My Bucket List...

His eyes...

she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach. Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around. She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes. A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; "mom." His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.

1:35 AM

There are stars out, high above the world so high, and here I am, unable to hide my dark desires of something absolute.  Please, stars hide your fires, let not  light illuminate this black heart of mine. 

I’m really taken by these caps lol… I’ve actually been thinking about them recently because the title “God, I’m tired” really makes itself felt here when both Eve and Villanelle close their eyes while lying side by side on the bed. Sure, in doing so both of them sharpen these very naive edges around their actions, saturated with the fact that Eve means to “kill” Villanelle whereas Villanelle is out to “watch” her, but there is something about how readily they still share that space - however small it may be - and have these sincere moments. I mean… these caps look peaceful out of context, despite Villanelle holding a gun.

They actually just might as well be because even when Eve’s reserved, “Yes,” to Villanelle’s, “You’ve found me,” sounds nebulously raging… she still manages to simply laugh when Villanelle praises her, “Well done”. And the fact that Villanelle, in return, has to do the same (ever caught her quick breathy chuckle? It’s short and yall should hear it). It’s such a specific response to that realization. It’s paltable, genuine and cocky and Eve can’t help herself but sink into it. What a brilliant choice to underscore their love language tbh.

Chameleon

I'm different faces for different people, and at the end of the day my personalities are exhausted.

Recently, on June 5th, I turned 40. This is an age I don’t mind, and quite excited about. I thought my 30s was quite exceptional. It made me feel whole and alive that decade. It healed me from my 20’s where I was quite broken and lost. So at age 40 and on, I hope to find more of myself.

Now I know I haven’t updated my tumblr in more than ages, but I’m more of a creeper than a writer that cuts out different letters from magazines and sends it to the lead investigator kind of gal, but I’ve been busy.

I’m married now and have a frickin 4 year old boy! I’m a boy mom! I just want to sit on a bench under the tree for some damn shade!

So, back to my age. When I was 29, I thought I couldn’t possibly make it to 30. I thought I’d cease to exist. I didn’t actually think I’d die or anything, just that some celestial being would just pluck me from existence. So when I hit 30, that morning I felt strange, I was ready for something to happen, only nothing happened.

The only thing that happened was that I got reacquainted with an old friend, who became my boyfriend, who became my fiancé, who became my husband, who became the father of our child.

I used to question why I was so happy. I would subscribe to the saying, “this too shall pass.” Though poetic, was damaging to me.

Now I ask myself, “why not?” Why not be happy? Why not feel love? Why not be hopeful?

Anyway, I’m 40 now, and I’m excited!

THE CHILDREN’S HOUR (1961) dir. William Wyler.

The thing about depression...

... Is that it doesn't just go away.

For as the moon rose, she felt her bones breaking, her animalistic blood pleading for the change, pleading for the soft caress of the moons rays bleeding between her growing fur. As she fully transformed, her howl was her climax.

It’s Mother’s Day coming up, so I’m thinking of all the women in my life and all the awesome roles they play (mothers, non-mothers, and never-mothers alike).

http://everythingisgoingtobeokcomic.com/well-behaved-women

I’m the mother to a wonderful 7 week old, and at times I get sad because I don’t know what he wants when he’s crying and I’ve done everything possible for him, and I come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just me.

I’m very calm with him, I love him, I smile sweetly at him, I say to him that I understand that there’s a divide between us and I wish I could help him more as I kiss his chubby cheeks. And when he calms down, if he calms down, I hug him close until he falls asleep, and I but him down in his bassinet. I stare at him in such awe that I’m in love with this little creature, that when I sit down and focus on my breath, I realize that I’m dying a little on the inside.

My child breaks me everyday, but when he looks at me and focuses on me, I pick myself up again and start all over.

I realize I’m very hard on myself, but with my history, I gravitate towards it because it’s my punishment. I’ll admit that I love my child more than myself, that I care about him more than myself, but I’ll keep going because he needs me, and I need him.

I need him.