about herself and the world. She feels her heart expanding past the boy and the love she felt so strongly. It grows and grows and it can soon fit so much more love. She loves more than just the boy. She loves parts of the world that were once new. She moves on but still remembers how it was to love him so deeply.

Then the boy returns and the girl doesn’t know what she wants. She knows she’s willing to slow her heart a while to see if the boy can keep up.

But it’s only a matter of time before the girl will be forced to make a choice: learn to love the boy again as before, or let him go.

What’s most important is that either way, she will be okay.

* * *

Just going through some stuff, folks. 🙂 Here are some lyrics from Sondre Lerche’s beautiful song “I’ll Be Okay”:

You who replaced every beat that was false
And uptight like a metronome
You should’ve stayed ’cause that winter was long
But by dawn you were gone

I’ll be OK
I’ll be OK

Poetry Friday: Keep You Close

Keep You Close

Friend, you are far but I
keep you close.

I place my memories of you
reading, dancing, driving, running
in every beautiful moment I see.

You are with me in my dreams,
laughing, singing, talking, staring;
whether sleeping or waking,
I always invite you.

Lover, in my heart I
keep you close.

Poetry Friday: Baby Words

Baby Words

I thought my heart had reached
its maximum capacity,
little one.
But when I saw you so tiny
in your black and white world,
I fell in love with a stranger.

I don’t know you but I can’t wait to.

I can’t wait for all the hats
I’m going to make you
that won’t fit.

I can’t wait to defend
your tiny body
from your overeager siblings.

I can’t wait hear you
snuffle and coo and cry
in your baby words.
I’ll whisper back
in my grown up words,
“I love you.”

Poetry Friday: Three Years Later

(For Mrs. Hogan)

Three Years Later

They warned me since the beginning
that Honors Pre-Calc was tough.
I watched Andrew, Zach, and Doug do work
using theta, vectors, and stuff.

The teacher, a gal affectionately known
as a homework corrector from Heck,
was petite with a smile that was fast as a flash
and a chocolate bar always on deck.

My fears were relieved as the months went by
and my math career didn’t just end,
for along with the knowledge I gained of sine,
my teacher became my friend.

So now that the world’s been torn in two,
I really just want to say:
Thank you so, so much for understanding;
you were an angel to me today.