One Year

Today marks exactly one year since I came home from my mission.  There are a thousand things in my mind and in my heart that I want to say right now.
First and foremost, I am so indescribably grateful for the opportunity that I had to serve as a full-time missionary.  There are literally millions of lessons I learned during those two years that have helped me grow and become the man that I want to be.  There were people that were placed in my life that lifted me from day to day, and that continue to care for me, love me, and support me to this day.  I would never wish that I had done anything else with those two years, other than what I was doing every single day in the mission field.
But more than that, I want to say how thankful I am for the year that I've had.  It has been incredibly challenging, but quite possibly the most rewarding year of my life.  I came home so scared that I would fall away from the church, that I would forget all of those lessons I had learned, and that I would turn my back on God and on my family forever.
However, this year has brought amazing and completely unexpected blessings. I have come out to more people than I ever imagined I would in my life. I've come out to almost all of my family, I've come out to friends, roommates, strangers, and neighbors.  I have been blessed with some incredible people in my life who have not pushed me away because of the feelings I have, but who have pulled me closer and made me feel loved, valued, and a part of something.
This year I have taken steps toward healing mentally from  a moment in my childhood that still leaves painful ripples.  I have been meeting with a counselor who is helping me process what it means to have been molested, and how to handle that and not use it as a crutch or as a barrier to throw around myself in future relationships.
I have learned how much I value my family, and have tried to spend more time around them than I ever would have before my mission. I have learned to love my siblings like I never expected to, and I have learned to allow myself to come second to them sometimes, which is a hard thing for me.
I have questioned my testimony.  I have honestly spent time asking the really difficult questions, and I'm still not sure I have answers, but I'm learning to accept that and live with the faith I know that I do have.
I have found myself in some of the darkest spots of my life.  I have felt the shudder of fear that comes when you aren't sure you want to be around for another day.  I have cried more tears than I think I did during my mission (and I cried quite a few times on my mission).
And through it all, I have come to a slightly clearer understanding of how much my Father in Heaven truly does love me.  I have fallen so many times this year, and every time there is that quiet reassurance in my heart that all I have to do is pick myself back up, and trust that everything is working together for my good.
I though that my mission would be the biggest growing experience of my life, but this experience of learning to be genuine, and learning to love others and trust others, and support others, has changed me beyond anything I ever expected this year to do.

Fall

I never wanted to be your disappointment.

I never wanted to feel this way.

I never wanted to be the one making the 1 a.m. calls.

Those calls where I have to beg someone to come,

Those calls that I make because I can’t be alone.

I never wanted to be the one scared that I might not make it to another sunrise.

I never wanted to be the one pacing at midnight, wishing someone would come in and hold me.

‘Pray harder,’ you tell me. ‘Have more faith.’

I want to scream, I want to believe that it will work.

I have prayed, I have prayed for a decade.

I have begged for faith. I have pleaded for hope.

I have studied, memorized, searched, and pondered.

I have served, I have magnified callings.

I have tried, I have given my all to collapse at the end of a day.

I never asked to feel this way.

I asked to be like you.

I asked to feel like you.

I asked to change.

It never happened.

So I stand, your embarrassment, and your shame.

I stand your disappointment, your skeleton in the closet.

I stand, my knees shaking, my head hanging down.

I stand ashamed of myself, wishing that it would end.

I stand, knowing that I will fall soon.

I’m reaching out to you.

I tried to write poetry during the whole suicidal period.  I don't necessarily feel this way anymore, but I liked this poem.  It's been exactly a month since that night.

Flawless Moments

It's Sunday night at family dinner.  I completely broke yesterday, and I'm still in pieces, just sitting on the floor in the living room, trying to compose poetry.  My sister comes, and I try to put up the guards, but her arm is around me, her head is on my shoulder, and I can't put the guards up anymore.  All I can do is let the tears fall, and allow myself for that moment to be seen for what I really am.

It's a Saturday afternoon. I'm outside staining the fence for my parents, I've dedicated my last couple Saturdays to this fence, and I'm almost done.  My music is blaring from my ear-buds, so I don't hear my dad approach, but he's there, and he just tells me that I'm one of the most Christ-like people he's ever met, that he loves me, and he'll always love and support me, no matter where my life takes me.  He is choking back tears, and it's the first time I've seen my dad this vulnerable.

My brother has opened the letter I left on his bed. He knows now that I'm gay. He knows that I'm not planning on being at his temple wedding, that I'm not planning on my own temple wedding, and I'm so scared that he'll reject me.  Then I get the text. All he says is, "I wish you were here, so I could give you a hug."

I just spent a couple hours with the guy I'm interested in, and I found out that he and his roommate (who I'm sort of interested in too, because things are complicated) are both dating other people, and I feel so disappointed, because I wanted it to work out for me.  But you come along and we go out to dinner, and end up going all over town making total fools of ourselves, and it's so fun.  Suddenly, I'm aware that I have an amazing best friend who knows how to help me get over stupid boy drama.

The snow is falling. It's not little flakes, it's big, fluffy, beautiful flakes.  I'm sitting on the balcony, just staring out at the beauty that is all around me.  I realize I am lucky to be alive. I am lucky that I am here, where I can see this beauty. I am lucky to be me.

November

This is not going to be cute. Just a heads up.
I broke this month.  I crashed to the ground, and fell farther and harder than I ever thought possible. I was holding it together so well, and then in one night, everything I thought I was holding up fell down around me, and I found myself alone on my couch, holding myself, struggling to breathe. When I was a freshman in college, I contemplated suicide.  If I had access to the roof of the dorms, I would have jumped.  I broke out of that shell though, and I moved on.  I don't know how it happened, but somehow good friends came into my life, and lifted me up, and for four years, I was fine. Life still had its ups and downs, but I could manage them, and everything was okay.
On November 8, 2014, I once again found myself contemplating what it would be like, if I just veered into oncoming traffic, and let myself get killed. It sounded so good to me. For months I had fooled myself into believing that my family was going to support my choice of lifestyle, and then on that day, I felt it all fall down.  I got in a fight with my parents, got in a fight with my sister, lied to my brother, and left my family's house feeling broken and dejected.  After a series of other painful events, I found myself in my car, sobbing uncontrollably behind the steering wheel, parked on the side of the road, alone, in the dark.  I don't know how I got back to my apartment, but when I was there, I realized that I wanted to die.  I wanted it to end.  I didn't end it.  I fought the feelings, I fought the tears, I fought the self-loathing, but I was terrified.
On November 15, 2014, I met a new friend. We are not dating, although he is gay.  He has a boyfriend, and I'm interested in his gay roommate (who also has a boyfriend), but for the first time, someone entered my life, who within the first twenty minutes of us talking had become someone I trusted with all of my secrets.  He has been a lifesaver, and he has been one of the few people in the world who has made me feel good about being myself.  I owe so much to him.
I am still broken.  Don't think that in a matter of a few weeks all of the pain of that horrible night has been swept away, but the brokenness is not going to last forever.  Meeting my new friend was the introduction to something I haven't seen in a while. That new thing is hope.  I believe that I will make it. I will find people who love me for who I am, not for who they want me to be.  I have done that.  I will do it again, and again. I will not be alone.  I know that.

Life ebbs on.  The image of perfection can fall from the pedestal where I placed him.  The pain can be completely unbearable, as I watch the man I felt myself falling for transform into something that frightens me. The people around me can be totally unaware of the pain, and I can feel invisible. But life ebbs on.
I have fallen before.  I have hurt before. I have cried into the night before. I have screamed out to God before, and felt momentary and illusive peace.  I have been here before. I know what this is, and I won't stay here.  I cannot stay here.
My knees tremble as I pick myself up.  They haven't supported my weight in so long.  The first few steps will hurt.  I know my legs are weak.  I almost fall again. I almost crash to the ground.  It feels welcoming as his face flashes across my mind. I push him away.  There is freedom as I do it.  The world is mine. It is not his. I am not his. I belong to myself. I will grow strong.

I remember when I was thirteen.  I had spent the better part of the fall months making the perfect Christmas list.  It was long enough that my parents had options. I had starred my favorites, in a hope that it would make my parents think more about those options.  I had even spent time researching my favorite authors to find other books that they had written. It was going to be the best Christmas ever. I was expecting a mountain of Jack Weyland (gotta love the romance books), one or two classics (I'm super thankful that my Louisa May Alcott phase has died out), and my very own copy of Harry Potter: Order of the Phoenix (no matter how many people fight me on this, I will always say this is the greatest book in the series).
Before I continue, understand that I'm the youngest child in my family, and like many other youngest children, I went through a very big entitlement phase. Please don't judge me for what I'm about to describe.
There were books under the tree, wrapped up for me.  I couldn't contain my excitement, as I ripped the paper off, only to discover this:

The Jimmy Fincher Saga.  I'm not gonna do a review on it, because I'm afraid old James Dashner will find it, and will be sadly disappointed.  As a writer myself, I understand how much heart and soul can go into a piece, and I don't want to damage that.  All I can say is that for me, they were a one time read.
I was devastated. I knew what I wanted.  I had even explained to my parents what I wanted. What was the purpose of making a Christmas list, if I was going to be given some poorly written drivel (sorry James Dashner), instead of the glorious books I wanted (Sidenote: In all fairness, Jack Weyland isn't some linguistic genius either.  He's pretty campy too, but I was a sucker for the cheestastic romances)?  Still, I read the ENTIRE series.  Two things motivated me. The first was the thought that if I didn't appreciate what I had been given, then my parents would feel justified in calling Christmas off the next year.  The second, was a hope that somewhere, something redeemable would reveal itself inside these books (unfortunately, I was disappointed).
My purpose in writing this, was not to review this series.  If you don't believe that it's not the best, go read it. My real purpose was a thought that occurred to me tonight, that is demonstrated by this story.
My parents wanted me to be happy that Christmas.  They always do. I know, because they love me, and I also was able to see the disappointment in my mom's face, when she found out that I wasn't happy with what she thought I wanted.  She had tried hard. She had wanted to surprise me, and she had read reviews of the series as well as the Christmas list that I had composed.  She knew what I liked. She knew me.  She honestly thought that this was something that would be good for me, and would make me happy.  After I had finished them, she read them too.
What I have to say about the series, is nicer than the things my mother would say about it.  She hated it.  I don't honestly know what motivated her to finish the series, but she did, and at the end she apologized, we sold them, and spent the money on a book hat had been originally on my list.
Okay, here's the point of this whole rambling story.  Sometimes, I feel like religion is this way.  I'm not trying to be blasphemous.  It's just an honest thought I had tonight.  I feel like, sometimes religious people have this thought that they know me, and because they know me, they know exactly what will make me happy.  They aren't trying to be hurtful or trying to disappoint me.  They honestly think that what they have to offer, will make me happy.  It's selfish of me to not see that.  However, from my point of view, sometimes I feel like what they have to offer is once again the Jimmy Fincher Saga, when what I really wanted was the best book in the greatest series of my generation (I'm talking about Order of the Phoenix).
And here's where I bring up 'the gay' again.  So many people have told me that the way for me to truly be happy is to marry a woman, and to live that life, even when I explain to them that what I really feel like will make me happy is a totally different path.  I'm not trying to sound selfish. I understand that people think that this really will make me happy. They think that when I experience traditional family life, the temporary disappointment of losing what I thought I wanted, will be cured when I find out how happy I am.  But I don't think that.  All I see is Jimmy Fincher, surely satisfying to some, but not what I asked for, and not really what I want, even potentially filled with disappointment, and frustration.

Freedom

It's the way the wind whips through my hair.  The bass pounds; it's louder than it probably should be.  The road stretches out before me, a path to limitless possibility.  I am speeding, and I am one with the car.  We, together, are going to go far.  It's cliche, but a cliche has never felt so good.

It is freedom.  If I had to name this feeling, that is the exact name that I would give it.  Freedom. It's such a beautiful word, and it's an even more beautiful feeling.  I am not tied down, I am not enslaved. I am not imprisoned.  I am free.  I am free to go as far as a full tank of gas can take me. I am free to stay as long as it takes for my mind to churn through all that it contains.  I am free to feel alive. It is amazing to feel alive.

I am aware that I am allowed to love and be loved. I am aware that I can think for myself. I am aware that I can believe the very internal beliefs I have, without being afraid. I am aware that I am free.  

The sun is setting.  I have always appreciated sunsets, but they speak to me now, in ways they never had before.  Now I am truly aware of the fact that this time, this life, this moment is beautiful, and is meant to be savored.

Things I've Learned This Week:

• I will never be able to lose the obsession I have with words.
• Working out can take your mind off of a lot of things.
• Mint Chocolate protein shake is the motivation to work out.
• I am out of shape.
• Not everyone thinks that homosexuality is something that is terrible.
• There is never a reason to not be kind.
• Letting go of hurtful people is wonderful.
• When you are yourself, you will meet people who love you.
• Sometimes people deserve a little extra time and attention.
• Taking "me time" is healthy on occasion.
• There is such thing as too much "me time."
• Speaking from the heart will always do more than logic.
• Music can calm the heart and soothe the mind.
• Standing firm in opinions is not unkind, but it does require tact.
• I am not meant to personally take care of everyone, but I can be available.
• People deserve my honesty. I'm not there yet, but I'm coming to it.
• Prayer is a resource that is ALWAYS available, and it's worth taking advantage of.
• Checklists are great.  I don't know very many feelings more satisfactory than having a complete checklist.
• Sometimes it's better to listen to suggestions. There's a reason humans know how to communicate.
• There is enough time to let a book carry you away. Trust me, you have time.
• Life feels better when you have fewer secrets to keep.
• It is totally worth it to chase your dreams.
• Sometimes you have to reevaluate your dreams. Don't let that break you.
• It is possible to develop character traits you want, but it takes a lot of hardwork and focus.
• There is no title that has the ability to define a person, not "Mormon," "gay," "straight," or anything else.
• It's okay to want to be great.
• It is not okay to crush people you love to become great.
• New chapters in life are exciting.
• New chapters in life are scary.
• New chapters in life happen constantly.
• One chapter of life does not have to define the rest of your life.
• Planning things with people is a powerful way to keep them close.
• Reminiscing is important, but friendships built on reminiscing don't stand forever.
• I think entirely too much, and try to find a deeper meaning in everything.

Bravery

Here's a couple of awkward moments that have happened as I have made attempts to be brave.  As you read these, the words "bless his heart" will probably come to mind.
My first one is not a very graceful or brave moment.  I have a coworker who has a gay best friend.  He's told me a lot about this gay best friend, including the fact that his friend worked at the local grocery store.  What you have to understand is that the number of people who are publicly out in this valley, are slim.  I'm not even numbered among them.  I decided I wanted to meet this guy, so I went to the store, and there he was in the baking aisle, talking to another customer.  So, I make my way up to about where he is, and then, freeze.  I don't remember how to say anything, and our eyes meet for a second, and I'm feeling my stomach plummet, because I literally have a total of zero experience attempting to flirt with other men.  We look away from each other.  My hands reach compulsively for a cake mix, and he begins to walk away.  I'm screaming at myself to introduce myself, but my feet are turning and walking me to the check out, with a cake mix in hand.  To this day, I have gone back several times, but never had an opportunity like that one.
Then there was today.  Over the weekend, listening to General Conference, the thought kept coming that I had already made a decision about whether or not I was gonna keep living in the constant discomfort of dishonesty, so I made the decision Sunday that today I would go to my campuses L.I.F.E. (Love is for Everyone) meeting.  Class ends, and I find myself at the student center, a couple of feet away from the room it's supposed to be held in, just sitting on a couch, trying to find the courage to go.  There's still a half hour before the meeting starts, so I plug in my iPod, and just try to find my most encouraging music.  Finally I get up the courage to go in, and it's totally empty, except for some guy.  I think about slinking back out, but this is the LGBT office, so I decide that there's no harm in asking if this is the L.I.F.E. meeting.  He tells me they went into another room, so I go in there, and end up asking the Asian Student Union if they're L.I.F.E.  The weird part is, when I looked in, my first thought was "whoah, there are a lot of gay Asians at this school." My first thought after leaving the room was "Well, that was by far the easiest coming out experience of my life."

A Thankful Heart

I noticed it the other night as I was getting ready for bed.  I wasn't staring at a monster in the mirror, who happened to be wearing my hoody and my pajama bottoms.  I was looking at an individual who I love.  It was kind of surprising, so I stood there for longer than I probably should have, just staring. The man in the mirror wasn't broken, he wasn't damaged, he wasn't a monster.  

I'm learning the idea of self-love slowly. I've spent most of my life carrying the secret of my feelings, but I'm moving past that.  I'm not there yet.  I haven't come out, and I don't know when I will, but there's a major part of me that isn't too worried about it anymore.  I've lost a lot from coming out to the people I have, but I have also gained a lot.  There are some very incredible human beings in my life who have been able to take the fact that I feel what I feel, and have loved me.  When I saw nothing lovable, they saw so much more.  So to those people, I just wanted to say a huge thank you. 

I haven't felt this great in a long time, and it's amazing.  

One More Time

For closure I want to write about you one last time. You have taught me so much, and I'm thankful for the past three years that we've had, but I'm not going for a fourth year, because I won't be able to handle it.
I remember the night we stayed up talking until 3 in the morning, and I felt so safe, so secure. It was such a good feeling, and I hadn't felt it very much in my life before you.  Thanks for that.
I remember that night as we sped through the canyon with our friends, sitting close to you, nearly leaning into you.  I remember all of us were screaming Taylor Swift at the top of our lungs, except for you, you were laughing.
I remember driving faster than I ever had before, for one last chance to see you.
I remember story time, and how much fun that was. How when you could tell it was a bad day, you would prop open Grimm's Fairy Tales and read them to me.
I remember that we had each others backs.


But it ended.  Maybe I wanted more than you could give me.  Maybe you finally sensed it, and decided to leave me high and dry.
Whatever it was, I remember so much hurt.
I remember you trying to fix me, trying to change me in really cruel ways. I remember your judgment, and your condescension. I remember hearing you talk about me behind my back. I remember your hypocrisy, the way you always would get mad at me for talking about people, unless you wanted the details I knew.  I remember your selfishness.  I remember the nights I waited up for you to come home.  But it's all over.


I'm not in pain anymore.  That's the truly miraculous part of this. I had envisioned us as a team forever, and now I can't even see us as a team anymore. We're two individuals, who are happier this way.  And I think that's the best part of all of this. I don't need you, and you don't need me. But more than that, I don't love you, and I don't choose you. 

#Cheesyafterschoolspecial

"In the past 3 days, I...
-Drove 1,632 miles
-DJ'd a private party
-Filmed a supercell thunderstorm
-Photographed a $13,333 electric guitar
-Chased a baby bobcat
-Witnessed a blue 'fireball' meteor
-Hit 111MPH in a Lexus
-Purchased my first Mountain Big Face animal t-shirt
-Saw a car accident in a drive-thru
-Listened to 32 hours of music"

This is what I saw when I logged into facebook today, and all I could think was "psh, amateur."  Let me list a few things I did in the past 3 days to highlight how amazing my life is.

-Internally debated with myself whether or not to go to the grocery store today.
-Wandered aimlessly around a cemetery to clear my head.
-Cleaned several public toilets for a little over minimum wage.
-Wrote a few papers, at obscenely early hours of the morning, so I'm pretty sure they'll need revision.
-Daydreamed my way through an English focused on immigration laws.
-Daydreamed my way through a different English class about Adjective clauses
-Aimlessly drove through the valley jamming to Neon Trees (I've already admitted that I am an addict.)
-Took a few minute break to shove a couple plums, some crackers and a granola bar down my throat.
-Texted.  Did a lot of texting.
-Drove a safe 35MPH in a 2004 Honda Civic (because I live on the edge and appreciate the finer things in life)
-Walked across campus approximately five different times today.
-Daydreamed in the library, and then realized I had been staring at a random girl for like 10 minutes, and she had noticed.

I know, by the end of that list, you're probably thinking, "oh man, I don't think my life will ever be able to live up to your amazing life." And while part of me wants to say, "you're right." The part of me that wants to be a good human being, and to have those people that enjoy being around me (I'm pretty sure they're called friends), is saying that you really shouldn't compare your life to mine. I'm sure you do some pretty awesome things too, and we all have ups and downs in the amount of "living" we do in a given week. If you see someone doing what you want to do, don't sit there and envy them for living your dreams. Let their success inspire you to push yourself a little harder so you can actually live your dreams.
#cheesyafterschoolspecial

I am lying in the dirt.  The cuts and scratches that decorate my skin from head to toe are smarting.  Dirt has never had a soothing relationship with open wounds.  I never knew that pain could feel so good.  It tells me I'm alive.  The fall did not kill me. It should have, but it didn't. I am alive.
I don't think I've ever appreciated the smell of the air so much. It's sweet on my nostrils.  On top of that, there are few other words besides 'glorious' to describe the way the sun feels as it tenderly encircles my wounded body. I could lay here forever, and never get tired of this feeling of being alive.
I don't think I can stand up yet, but it doesn't bother me.  If I stand up, then this moment will pass. It's not that I'm opposed to the idea of this moment passing, because one of the most beautiful parts about life is that moments do pass.  But I just am not ready yet.  Just a little more time, being cradled by the sun, and caressed by the breeze.
Just a little longer.  I will stand, I will walk, I will run.

Living

I'm gonna take a second to write something personal. And I'm not meaning something mentally personal, but just like an actual adventure. Is it weird that I think that writing about what I do is more personal than writing about what I think? Probably...
And what exactly did I do? I lived yesterday. That's what I did.  Okay, I promise I'm not trying to be annoying...  I just am not sure how to actually express how amazing yesterday was. 
I WENT TO A NEON TREES CONCERT!!!  It was literally probably the best hour of my life being at that concert, watching Tyler Glenn dance around stage, and rock it.  I mean, watching the entire band was incredible, but for a million reasons I could not take my eyes off of Tyler.
I don't think I've ever witnessed a human being that comfortable in embracing himself, with all his quirkiness, and not just embracing it, but owning it. It was inspiring. I mean, I had heard before that I was in for a treat, but I was blown away.  If someone can captivate you to the point that you don't even mind that one of your friends nearly died in a mosh pit, or that you basically just took a bath in a mud puddle, because the people behind you are kicking said puddle at you, and you can even ignore the fact that the other fans have groped and fondled you so much that you're pretty sure you lost your virginity just standing in one place, then you know that there is something incredible about the human being in front of you.
For the past month, I've been addicted to the album Pop Psychology, because it speaks to me. Seriously, ask my roommates, or my family, or my friends, or my coworkers, or that random girl I met on the bus the other day, who caught me singing "Voices in the Halls" under my breath. Literally every last one of them will say, that I am freaking insane, and should be checked into some twelve step program. So I figured the concert would just be a chance for me to appreciate the music that speaks so deeply to me with a bunch of other people who feel similarly.
I was not expecting to be blown away by such a powerful personality. Any man who can start a concert in a studded leather jacket, and go from that to a tank top with a smiley face on it, all because he's happy, is definitely a pretty courageous man, the type I want to be able to emulate someday.  But it was more than the courage it takes to be a returned missionary and blatantly admit that you are gay.  It was the way he loved us his fans. It was visible in the way he interacted with us, the way he kept singing, even when we got so off key singing along.  It was the fact that he was so respectful, even though we were chanting "one more song" for a good several minutes after he left the stage, he didn't come back, because none of the other bands got another shot. It was the way that he was able to joke about following Chris across country because he was a good guitarist, and not because he was into Chris.  It was the way he got choked up in "First Things First." It was the way that he ended by just telling us to find something that makes us happy and follow it. It was the fact that suddenly the songs that had spoken to my soul for the past month finally had a face, and that that face was attached to a person who had written those songs.  Somehow all of the feelings I have felt while hearing his music are even deeper and stronger within him.  It was the fact that even though I still have never had a conversation with Tyler Glenn, I found within him - as I stood about twenty feet away - a kindred spirit, albeit a kindred spirit with a lot more strength and courage than I have been able to muster yet in my twenty-two years of life.

If I Were Brave

If I were brave, I would tell you that I don't believe what you believe.

If I were brave, I would be able to walk up and let you know that I want to meet you.

If I were brave, I would tell you how your smile makes me feel a hundred times better.

If I were brave, I would tell you that I want to date your best friend.

If I were brave, I would be able stand up to you for the first time in 22 years.

If I were brave, I would be able to tell you that you had your chance, and it's time for you to go.

If I were brave, I would tell you to stop relying on me to be an example of faith.

If I were brave, I would tell you that I don't know if I still even have faith.

If I were brave, I would be dancing alone in the rain, hoping that you would step in.

If I were brave, I would hold you close, and tell you that you will be okay.

If I were brave, I wouldn't flinch at your touch, or run for your love.

If I were brave, I would forgive you, and recognize that I don't have to carry these scars forever.

If I were brave, I would fight for the chance to love you.

If I were brave, I would be able to strengthen you, and tell you that you are not alone in your pain.

If I were brave, I would be able to smile at you, and say hello.

If I were brave...

Writer's Block

He wanted to write.  The words had left him.  In the haze of having everything he could ever want, and yet losing everything that could ever possibly matter to him, the words that had defined his life, and been his constant comfort, friend, and companion were gone.

He didn’t need them anymore.  Not like he used to, but he missed them.  He craved them more than he knew he probably should, but they were gone.  Gone.  His muse, his words, his life was absent, never to be reclaimed again, and he wanted to cry.

Some nights he did cry.  But it was never at a time when he needed the words.  It was the pain of not having his muse, or maybe it was the pain of actually having his muse.  He wasn’t even sure what his muse was.  Was it her, the girl he had forced himself into loving to appear normal, who had long since left him, just like the words had? Or was it him?  That form of perfection who he sat near every night listening to the flawless voice lifting him and carrying him from vision to vision, always imagining the flawlessness that the two of them could have if he ever opened his mouth and poured out the words he wanted to say.

For having a life that revolved around words, he hated the fact that they were gone.  And they were gone.

Maybe they weren’t gone.

Perhaps the real fear was the intimacy that he had with the words.  He was afraid of what people would see when they saw his words. What hidden horrors from his soul would manifest themselves as he unleashed the words?  They knew him so perfectly; every single feature of his soul was exposed, naked and bare before the words.  It was the words that had the power to expose him in all his weakness and fear to the world around him.

That was what scared him.  It had nothing to do with his muse.  The words were his muse, and the words were painfully aware of his lust and desire.  They would throw themselves together constantly, to remind him how very far he had fallen.  That was what he feared, and that’s why he avoided the words.  However there would be times, moments of loneliness, where he would return to the words, and invite them to tell him the exact nature of his soul.  It was in those moments that he and the words would merge, and flow.

They were intertwined in the most intimate of forms.  They knew his thoughts, his feelings, his mind.  It was all theirs and they understood him in a way that no other human ever had.  He knew them too.  He knew which words got along, which flowed together, which would harmonize and sing.  He knew how to weave them together in sheer beauty, in ways that would leave chills, and open minds, and for that they both loved and hated him.

There is a real fear in intimacy that both words and writer were acutely aware of.  To be known and understood is so enchanting.  It’s something that is craved.  Understanding is a vital part of survival. But intimacy is more than survival.  It is seeing the horrors of another individual, the masks are removed, the disguises stripped away, leaving two individuals bare and revealed in all their weakness and insecurity.  It is a fearful thing, and although there is a love that comes with that kind of understanding, there is a fear and a hate that entwines itself in that love. It is truly fearful to see that anyone can understand that much.

Release

It happened today in Sacrament Meeting, where I just realized that you are honestly too good for me to take away from this world that you love so much.  I've spent three years imagining what it would be like if you and I just ran away, just took off and left all of this behind us.  But I can't do that.  This all means too much to you, and so I have to stand by that.  You are too good, too pure, too strong for me to chase.  I just hope I remember that feeling.

It was a good moment, just realizing all the reasons I fell in love with you, are exactly the reasons why I can't have you.  There you go.  I'm trying to move on.