love.

I finally apologized to you. An apology I didn’t know i owed until i re-read the words I wrote so long ago. When my hair was long and my temper was short. When I first discovered metal music and lemon cake. I was sixteen and untamable and wondering why I didn’t fit in your arms anymore. I was dizzy headed and full of doubt and torn between the girl i used to be and the woman I was becoming. A woman who knows the power of her words, a woman who knows the value of an apology and when she needs to deliver one. I did not apologize for who I was, how I felt, what I dreamed. I apologized for the hurt that the poems i thought were so pretty caused. For the assumptions I made about the new life you were trying to create for us. For the bitterness that was lurking underneath my words. I am sorry if I ever made you cry. I am sorry if I ever made you doubt the way that I love you. But I am glad that all those entries led me to this one. I am glad all of our tiny disasters created a pathway to love we can walk down together.

Sleeping Separately

Apartment Therapy--couples debated the pros and cons of separate sleeping. While both sides were very adamant, I have to admit I'm torn. On the one hand, I sleep next to a grizzly-bear-level snorer who, judging from the flailing, jabbing, and kicking, fights armies of relentless zombies on a nightly basis. Add to this his problem for stealing covers and the fact that his snores wake himself at least twice a night, inspiring him to sit up and yell, "What?", and you can see why I might occasionally fantasize about a bed of my own.

On the other hand, my grandparents had separate bedrooms. And even though my grandmother said it was because Big Poppa snored, I concluded (as a 6-year-old) that it was because the two weren't very lovey-dovey. As a teenager, I modified that judgment to: They never do it.

Personally, I'm just not willing to give up those tender little moments with you, right before we drift off to sleep. It's all the little things that happen while we're lying there together talking about funny things that happened during the day, snuggling, laughing. You know, the glue.Relationship glue. True, my mind could change down the road. But for now, I'll continue attempting to wrestle my grizzly-man into a spoonable position.

Hold my generation

We are a generation of diet cokes and dirty mouths. Of uncensored complaints and bleached blonde hearts.

We are a generation of gossip girls and american idols, emulating the gorgeous dirt we suck off our TVs. Choosing our favorite characters and playing the part to perfection, falling in love and breaking promises and tuning in every Tuesday night for more rules to live by, more excuses to stab our best friends in the back and whisper when the doors are closed. We hurt each other because that’s what we know- thats glamour baby, it’s drama, it’s life. Do we know any other way? Should we stay blissfully ignorant? Where is the line between reality and reality tv? It seems so blurry these days, I am living in a soap opera and the channel changer is hidden under abandoned shopping bags and too tight jeans.

I wish I could turn it off.

I wish I could rewind.

But there is no rewind. Our generation will be left to save ourselves, open our eyes and choose to be different or swim inside our blurry lines and remain the same. Live with tainted happiness and strive for some artificial form of perfection.
I’m opening my eyes, and opening my heart. All these petty judgements mean nothing in the grand scheme of the universe. All this gossip is juicy but I’ll leave it for the TV. And I will love you, love you, love you when you think you can’t be loved. I will shelter all your secrets and cherish them like they were my own sins. I will hold my generation until we are whole again.