spill your heart, i'll pick it up.

[calliopealive]

TELL ME SOMETHING HEARTBREAKING, TELL ME SOMETHING TRUE, TELL ME SOMETHING STIFILING, TELL ME SOMETHING YOU CAN'T TELL ANYBODY ELSE.

JUST TELL ME ANYTHING. ANONYMOUS ONLY.

(i did this a year ago today in my previous journal and i'm feeling nostalgic)

Comments

[calliopealive]

if you don't mind me asking, how old are you now? how long has it been since your sixteenth birthday? i've changed in ways i didn't even realize, changed in ways i needed, changed in ways i despited but it's all lead up to where i am now and who i've become. your skin sheds every seven years and i can't help but think your personality sheds a little every few years as well. hope to me, comes in the small joys of life because if you keep waiting for the big, wonderous amazing things you see in movies and tv to happen you're going to be disappointed every time. i'm not sure who you are, but i can't think of a single person who is on my friends list who i don't have faith in; faith in the fact that they are compassionate, passionate, troubled at times but always moving. the world is spinning, but we are spiraling. we're always changing and the pain is always getting a little bit easier to deal with. although sometimes, that's what worries me. the idea that maybe it gets too easy. the one thing that scares me the most is being completley and utterly void of emotions.

[calliopealive]

i'm twenty.

[calliopealive]

i wish i had all the answers, but i'm searching for them myself, pulling at strings. sometimes what we can't say, what we can just do by just being there, being a vessel and listening, maybe that helps a little. i'm sorry, and the only thing i can think of is this:

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.