I couldn’t commit because I could never truly see. All I could see was an abstract painting. It was enchanting and full of color but abstract nonetheless. This was my dream. It was messy, full of paint that wouldn’t dry and could be interpreted in many ways. Is it a house? Is it a man? Is it a singer or maybe even a writer? I couldn’t quite figure it out.

The dream still remains abstract but now it speaks to me. It doesn’t really tell me what it is but it tells me what to do, little by little. I rejoice in its message. I smile when I can understand one of its many shapes. I like it when it changes. Just when I think I’ve figured it out, it shifts and changes into whatever fits its unencumbered mood. It’s me; it’s you. It’s anything you want it to be.

It sends me numbers and codes. I’m not supposed to question it but trust it. I’m supposed to translate the message into whatever it wants to say. It’s not about me in the end; it’s about everybody. Yes, I get to enjoy it but it’s never just about me. It’s about connecting and transmitting what I believe it’s all about.

Oh, it is a beautiful mess but some people never even get to admire beautiful art and I do. I admire it and it speaks to me. The painting is hanging on the wall and it’s glorious.

I couldn’t commit because I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t sure what its purpose was, so I didn’t take it quite seriously but now I can see. I must commit even if I cannot make sense of it all. I must commit to what feels right and all the colors that fly in and out of me. I must commit to the light and the darkness and all that’s in between.

Funny how we condemn what we do not understand but what we must know is that we’re not supposed to. If we knew it all, what’s the point? If it all completely made sense, would we really be that happy? I want to be happy with what I know and what I don’t know. I want to rejoice in the sheer beauty of what is meant to be abstract. So much room is left for interpretation; the sky is no longer the limit, the universe is.

Swim in the paint, swallow the letters, and rejoice in the moment. Live through what matters and smile back at the artist that keeps you alive. Sing that song and paint a picture. You might not know what it is but you know how it makes you feel and that’s all you need to commit and to believe that it isn’t just real, it’s what matters most.


Searching for trees

I was sitting next to a tree. It wasn’t the right one. It was withering, it was sick. Not being able to give it the right ray of sunlight, I left.

It was still pretty, it was still a tree. It gave me a shade, it kept me company, it kept me going. I decided to leave it and into the sun again I went, looking for a tree with a melody within its branches.

Tricky, searching for trees. Most of them are taken, most of them are gone. Some souls are selfish and keep a tree for themselves even if it isn’t meant to be. I can’t. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved trees, the right way I like to think. I appreciate their leaves, their strength, their height. They help us breathe, they flourish. Why would we ever keep one that was never ours to begin with?

I want one as unique as the visions in my head. I want it to change colors and be able to survive with or without me. I want it to never stop growing or changing. I want it to have a life of its own.

Today I found a tree. It’s pretty and sings lullabies into my ear; I guess it knows I’m fond of songs.

Is it real or imaginary? It doesn’t matter. I can see it, I can feel it. There’s nothing more than that.

It flows with the wind and I found it at the utmost perfect time. Timing as usual is a big part of this puzzle I still can’t completely figure out. It’s as important as the story that unfolds.

I’m sitting with pretty and I feel grateful, I feel alive. It feeds my soul and I had forgotten how no matter how high or what color…if it has a song to sing, I smile. I was starting to feel lonely and now pretty in pink is here. I can’t wait to play and bloom.

Trees are rare but everywhere. Make sure you find yours. If it’s right, the absence of fear comes along with it and a chance of actual joy is a true possibility.


I always want more. I always long for someone, for something. I don’t know if this is my destiny but it’s how I feel. I’ve been trying to feel good and feel like I’ve somewhat succeeded. I don’t know how to stop longing for him. The problem with longing is how much we miss out. I almost missed meeting a great guy because I was longing for more, wondering and desiring the dream in my head. I want to be happy, I want to fly. I always wonder. I wonder about what could have been and what is. I am open to learning though, that saves me from myself. I never completely believe whatever I believe in. I am open to suggestions if it’ll make me happier.

I want to be zen. I want to be healthy and have a great body. I want balance and I want things to make just enough sense to be joyous. I want to be desired and loved. I long for him. I also think of him longing for me and I smile. He’s far away and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

I long for a moment where there’s nothing more to long for. I do admire passion and know longing can be full of it. I have an artist’s soul and want people to feel even if it isn’t perfect. I don’t want to hide how I feel and be free.

There’s no conclusion but that I’ll sit in this tiny chair, reading a book and long for you. I’ll sing and hope that someday, somehow you’ll listen. I’ll sit here, waiting, smiling, crying and longing only for you and for me and what we could have been together.

The best

I like spirituality. Thinking that this physical world is all there is seems naïve to me. I like believing in something greater than what has happened to us.

I have a little problem. I want it all and I don’t really want to do my best. I am also very hard on myself but I swear it’s true. I want passion and yet I don’t work enough towards my passion. I want love and yet I’m not patient enough to let things unfold the right way.

The good thing is that I can see it clearly. I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to change my ways but at least I know I truly want to.

I just finished reading a book called The Four Agreements. They are simple and powerful. They are: 1. Be impeccable with your word. 2. Don’t take anything personally. 3. Don’t make assumptions. 4. Always do your best.

I have broken them all but that’s fine. I no longer want to break any agreement I make with myself. We agree to things we don’t really agree with. How about we decide what agreements we should make? Or look at those we admire most and try to see what agreements they have made.

I haven’t done my best even when I should have. I am committed to starting to try my best. I want to give more than I get. I want to be the best human being I was created to be. I have been hurt, I have been abandoned and I want to be OK with that. I know I have been going through something and I don’t know why. But if it helps me become better and find a way to give back, it was certainly worth it.

Are you giving your best? It’s a good question to ask. And if you aren’t, just try. I think the outcome can truly change the course of our lives.

The observing

In solitude we write. In solitude we think. In front of ourselves we bleed. I’m an introvert in recovery. No one told me you could be more than one thing. Now I want to be everything and more and it’s still not enough. I want to show my scars. I want to dance with him and not have it mean anything else.

I like ghosts. I live in a town full of them. Ghosts have managed to stick around after they’ve lived. They live lives less conventional and full of past mistakes. They’re trying to kill me and take me with them, I don’t resist as much as you’d think. But my restless heart won’t let them take me. I still have words to write, songs to sing and thoughts to catch.

I’ve been taken to different corners of the world. I know more than I should. I’ve been her, you, me. I cannot let go of the depth because it would be a betrayal to all of those who have traveled to the underworld only to find Persephone isn’t quite what you’d think. I’ve withered and I’ve bloomed. Whenever a chance of a ‘real’ life presents itself, I chase it long enough to scare it away. I remain silent and alone in my beautiful garden. I’m about to turn blue but then I see a unique violet that wakes my senses and I’m saved again. I get to start a new life every single time. I get to discover, I get to observe.

The face you’re currently wearing is a beautiful one, filtered by screens and hidden by loneliness. You caught me when I was hurting and I chased you around in my head. It always takes my breath away, how we live and interact, trying to save each other from whatever they told us we should fear.

I’m standing close to the wall and letting the flowers cripple inside. I’m looking and not living. I need to become the healer to the hurter. The pain is finally bearable and I don’t miss you enough to reach out. I miss myself. I miss the person I’ve always longed to be. Yes, maybe she’ll never exist but if only I believe she can, she’ll be able to carry a message to Lucy and tell her what living is all about.

I’ll be ill soon. I wanted to send him love letters but now he’s moved away and I don’t know where those words belong. Maybe I could send them anyway and someone else will find pleasure in knowing someone strange longs for them.

I’m finally content with the choices life has made for me when I sleep. Confused by its impulsiveness, anger was in place and ready to attack. But stories settled in and an understanding of the chaos followed. I get to be a witness and try to challenge shapes to become colors. I get to see you and be me; even if only for a blink of an eye. I was here, you were there and now it’s all here in my head.

If you could be a dreamer…

What would you dream about? What would you really be? Because this world we live in has so many expectations of what we should be, we forget to even know what we’d want to be if we could be anything.

I thought it’d be easy for me to know and then it wasn’t. I started thinking about money, success, recognition and all those things that don’t really matter and aren’t really me. Who have I become? I guess the ghosts of wrong paths followed have led me astray. But there is always a way back. It does not matter if we’re hurt, lost, older, tired. There’s no reason why we can’t go home and start again. If we don’t what else would we do?

I’m finding my way back. I no longer ask why. I simply carry on. Stopping my life to wonder about the whys is exactly what got me lost in the first place.

I want to know who I really am, why I’m here and simply accept and embrace it. I want to live the life I claim to believe in. I don’t know if that’s being too much of a dreamer, but so be it. It might not all make sense at the moment but who am I to say it won’t make absolute sense in the future? Who am I not to believe in beautiful and bright things?

I will be a writer and so I shall write. I will be a storyteller and so I shall create stories. I want to be a singer and so I shall sing. After trying so many wrong paths, the right one might just be around the corner, I can feel it getting closer. The quieter I get and the less noise surrounds me, the easier I can hear the fairies leading the way.

I might have been left here silent and alone but that’s only because I possess all the weapons and the loudest voice. It’s all here, inside. If the real world vanishes, what would I be? I’d be a dreamer, a writer, a singer, a creator, and a supporter. I don’t know how to be anything but just that.

So wish me luck. I’m no longer afraid and no longer willing to feed the monster of fear who’s never truly satisfied until it swallows me whole. All I can do is try.

Be sure you know what you’d be if you could be anything. And little by little try to make your reality as close as possible to your dreams. Just know. Because even if you’re still very far, you can at least escape to that place in your head; it can carry you through, it can save you, it can make you.