leaving a light on

Whenever you look out on the horizon as the sun is setting, do you make a wish? I do. I think about what I want to do with my tomorrow. I make a few plans for later. Wishing on stars is so limited if you ask me. Why not wish on the sunset or the moon in the sky? It's a good thing. I think I have even wished on the rising sun. Stars are suns, so it makes better sense than my wishing on the moon I've taken to as of late. But I digress. About wishing, I like to call it that, but it is more like a little prayer for things to be better or me to do better or for something good to keep on keeping on. I seem to always turn the corner even on the most tear-filled wishes and come out filled with hope. It's rejuvenating, so maybe that's why I won't limit my wishing to stars. I seem to always have a light on in this heart of mine. I leave it on in case some lost sailor, just one, finally finds his way to me. And now I've caught myself wishing—again—it's what I do.

if only there were a switch

I reached for it. I promise I did, but it was too late.

Too late to turn around and not fall in love with him. I couldn't help myself as I think back on the connections we made and the memories that had become quite the strand of pearls. We would laugh over the same silly things and talk about deeply interesting and smart things. We discussed important things insomuch that I trusted him to see one of the dark corners of my heart. Our friendship came on ever so slowly and the romance of it even slower, so I know I was not playing into a romance addict pattern—we had something. Had being the keyword now.

So here I am writing out in vague generalities about how I wish I could have turned off my heart with a switch. But do I really wish that? Probably not. I love that I have such a near inexhaustible well of love if I have even a shred of hope in me. It tears me up sometimes, in times like now when I am medicating with Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars and unrelenting emotion, yet I am also afforded such bliss when I have moments of hopefulness that it is worth it to throw my heart under the bus in the off chance the driver will stop and see me for once.

All I want is once. To be truly seen once and finally will be where my story truly begins. Until then, I am still writing the foreward in preparation. I am not waiting to write, no, but I do know that my final and true love story is the real story I want. All else is just the lead in. I see my friends and family living their best life with someone who is dedicated and true to them, and that is what I want. I want someone to look at me and decide they want to show me I matter enough to stay.

That all sounds so sicky sweet to me, like, barf, but I mean it. I am tempted to backspace on that last paragraph, but I won't do it. I will share my inclination to feel these sweet and tender feelings that I might stand up for what I want, putting it out there that somehow, someway, it might come true someday. I need it to. My heart needs that much more than a nonexistent shutoff switch.

Until then, I will probably keep one hand reaching for the switch in rebellion and one hand clutching my heart to keep it in my chest the best I can.

admitting my dream

What is the point of writing out some of my dreams? I'm not quite sure yet actually, but I hope that by delving into my head and heart for a bit, I might come out with some healthy refocusing, so I can keep on getting to them. Because we all know I keep on working toward reaching my dreams, I don't really ever forget about them. I think I just suffer from disheartening at times. It's not the same as forgetting.

I'll admit that my first dream on the list is one I've had since I was a young girl: to find/be found by someone who will love me and stay. This one is no mystery to even you if you've been reading my musings for even the slightest amount of time. That is and always has been what I desire most in this life. I believe my relentless hope in this dream is part of what keeps me going when life is beating me down. I just know somehow that it will happen.

Lately though, the dream is feeling afar off. And it hurts to admit that I have this dream. I wish I didn't. It's a good one, a worthy one, but it is not to be mine just yet. That is pretty sad to me.

Yet, love's story keeps at me. It keeps telling me to keep looking and watching. Love has not been a stranger to me truly. It has had twists and turns and corners and closets, but one thing that has always been true is that love has been freely given a home in my heart. I have always welcomed love to come stay with me. And this steadiness will been seen some day. One day, I will see my dream come true and love will be given and received within this true heart.

I admit that I dream of reality matching with my heart's desire. And I just know somehow that it will come true. Someday.

relax

Summer is here. What does that mean? It means I don't go into school much except for the couple of TBA professional development meetings and a few other things. It also means my children are growing up more. Children grow so much over the summer—emotionally and physically. I've also been finding my footing on dating and friends and writing and editing and and and. It has all been so much. Too much. I can hardly write actually. I sat down not knowing what I would tell you. What does one slice about who feels as if everything is melting together? Smart people don't write anything, or that's what I tell myself. I don't even know who silently reads this stuff and never says a word. I get so many hits on my blog, but then very few people actually comment. I don't know what to think about anything right now. I usually feel like I'm making progress on whatever I'm working toward, but lately, I wonder if I am only deluding myself. And then I stop. I am not deluding myself. I am supposed to have joy. The wishes in my heart are well grounded and good. Not delusions. So I light my relax candle and take a few deep breaths. I pray. I ponder. And I try my best to figure out what it is to actually relax. Because duh. It's summer.