Lost in Crazy..

It is kind of denerving to think of the coincequence of our nature Vs. nurture. I've never really had an appeal for neither. Attribute it to my ego and/or the roots I've stemmed from but I look at it this way; Nature: Suggests that whatever makes me is stamped within me, a preordained fate that I cannot escape and I could never accept. I could never accept that whatever makes us up is so effortlessly obtained, so randomly "given". How it is a matter of a pre-set damn lucky  -or unlucky- genetics. How there is this blood running within us that can never evaporate out of our veins. And the worst part is having to owe it for those who "gave" me it, when we've long ago settled our debts. As for nurture. . Well here where it gets tricky; Nurture verb 1. care for and protect (someone or something) while they are growing. But is that what really happens to us? Are we ever really "nurtured" for the sake of our own nurture alone? And to not f

Back to the days before the emotional exposure, emotional abuse and bureaucracy. Before the cat killed the dog, and the cheese ran after the mice. The days when our monsters were hidden, our chests were heavy, but our dreams were never clearer..

If I could turn you into sunshine, and absorb every wavelength possible. If I could make you into air, to inhale your every particle. But my lungs are heavy, and my skin is dry. My bones are brittle, and my flesh is wasted. But I'd still weave it all into you and hope that I'd be able to unwind myself without it left tangled around your spine. Forgetting the spineless back you taint with your lucid dreams.

I wish you were here I wish you were more.. I wish things were different, but yet again if that was the case gravity would work in reverse between us.

Maybe I want his arms around me, his love to surround me.

It is his skin, not the mortal, physical, graspable wrapping for his vessel. But the tethered spaces in between his cells. Filled with life, tears, soul and pain. The confinement you wanna pull apart, with your bare hands, out of love or in search for love.

And I've never been more out of Love.

-When the only thing I've ever known about love, is Him. -I loved that He left me. -His hands. My hand in His. -The glittering waters of His eyes. -The endless lists of Him. -The infinite longings for Him. -My heart. -The words that never belonged to anyone else.

Needing skin to bathe with tears?

Watch "How to Practice Emotional First Aid | Guy Winch | TED Talks" on YouTube - https://youtu.be/F2hc2FLOdhI I love love love this talk! It just shows how much we undermine our "Psychological Hygiene" and how all the consequent negative thoughts and emotions leave us trapped inside our own lonely heads. I lived my entire life never viewing myself as a "lonely person" because I am always so good at surrounding myself with a lot of love from a lot of people, but that never seemed to ever fix this pit inside of my heart that just festeres, because at the end of the day I would be alone in my room with my thoughts. Watching this made something click, I am lonely. I have been lonely for most of my life no matter how many family members I am close to; No matter how many bestest friends I go through heaven and hell with; No matter how many boyfriends have filled my heart with love; I've been always lonely. And despite all the endless talks, all the t

It is rather amusing that some people would have the audacity to feel the entitlement to our love, respect, and attention just because blood binds us. I'm sorry, but on the scale of greater things there is no such thing as unconditional affection -and I've learned it from the best-. There is pathological attachment, when we'd delude ourselves to love those who have known nothing of what it means to love us. There is nothing as giving something without expecting a return. We are made up this way. No point in covering it up with our faked-up ideals. And certainly no point in walking one step towards those who had their entire life to walk to us, but instead took the other direction dragging us behind.  Selflessness does not fucking exist, there is a midway in between called two-sided compromises. And selfishness should never be met by being the bigger person, but rather with a reciprocated use of the same poison. At the end of the day we'd only be stuck with our ow

You my love, have come a long way from being a random number to becoming a hole in my heart.

You'd try to fake love, then fake it even more to make up for the guilt of needing to fake in the first place. And soon enough you realize you are running thin, but on love.

But you're always tired, and it is always me.

I have been feeling depressed thinking of the nothingness I've established this summer, but then I realized the most heartwarming realization. I might have not been to space, but I have certainly wandered the most beautiful of all galaxies. This summer was the summer I fell deeply in love, and there is nothing more fulfilling of an achievement. I have never felt this infinite amount of affection for anyone before, with this infinity only growing into greater infinities looking into his eyes, or smelling through his skin. You might not be the love of my life yet, but I am here willing to start believing in the sentimentality of all principles. 

"The sound of your voice painted on my memories." The cold winter night,  with the clear black  beautiful starry sky. The empty classrooms. The darkness.  The warmth. The gentle kisses.  The promises forgotten.  The love that's wasted away. . The starry sky, Our Starry Sky.

I am no writer, which ensues a deeper meaning to whatever words my heart forces me to write. I am no sentimentalist, I never really give in to words and dreams. But I find myself here searching for letters to draw the words describing what I don't have the audacity to admit. Maybe, I have been so accustomed to anticipating the worst possible scenario, to an already impossible situation, that I can't accept a highly probable one. It is like I am afraid that if nothing seems to go wrong something worse from all wrong would be inevitable. Maybe, I have been so consumed battling for perfection, that when an eye -so very effortlessly- sees me as such I shrug out of my skin. Maybe, I have been questioning the existence of unconditional affection, that when it crosses my path I render it blasphemy. I am not sure if I have been here before, or if this is a new place for me to get lost in. But I know that either ways it could be Beautiful. I leeched on edges my entire life,

Sometimes it just gets scary, to open your heart and let the words flow uncontrollably. It is scary because you know once you let down the walls confining all what you've built up inside it would get nasty.  What's your story? I have many.       Not because I could be anyone or do anything, which would concequnecely add up to a Story. But because life is a perspective, and every time you look at it from a different angle you will get a different narration . The White Queen giving birth to the children she had with a craw. The Orphan Kid abandoned by her mother to have conversations with phantom voices. The Parent Mourning out-living her heartfruit. The Lady Mother living in the shames of her own birth. The Man life forced to walk in shoes bigger than him for blood-binding. The Young Abused boy helpless, disappointed, and grieving for the loss of all that made up a life. The Sweet Child silent, alone, and lonely. The Dying O ld Man wi

We talk about the future as if it isn't an extention of a tormented past. We speak about history, like it would never repeat itself. We run from the truth, ignoring that we can never escape ourselves. There is just so much to want in this life, not like any of it would make any difference. Speaking of this "difference", is there really such a thing? Maybe life is just a cycle of self-perpetuated constants, as scary as that might seem. We babble about change being a constant. We study how entropy would only drive the universe to expand, changing its course. But the chaos of death, loss, and misery has always been the same, with different a different face for each generation. There is this consistency for suffering that is almost poetic, driving crazy men to speak of a Utopia that can never exist. Because if there was a Creator, the Creator carved us to love ourselves first. And if there wasn't, then natural selection built us to fight to be, by all means, the fi

Maybe it is very uni-dimensional  of me to assume that all what's wrong with the human race, stems out of one core trait. I went on for so long believing that this core trait is the lack of empathy, which taking the inanimated  constituents of the universe and how us, humans, are fucking it up makes really no appeal for a solution. When you think about it, it is really hard to empathize with a river we are destroying for our own selfish needs for example. This only suggests that this core trait has to be something more basic, and alimentary, something like Responsibility. The degree a person, an animal, heck even an amoeba has defines a whole lot of its character, purpose, feelings, and behaviors. An amoeba's -very primitive- form of responsibility towards the universe ensues that it should propagate its genetic material ensuring the survival of its species. A chicken's responsibility towards the universe is to makes sure it propagates, be food for the animals on top of i

I believe in Change, the type that builds up slowly, surely and strongly. The Change that persists.  I belive it matters. And I believe in the additive strength of the tiniest effort each individual could contribute with. I look to the future from that perspective and it is beautiful. Because the world is changing, it is a universal law, and we have the power to shape it into whatever we desire.

An intriguing thought just popped in my head while I was thinking of visiting one of mom's friends/ far cousins. I was thinking of how this woman used to cheat on her husband with this man who happens to be a far family as well. For a second I kind of attributed my uninitiated to visit her more often to this reason, and I was so close to "labeling" her unconsciously in the "not very good people" category, but the interesting thought popped in. It was one of those really clear loud full sentence type of thoughts, the ones that in hindsight you practiced all along but never vocalized "she is married her concepts are entirely different." The thought was basically that I am no place to form whatsoever judgment, I know nothing of the situation she is in, I know nothing about how she thinks nor her intentions. This makes sense, it is very reasonable and in a way suggests something bigger that I have been going on and on about in my head for a while. What va