maybe insomnia isn't so bad...

"Nothing that's worthwhile is ever easy."

That's one of those anonymous quotes that you read & it just sticks with you. But, you don't really let it sink in when you first read it. It rolls over you, like, "Yeah, okay good advice." If you let it sink in, you'd realize how true it really is. It's easy to hide our feelings inside & never speak out loud what we really feel. Because that's safe. If we never say it, we never risk the backlash reaction that we're afraid of. Sure, staying in our safe little world doesn't hurt but shouldn't we risk for something that could be so much better? Don't we all want something that's worthwhile? Why would we want anything less? Even if we have to work harder to get what we want, won't that make it that much better if we get it? If it was easy to get, we wouldn't want it anyway. You can't truly appreciate something unless you've hurt a little to get it. Because without that bittersweet longing, you wouldn't know how good it felt when you finally get what you want. When you reach the "worthwhile" part, you'll be happier it wasn't easy. Because you'll know that you put in a good effort to get to where you are. That's how you know you deserve it.

-ldw

june 13th

I forgot what day it was. Only a few hours after midnight, it hit me. It was June 13th...a date that will always stand out for me. It was his day. I got distracted by my every day life, which I suppose is a sign of letting go. It's what you're supposed to do as time goes by. I crawled into bed telling myself it was okay to have forgotten because so much time has passed. I laid there unable to fall asleep though. Around 5AM, I got up, got dressed, and drove to my hometown. I played a CD with music from my teenage past and let the thoughts of him flow through my mind. I made perfect timing because the sun was rising just as I pulled up to the place where we laid him to rest 12 years ago. I sat on the marble bench at the foot of his grave and a breeze from nowhere tickled my hair. It might sound crazy but I know it was him.

I went to see him because June 13th is the one day of the year that I allow myself to grieve for the death of my first love and the life we shared while he was here. What hurts the most now is being unable to find anyone who can compare to what we had. Everyone called it puppy love, but at 16 years old, he knew more about how to love me than anyone I've met since. So, that's the part that makes me sad. I haven't found that kind of love again. I miss meaning the world to someone. I miss being the love of someone's life. I miss being the other half that makes a person complete. I miss that boy who at one time was going to be my happy ending. So, it might seem silly that I allow June 13th to upset me, but it's the day that reminds me of a love I can never get back. The hurt remains because I haven't found a love to replace it.

After the sun was all the way up, I brushed the tears from my cheeks & then brushed away the dirt from the stone at the head of his grave. I pressed my fingers to my lips and then onto the ground, like I always do when I'm leaving. Then, I drove back to my life. Later that night, I was at home when the clock went from 11:59 to 12:00 leaving June 13th behind for another year. Maybe this year, I'll find that love I'm always searching for. Some call me a hopeless romantic, but at least I'm hoping. Because I may throw my heart into things way too fast & way too often but it's because I know how rare it is to find. So, I go all in every chance I get because I once knew a boy who did the same. And if you could ask him if he regrets it, I know he'd give his trademark smirk and say, "Not a single day."

caution: hot surface

Remember when you were a kid and your parents warned you about touching a hot stove because you would burn yourself. If you were as curious and stubborn as I was, I'm sure you learned why the warning was given. All it took was one time of touching that hot eye and I knew better than to try it again. But, I had to feel the hurt from the fire to learn that on my own. 
As an adult, I'm still just as curious and stubborn (if not more so.) I still play with fire. Usually it's just to light my cigarette but sometimes it's to spark the interest of someone I know isn't good for me. I risk the burn to cure the curiousity. Perhaps it needs to hurt as much as touching the hot stove though because I certainly don't seem to learn my lesson. I get myself in more and more messes when it comes to my heart and never seem to be able to not repeat the same mistakes. I'm that kid that looks straight at you when you say, "Don't do that" and touches a hot stove just because you told me not to. I guess that's the cocky side of me that can't stand someone else telling me what's bad for me. I'm a second guesser and I can't deal with the "what if." I have to know for sure that something is going to blow up in my face. I might as well turn the gas on & light a match.

I wish some men came with "hot surface" indicators so I knew to be careful. Then again, it's usually their "hot surfaces" that distract me and cause me to touch now & think later. Maybe I just need some oven mitts for my heart. Then I might be able to feel the warmth I long for without the hurtful burn. For now, I'll just keep my hands off the hot surfaces. Those quick burns arent the ones that last. When it comes to my heart, I should be playing with matches anyway....after I turn off the stove, of course.