“Distance, like the stars from our Earth, the very same distance from my heart to yours.”

The twinkle in her eyes isn’t from stardust, diamonds or pearls; Her eyes shine from her own wonder, her curious nature for everything around her. A polished stone set in metals pales to capture the allure her eyes hold, for her eyes are to alive for such similes to hold a sliver of justice.

She is not a star, some solar entity floating in space, whose light takes lifetimes to reach those around her. She is home, in that comfortable sense of belonging to something that means everything. She is the familiar creak of decade old stairs in the way her smile crinkles around the edges of her mouth, she is both the soft touch of pillows you used to build forts with siblings and the firm cushion that captured so many tired tears…

A stare from her is the reflection you saw in the mirror when you were 10, before the world and the nightmares turned all thoughts dark and your image into a shadow, something to be feared and despised. She isn’t…she wasn’t just some pretty face, some human body to pass the time with, to float through life with. She was…brilliant in how she tricked a boy into loving himself, into thinking he had a real shot..I can never hate her…I can never hate anybody because she made me focus on me..and now I can’t look away, but I don’t like what I see..and she isn’t here to quell my demons, and I’m so tired of living in the dark…I’m tired of fearing death and fearing life, of being empty of anything aside from fear..I’m running on autopilot, and I just can’t do this anymore..I need someone to save me..somebody please tell me they can save me..

“I don’t want to start over…only to end up a broken mess. I can’t imagine what happiness looks like, I can only imagine an ending where I’ve failed again..”

So, what now? I’m at a tipping point, and I don’t want to spend another year, another summer, another second, wasting away. I want to be done dreaming. I want to see my world for what it is, and not what my pride twists it into. I know I’m not worth anything, yet my greedy ass still wants everything. I’m not willing to work for any of my desires though. I’m a sloth when it comes to putting effort towards anything, so failure is assured. That just leaves me feeling empty, and so my gluttony works to fill me up with whatever my hands can grab hold of. And through all the trash being stuffed into my big mouth, the empty hunger shifts to primal desire, and I’m transformed into a red engine of lust. Nothing can stop me now as I tear through body after body, treating souls like snacks, not even bothering to enjoy the feeling, living only to quell this desire for more red. Time ticks away, leaving my bereft of company, and so my lust twists inward, corroding into an envy for the crimson beneath my skin. Nails attempt to peel back this shell, but they are too slow. Teeth attempt to rip away this husk, but they are too dull. My jealously tapers my desire into a fine edge, and from that edge is born a wrath for everything that is me. Nothing is safe from that hollowed point; it will continue to cut away at my threads until all that remains are loose ends, soaked in a bitter cherry. And in that pool, filled with the contents of my own bleeding heart, maybe I’ll find the piece of me that desired forgiveness, or the me that wished for a home, or the me that knew what it felt like to accept love…or maybe I’ll find more of the same, and I can be at peace knowing I carved out that monster all on my own…a feat I can finally take true pride in…

“It was her chaos that made her beautiful.” – atticus

Her chaos defined nothing, because that is what chaos means. Her beauty wasn’t bound to the idea that she ran through life as a wildfire or some gulf hurricane. What made her beautiful was the light she could give to herself that seemed bright enough to bring others out of darkness. Her storms were wonderous to observe, but it was the sunshine after that created the chance for love.

Why are people obsessed with the idea of loving something we cannot define? Is it because we lack the right words to capture what it is that captivates our hearts and minds so thoroughly? Chaos…that’s a terrible word to describe anything. It’s a word to describe a high-speed car crash, or the feeling a soldier experiences on an active battlefield. Chaos is laziness, because everything that doesn’t fit into a person’s set idea of “the plan” would be chaos, and since people are terrible at planning, everything always seems to fall apart, at least a tiny bit.

Her chaos is her unraveling, and that is so fundamentally different from her showing herself to you. It’s not beautiful to fall apart. There is nothing pretty about crying into the arms of your friends at 2AM after you tried to say goodbye. There is nothing captivating about being so angry your skin flares red like a firecracker, with a voice to match. It’s raw, and real, and it’s all of us on our worst days, and it’s on those days we all wish for love, for someone to just hug as and not let go first. It’s our chaos, and we shouldn’t hide it from the world, and we especially shouldn’t hide it from ourselves, but to say that is what makes us beautiful?

I want to be beautiful because I take my nephews to go see the new Star Wars like a good uncle, and we pig out on candy and soda and we laugh the entire car-ride to the theater and back.

I want to be beautiful for the project I helped my co-workers finish 1 week early, where my skills on Excel were put to the test and I came out on top, and I was praised and proud of myself for not only getting the work done, but because I know I was useful and I haven’t felt useful in so Goddamn long it almost made me cry.

I want to be beautiful for taking the time to let that car merge into my lane to get around that small fender bender during rush hour. I am always the car that lets people over, because I’m never in a rush to get anywhere, and people always wave and smile and it makes me think that I’m doing something right, even if it’s small and nobody will remember it.

I want to be beautiful for keeping calm on the phone when the bank messed up my credit card (which was a real problem, but I understood that it had nothing to do with the person on the phone and they were so relieved when I expressed this that they thanked me because they had already had a very terrible day and I’m happy I managed to give them a tiny bit of relief).

And she wants to be beautiful for all those moments, every single one, not just the messy ones. She needs someone to be there for the chaos, so be there, but don’t think that chaos is her beauty. That implies when she finds a way to quell that chaos she will have lost a vital part of herself, when in reality she will have just learned how to tame some wild beast, and that is to be applauded.

“It was her chaos that made her beautiful.”

No.

It was HER that makes her beautiful.

She wakes up every morning to the same sights and the same pain. It’s those images, the black-out curtains, lack of a working ceiling light, and the hideous antique lampshade, working in tandem, that break her heart a little more every day..

Lying next to nothing but extra pillows and a bedside table, you realize how truly expansive a queen sized bed can be. Reaching as far as the former planet Pluto, it is just as cold when you are lying in that galaxy of a bed alone. It stretches so far that when you look out from your side you cannot even see the other end; it is just an empty field of fluffy covers marbled with rolling blacks and dark blues. To simply state the obvious, your bed is quite the lonely kingdom; a comfortable prison, a world of soft and sweet smelling sheets, all built up just for you..

A quick glance at the radio/clock by her bed reveals the time: 2:47 AM. Now, what time did she lay down and try to get some sleep for the night? It must have been sometime around 11:00 PM. Roughly 4 hours, then, has she laid in that bed, her mind racing at a million miles per hour, and, like most angst filled young adults, she has spent the past 4 hours rehearsing in her mind what she will say tomorrow to the cute girl who always talks to her at the library, what she should have said to that rude ass server during her shift at work, how she will fix the world and make tomorrow the day she changes everything, and last but certainly taking up over 90% of her thoughts are the words she wished she could say to the girl that broke her everything..