I caught a glimpse of our star tonight and it made me remember.
The first time.
The last time.
The first kiss.
The last kiss.
The first date.
The last date.
But most of all I thought of December 4th B.
And what happened under our star all these passing months.

I'm so incredibly in love with you.
Being drunk has only made me realize that more.
I thought maybe that tonight I could forget about the troubles and ripping of my heart in half that is to come.
But right now you are so vividly present in my mind and I miss you more than I have in these three weeks.
I miss being drunk with you and making love like we would never get the chance again.
Looking into your eyes and wanting you, feeling the infinity behind my eyes that made you feel so incredibly heavenly.
The breath that paused on my neck and gave me everything I ever wanted while you showed me depth of your desires.
I miss laying with you and holding onto every second we could ever possibly have.
Please don't go.
I want you so bad and I this cannot possibly be the last time I will see the love of my life again.
I fantasize about your touch and how bittersweet it will be to know it again.
You consume my thoughts especially right now and all I want is the love that you so beautifully have shown me.
I think you as my soulmate and I don't want to live a life without you in only two more weeks.
God my heart is consumed by fear and regret.
Sweetheart I know you had to do what was best for you.
But know that I won't stop loving you for a while to come.
Those loving, rainbow eyes will haunt me for so long.

I love you B and that's all I want you to hold on to right now.
That I think about how proud I am of you for chasing your dreams.
That you inspire me to be who I am and who I deserve to be in life.
That you've never told me a single lie to protect my heart.
That you're the most honest and intelligent man I've ever known.
I love you B.

That feeling when you wake up after letting the rivers flood your sheets the night before and the next morning the floodgates still haven't closed after you thought every drop was run dry.

Sometimes happiness is staring for minutes upon hours at the things you've created.
Like the Mad Hatter.
Trying to figure out the next brush stroke that will change everything.

They say to keep on dreaming even if it breaks your heart.
I am indeed a dreamer, my friend.
A dreamer with a slightly almost shattered heart.
I dream of words, the black curves delicately placed on a once empty space.
The beginners, the ones who started it all.
British literature.
French artists.
Italian impressionists.
I want to envelop a life full of beauty, full of life.
Full of art.
A quiet, quirky English teacher perhaps? Who loves her books more than anything and feels beautiful because she's fallen in love with poetry.
The successful, powerful, **** woman who walks through the fashion industry? Maybe she's happy, but she's become a workoholic who is afraid of committing to marriage because she's hurt.
Or maybe she becomes a decent writer, who became famous off her very first novel highlighting the struggles in her childhood.
She just wants to write.
Endlessly write.
Her thoughts.
Her dreams.
What she's fallen in love with.
Maybe even him.
But really she has no idea what she wants.

I've been doing ok.
Thinking about what it may be like to only know you as a ghost.
You've already started preparing me for it.
The missed phone calls.
It doesn't feel like a part of me is missing anymore really.
Instead like a new part is attempting to burst.
I think I'm getting over it already without allowing myself to.
I've found myself a bubble I feel comfortable in.
The one where I don't think about real things.
But the characters I come to know in those words.
Or the constant running about and then passing out.
It will hit me one day that you're gone, but right now, the in between phase is where I'll stay.

Trying to pretend Shes okay is becoming more suffocating than She can handle.
She aches as she enfolds herself in the mask of joy that she feels nothing of on the inside.
Trying to show him that she can be happy without him, without the closeness they once shared.
That she's strong and independent.
But she isn't.
She isn't okay.
She burns from her surroundings.
Only catching fire from them every day.
Soon to be no more than ash.
The only thing that keeps her sane at this hour is the unsoberness she's put upon herself since the night he left.
Sober thoughts, but a sleepless soul without.
She knows it's unhealthy but it's all she can do to keep sane.
From her best friend being gone.
And her mother becoming her biggest fear.
So she lets the alcohol **** the pain.

She doesn't know much more of the criticism she can watch unfold.
"Where's your makeup" she says.
"Is that the best you can do? the best you can present yourself"
"What are you wearing?"
Loving.
Motherly.
Yelling.
Anger.
Snapping.
Craziness.
Happy.
Sh­e's terrified that she will see the same person staring back at her one day in the mirror.

She's trying.
She's lonely.
She's lost.
She feels the distance and it's terrifying.
When the moon reaches high, she cries herself to sleep night after night.
She just wants to be stronger.
But she feels so overwhelmingly weak.
And she can't show that to him.

I came across myself today.
I always write negatively to you, but this time my passion of art is seeping through my pores.
I fell in love with a city today.
I think Charleston is what they call her.
She's unique and aged.
Displays life and essence on every corner.
The galleries filled with brush strokes of the oils I once brought life to.
Without my love with me anymore, art becomes the source of sunlight within this aching heart.
It craves the beauty of the world and the olden ground beneath its feet.
Sweetheart find yourself in the oils.

Trying to explain this hell on earth is almost as frustrating as you.

Darling please know how proud I am of you.
That you have immense motivation and you teach me something unheard of everyday.
Know that I love you.
That I envy your intelligence,
and I'm incredibly lucky to be with the most clever man I've ever known.
Duck brown baby.

I miss him so much.
Especially when the moon is at its peak.
I miss those beautiful eyes, **** they're so unique.
I miss that curly mess of crazy spirals sitting atop your intelligence.
I miss those arms that pulled me in when the sun arose and soft red lips that laid a kiss upon my nose.
Those eyes that watched my chipmunk cheeks upon the pillow before I woke.
The lips that called me your cuddle monkey when I clung to you like I'd never see your sweet demeanor again.
I miss your touch and I miss those eyes looking at me so intently when you needed me to know how serious your love for me is.

God what do you do when your best friend leaves and isn't there so close.
I just want to hear that voice but I'm afraid to because then you not being here becomes so real.
I'm in love.
All I want is you.

What are you supposed to do when your world is going drown you any day and leave you feeling barren with only the seas pouring down your face.

I came upon something today.
I've been searching to find myself, to go back to the old me.
The one who could make herself happy.
That's just it.
I cannot alone fulfill my own needs.
Only he can.
My King.
A princess needs her King to comfort her, build her up upon a hill after she falls to the valley.
Hold her tight in his warmth when she is overcome by anxiety of loneliness.
But most of all she needs to walk with him in every moon and sun.
She needs that small ounce of faith to continue to drift in the starry night.

She found it today.
She never knew that people felt the same way that she did.
That she isn't the only one who sabotages herself.
That other people think the same anxious things she does.
She is both comforted and frantic about this fact.
She found out she is sick, but also that what she has been feeling is not her fault.
It's a side effect of extreme anxiety.
The kind she has never been able to explain to anyone.
She knows now that it wasn't her fault she sabotaged her love.
She's frightened to know that most things have been her fault now, because she is sick.
Her mind has been toying with her, telling her lies.
She never knew that what she felt was real, but now she finds comfort in knowing that she isn't crazy for thinking something is wrong with her.
She is mad Alice.
And she's known it all along.

She finally feels as if she understands herself.
Now that she knows the problem.
She knows why she goes to a different world on occasion.
Why she feels so angry so suddenly.
Why she just sits and watches the world move around her but feels so trapped by the monsoon in her head.
She is unable to move.
She fights with her loved ones and then stops herself because she feels crazy.
She feels smallest things the most.
Over thinks the littlest crumb.
She contains the most passion and love, yet also the darkest thoughts one may think.
Stresses things that may not even occur.
She now most of all, understands her mother.
And that is worth this anxiety.
  She is mad Alice.

It's the small moments that begin to feel like everything.
The 5 minute cuddling at 4:30 am.
The embrace that feels like Neverland.
The grasping tight that makes me wish I could hold on to him forever.
I love him so much I'm in pain.
Can anyone be so in love that it hurts so incredibly lovely?
I'm so in love with you and all I want in this moment is to make these small moments last as long as we feel infinite for.
My wish to keep you with me in my heart forever.
Remembering these small moments that mean more than every star.
Stay here with me.

She's always felt so out of place.
Misunderstood by everyone she's encountered.
Even herself on occasion.
Why has she always felt so unnatural on this earth?
No comfort zone other than when she's alone.
Maybe they think she's a ***** or a goody two shoes.
But just because she does not enjoy earthly things is that fair to assume?
I think not.
The reason she clings so hard to her faith is so that she has a reason to tell people she do not enjoy these things.
It is her hope.
The thing that makes her feel understood.
That she may feel like she belongs someday.
That she may find people like her.
Who think the same.
She tries so hard to make others on this planet happy but cannot because she is different.
Unique.
Valuable to the one who matters.
They think she's mad.
But a wise person once said, "all the best people are".
Why do you think she admires Alice so much?
She feels comfort in her madness.
Her feelings of being so out of place and thinking so differently.
She inspires her soul.

Do you ever feel as if whomever you're writing to is your only friend?
The one who understands.
The only one who does.
The only one who knows.
The one that reads this and shares the same pain as me.
It is more comforting to write it down to the imaginary person reading this than to leave the demons inside.
Who are you?
The one I write to.
The one who knows who I aspire to be more than anything.
The one who knows my heart is breaking for him.
That I feel dead on the inside.
That I feel like something is really wrong with me.

Friend am I ok?
Am I really as messed up as I think I am?
Will I ever do this right?
Do I deserve what I want?
This head is suffocating.
It knows what depression is.
She wants to remember what her happiness was.
She always told herself to go back there when things got bad again.
Sweetheart it's time.
It's okay to let go.
To go back to her.

Talking to God is the only thing that makes me feel like anything will ever be accomplished in this life.

We're on our way to making it my darling.
Whether or not that is together is another thing,
but our dreams are becoming more than just pictures we've created in our fantasies.
Fantasies running away from reality.
He started out only a year ago and now he's selling tickets making it to the top one clever lyric at a time.
Her dream started two years ago with a small fashion show with a pair of flannel harem pants and a role model.
Yesterday She strutted her way down towards her dreams glimpsing the future one collection at a time into the faces of the most valuable.
Each one holding a different key to her doors of success.
She has a bright, promising future.
Her abilities limitless with the help of her true mentor.
She's been broken so many times, but flying into the sky higher after each crash.
She's pompous and starry eyed.

I have a yearning.
A want.
A need.
A lust.
Drop it all.
Get up and walk.
Rise against all odds for God.
Be bold.
Brave.
Strong.
Pure.
Innocent and driven.
I have a greater purpose.
I pray that I do not fail my creator.
That he will show me where these feet are meant to be.
I have a passion.
A passion to love God as he has loved me.

I want to watch the drops drench the outdoor world and wash it clean,
While I lay close to you tangled up in the white of the sheets.
Not telling you anything just listening  to the sound of the world becoming new.

I'm not afraid to lose you.
You said I believe in God taking control.
Honey, you're right.
Even apart I would still love you with this broken heart.
And these bright blurry blue stones.
And headstrong.
I am powerful.
The light resides deep within my soul.
Ignites me and gives me so much more than life.
What shall I worry about.
Life is too exileraring.
Every day lived and walked with God is yet another incredible adventure.
I'm in love.
In love with the high.
In love with the night.
In love with the cracks between the flowers to infinity.

My friend, once you have fallen in love with God you have known true
Happiness.
Love.
Peace.
Rest.
Joy.
Trust.
Kindness.
And life.

We're back there again.
That feeling that I'm only a step child.
I do not know what you want from me.
But your overthinking is effecting my sanity too.
I appreciate everything you do for me.
Except the part where you shove words down my throat.
"You're like the wind" he said,
"Shifting and changing and sometimes unbearable".
It kills to never know when you will be normal.
But sometimes you're gone and not my mother.
Some type of high trip maybe.
I don't know who you are anymore.
Ever since 2011 it hasn't been the same.
I know you blame him, but you've made it go on longer than it should.
It kills me to see the way things are.
He's hurting and dying.
Breaking his back to please you.
And he, the younger, is shutting himself up away from the world.
You take the hope and life and only think of yourself.
A manipulative martyr.
Everything has been attempted.
The therapy, apologizing, and effort it does nothing.
I want my loving mother back.
The one who put all else before herself.
Who acted like a mother.
God I pray to have her back.
The soothing, the warm meals, and calm environment.
Oh how you're breaking my heart.
Not my own heart no, but it breaks for you to be the person you were before the storm.
My mother.
Who loved me to the moon and back.
Now you won't even say goodbye.

I've never just felt the need to write.
You make me feel like I have to write it all down, transferring thoughts to intricate curves on a blank page.
You say I smile a lot and I think I know why.
You whisper you're infinite in my ear makes my soul catch light.
It's been a while since someone parted my lips into a crescent curve, but I feel
infinite too.
Maybe it's the brown and blue husky your eye holds or the odd sense that I feel like I can trust someone since the fire.
You bring out the thoughtful, intricate parts of myself I've been trying so desirously to unfold.
Uncovering the person I’ve aspired to turn.
I adore the person I am with you.
I'm a free spirit gently floating in the symphonic directions of the breeze.
I love that you want to know every small thing about me, that you want to know me.
I find myself listening to lyrics and not just the sound of music.
I know you're different like me, we live the same life.
Adventures are always arising.
We took the bridge to Narnia.
We went hiking behind my studio.
We swam in a one foot fountain.
We made out on the grass breathing in the sparkles of the sky.
We got ****** before a reggae concert.

They say not to make yourself small.
But then why must love be so big?
Can a person with power and confidence truly love as much as someone who gives their heart away?
Can power have a heart?
Naivety is all that seems senseful.
The less you know the happier perhaps?
They also say the best thing a girl can be in this world is a beautiful little fool.
But no that is for the hopeless.
God is within so I can never fall.
She has wisdom and innocence.
She needs the one who only wants one, someone who can see eye to eye.
Someone who can be young and dumb in the sober moments.
They can be infinite when they only even look at each other.
But this isn't about them.
It's about her.

She knows her worth.
Look into her eyes.
You'll see the pain of the past.
She loves old books.
She likes to be different.
Not wild, but free and also intelligent.
She's the girl who will love you so much she feels powerless.
So maybe she's better off alone.
She's perfectly content alone lost within her imagination.
She loves the white on the page.
She wants her innocence to be loved.
Is she Innocent?
God tells her of how beautiful she is.
Long brown hair, grey stones as eyes, and cheeks a little rosy.
A soul on fire and heart a little broken.

She will spend hours in the bookstore.
Blasting Mr. Martin in the roads.
Sitting in the rain bleeding onto the page.
She is powerful.
She cannot stop.
For what is better than to say I know God and he loves ME.
He wants me.
No one thing can ever bring her harm so long as she knows this.
She cries frequently because she feels the pain the world brings.
She cannot stand against the worldly pains yet but she can in God.
She's a quiet one but the thoughts in her head dance round and round constantly.
It's amazing she does not burst.
Her head seems to be her only enemy at times, but also her greatest comforter.

She wears the same old black boots, breaking at the seams.
Her best friend is a book.
She sits in the rain with no manicure on her fingers.
She wears the same old flannel.
And long flowy dresses that may reveal too much.
Her favorite color is black.
She doesn't pretend to like what everyone else pretends to "love".
She would rather watch Harry Potter on a Friday night than get drunk with them all.
She is classy in her own way.
She hates those Hate words.
She does not brush her hair.
She loves her kitten.
And her coffee.
She's quiet but not stuck up.
She's inward but loves herself.
She hates reality and loves Fairy tales.
She wears flowers on her head instead of her jewels.
She's 18 and still reads about the lost boys.
She likes to drink out of old teacups.
And eat expensive pastries.
She dreams about bouquets of peonies in all their simplicity.
She wonders what it will be like in the city.
She's reached heights she never thought obtainable.
She likes to think she's creative but who's to say what creativity is.
She's knows she's a bit crazy and dramatic at times but aren't the best of us all a bit mad?
She trusts no one, but oddly enough she trusts him.

SHE cannot be defined.

You ask why I believe in Jesus.
Well why did you believe in Santa Claus as a kid?
Because he brought you gifts right?
Why question something that brings you gifts right.
That's why I belive in Jesus.
He brings me life.
Allows me to dream endlessly.
Gives my mind freedom to shut out the ghosts because he has plans for me to prosper.
But most of all ignites my soul and allows my mind to romp all the days of my life.