A quarter of a century. 

August 29, 1992. 

Tomorrow I turn 25. I’m blessed that my Heavenly Father has allowed me to walk this earth for this long. 

9,125 days. 

What is different about this birthday? Well for starters, I’m 26 weeks pregnant; this will be the last birthday I ever celebrate alone. 

21,9000 hours.

What will be of my next 25 years? Will I still lay next to the father of my unborn child as I do now? 

My 25th birthday has caused me to feel nostalgic. My 25th birthday has made me feel indifferent. 

My 25th birthday has made me question life.

I’m happy to be the first one to wish myself a Happy Birthday.  
Happy Birthday Liz, may the next 25 years be sweeter to you than the last. 

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Gray. 

If there’s one thing I’ve come to accept about life or better said, learning to accept, it’s that life is never JUST black and white. No. It’s gray. 

There’s doubt in truth. 

There’s sad in happy. There’s if’s and but’s and why’s. 

There are cloudy memories, faded laughter….unwanted thoughts. 

There’s questions to be asked, questions that go unanswered.  

There is no certainty in anything. 

With love comes hate. With honesty comes lies. 

No wrong or right, or left.

The older I get, the less I judge. The more I try to understand why things happen. 

Why they happen the way they do. 

Destiny? Fate? 

Nope, I refuse to believe in that anymore. 

Let things be. That’s being gray.

Trying my best to let things just BE. 

Hungry. 

If I weren’t so afraid of my own self, I’d probably write a lot more. And a lot more frequently. What is so scary? Why is it so hard to be honest with ourselves? To write our true feelings? To discuss the negative? To accept that we aren’t always love and smiles? What a shame, what a waste. The amount of times I backspace while I write is incredible. Tempted to write only what sounds sweet. Hiding the ugly thoughts, the crazy, because people couldn’t possibly handle it. There you go again; worried about others. What about you? Your sanity? The clarity you so desperately need. Why is it so hard then, to pour out? When you know you want to, when you NEED to. When every word, every sentence, every comma, every period, is cleansing. Why avoid what you love? Why refrain from this? Why do you starve yourself like this? So you ignore it. Maybe it’ll go away. But the thought is there. It’s always there. 

Write. 

And maybe it doesn’t make sense, looking from the outside in. But it never fails me. I’ll always come back to you. 

Mine.

How could I have not fallen in love with you? When your very presence brings me a sense of calm, of peace. When your lips taste of sugar. When your hands bring security. When your eyes hold the truth. Your hugs uphold me, each one piecing me back together. Slowly and surely. Almost makes me wonder if I were ever broken to begin with. I want you in every sense of the word. I want you early in the mornings and late at nights. Between every thought. What more can I do for you, my love? No doubt in this mind of mine. No other desire, no other wants. No questions to be asked. 

You are home. You are mine. 

And I’m forever yours. 

Silence.

Trying my best not to allow any irrational thoughts to surface. Trying to feel less crazy. Learning to let people who love me, love me.  I’d like to free my mind from all the negativity going on, I don’t want to be a prisoner of my own memory. I’d like to know a life where the mind isn’t in a constant battle between what if’s or but’s or why’s. I’ve come to the realization that I’ve allowed the past to linger on longer than it should. I’ve allowed the past to live in the present and it’s been confusing. Chasing after silence, what is it like? What is it like not to be caged by your thoughts? By worry? By guilt? By insecurities? Learning to reject my own self punishment, learning to love myself, to forgive myself… learning to believe that I am good enough, that I am lovely. Lessening the self doubt, the shame, the craving of everyone else’s approval. Haunted by the past, a ghost in the present, dead to the future.. the heart desires to live, to love, to laugh. To breathe. To heal. 

Let it. Allow it. Open it. 

Silence it. The loudness of my inner being are no longer welcomed.

Speak it into existence, there is hope. You are love. 

And you are worthy of all good things. 

You.

Heaven sent. 

A combination of everything beautiful. 

Non disruptive to my peace. 

A giver of all good things. 

Good to my soul, good for my heart. 

A reminder that prayers work. 

Comfort. 

Tender kisses, hugs that heal. 

Consumer of my thoughts. 

Thief of my imagination.

Patience and forgiveness. 

Foundation to a real future. 

A chance at real love. 

The purpose behind every smile.

A piece of sanity.

Safety.

You. 

Remembering

You’re a reminder of my vulnerability. 

So I avoid thinking about you, about us. Thinking about us means it was real. Pretending that you never existed is easier than accepting who I became.

And maybe that’s selfish; avoiding what I once thought as forever to spare my feelings. Feelings that have decided to emerge and haunt me. 

Remembering you is allowing darkness come into light where I don’t want it to be shown. It means digging up faults I’ve purposely buried in hopes that I would forget.

But I haven’t and I won’t. 

And so I’m left with no choice but to remember. Forced to feel the unhappiness that was felt back then. 

The hard part is convincing myself that I am a good person. Am I? 

Remembering you causes me to cringe. The shame pulls me back in, I push the thoughts back out. 

Remembering you steals away the ability to move forward. Stuck in time, stuck in the past. 

Worst of all, remembering you proves I’m unworthy of any love.