Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You’ve made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing along
Whenever I am depressed and just need some cheering up, I go onto Omegle and simply write one line: “You are beautiful and loved,” send it, and then switch to another user and do it all over again.
I hope I made someone smile. I hope I made someone happy. Just for a moment.
Cold railing fire escapes and stories unfinished. Drink in hand, I won’t even try to describe to you that feeling. A part is missing and it began screaming in intoxication. I can’t control the initial moment when the sky makes me cry—the complete vastness of my soul personified. If you could just taste the bitter root that was shoved down my throat, maybe you could understand, but only a bit, why every poem and rambling I write is about the loss of you. And although I am gone, most parts of me will always always adore you—just as the stars can’t help but love upon the earth, or how the moon never fails to rise. But really we don’t deserve any sort of role at all. Love is too small an idea to encompass the scale of lovers we had become. So I dropped the script. And I don’t go outside at night. And I keep my eyes fixed on the earthy ground in fear of scanning the horizon, (or worse, celestial bodies), and remembering what once was. All this to say that I adore you and your staff. But love is too small and friendship even smaller to remember what we were. So neither do I.
“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”
Last night was fun. I finally had my first English pub experience. Laura and I went to “The Eagle and Child” and had a few beers… you know, that place where JRR Tolkein, CS Lewis, and others would meet every week. Ah. Bliss.
I love you, Oxford. Now I’m off to a wee little coffee shop to do some work.
I completely agree! I love pretty much everything you write. Thank you so very much.
Tonight I am reminded of why I love it here so much. It’s the people I’m with, mostly. Most of them aren’t coiled up and bound in a ridiculous pentecostal mindset. They are Christians, yet, they are free to be themselves and to have their own personal convictions. It’s refreshing, sitting at a table with 10 others, and how the 10 of us all feel as though we can’t be ourselves at our schools, and how ridiculously sad that actually is. I mean, if I ever discussed my actual beliefs at my school, I would not have any friends (save you, Jesse). Seriously. They would completely question my faith, hold their holy hands over my head and speak in tongues (or really fast gibberish that makes them sound cool). My few close friends at school have NO IDEA about my life, the things I partake in, and my views on certain issues. So what if I have a drink here or there. So what if I support gay marraige. So what if I chose to have a cigarette or two. Am I sacrificing my entire soul for these things? No… the thing that is life sucking is having to put up with this imprisonment we call the pentecostal university. I have been so stifled because I just want friends. But I’ve sacrificed a lot of myself in that process.
So, here’s to a new me. For my last semester at that silly school I will say what I want to say, do what I want to do, profess what I want to profess, and denounce what I want to denouce. I will be me, for the first time in my college career. Oxford has already began to solidify who I am and has helped me become more couragous in that. It definately helps that I am not alone.