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| Faith. Trust. Compassion. Belief.
Belief and trust in others. In you. I know I can be troublesome and infuriating. I do not mean to be, this much I can assure you. Please keep your patience with me. My greatest fear is losing you. Not through some horrific accident or because you simply fell out of love with me. That would be terrible, yes. Devastating, yes. Unimaginable, yes. Worse? My fear of losing you because I've tried too hard to keep you here.
Lord, don't let me. Help me remember to just relax and let things breath. Let you work.
Let me realize things will not always be perfect, and they don't have to be. We've got each other, a drive-a commitment-to be the best to one another, and we've got you. Plus, more often than not, nothing is even really wrong when things come down to it. It's just people being the imperfect people we are.
Pay attention Matthew. Deep breaths. Un-furrow the brow. No stress.
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| To say that time has past, that the ever-persistent journey of the sun has continued, would be an understand. A severe understatement. When I look back at this journal (I say journal because let's be honest, when I started this it was a journal, not a blog) I would have never (see: never ever) thought I would be where I am today.
The thoughts that I've held about my future, those murky ideas that float between the intangible and tangible, never truly began to broach the events which have transpired recently. My murky thoughts- the ones that you said would happen, that you said were your goal but you never truly thought my occur- have occurred. I have reached my senior year of college and all is well (beyond well, but I'm getting ahead of myself). My grades are good; I'm happy with my major; my job isn't completely terrible (both of them). For the big things: I have an interview for med school and frankly, I'm terrified. I know I'll do well if I relax and simply be myself but it's challenging when you really think about it and realize that, yes, your entire future rests of two half-hour interviews. No pressure.
But on a better, much much better, note: I have found the most amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman on the planet. AND. She likes me. Not simply likes, but loves me enough to have dated me throughout college (and all of its craziness). She has made me into an amazing person and I shudder to think of the man I might be were it not for her. And to boot, she's crazy enough to be excited about the idea of spending the rest of her life with me. Mark it down, folks. May 22, 2009. For lack of a better phrase (and because this is a good one): I will be off the market. For good.
I have no doubt I'll be back with an update later.
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And having thus chosen our course, without guile, and with pure purpose, let us renew our trust in God, and go forward without fear, and with manly hearts.
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| Logging into my account this morning (and it is morning), I was greeted with a number of things. One was surprising and inevitably better than the rest, of course, but the rest served a function and deserve some kind of recognition, as insignificant as they are.
Browsing through the ghost town of xanga names and pages to my left, cast aside and left to waste, I felt a growing appreciation for my own site. Don't get me wrong. It is sparsely updated and, as to be assumed, occasionally forgotten. But its green and black face has never quite vanished, and knowing that small fact quells the uneasy murmur swirling in my chest. For as fast as things- time, people, places, feelings, assurances, selves- change and move past, there is, in fact, something stationary. Something has grimaced and buckled-down through it all. Something small, pointless to most and rather alone (save one) but something none the less.
And now, this small and pointless something feels special. It feels secretive. Rather than standing ugly in the spotlight, it has thankfully and graciously slunked into the darkness of backstage to flourish. It feels...personal once again. This feeling is probably aided because of my state of mind now, and I know it is a direct result of the treasure trove unearthed immediately preceding this rambling entry, but it is reassuring nonetheless.
I expected my trip this morning to be a forlorn saunter through the aforementioned ghost town, ending with a sad soliloquy, recanting times better past.
Not so.
This is what I get for expecting.
And I'm more than okay with that.
Danke. | | |
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they miss the whisper that runs any day in your mind,
"who are you really, wanderer?"
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold the world around you is:
"maybe I am a king."
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La me manque.
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| It's amazing how time works. Minutes, seconds, hours, years, weeks, moments. Fast, slow, flying, dragging, eye-popping-agony-type-dragging. No matter how hard you try, you can't ever get a grasp on it. Go ahead, grab after time and moments and hold on to them. Or push them away, kick them out the door. Time won't listen. I feel as if you can look back on moments and feel like they just happened, and then wonder, how did I get here? That road couldn't have been that long, right? Fleeting memories teasing your mind, whipping the time around in your head, making you all confused. Was it really that long ago? But alas, the gates crash open and it all comes flooding back. The doubt of just how long it was is washed away as the idle memories slap themselves onto you. That long? Yes. That long ago.
Time is an amazingly funny thing. Now obviously, seeing as time is so amazing to the point that I've said it more than once, it's only logical that change itself is just as strange. (The two are unbearably linked). Change however, I feel as if we have some influence on. It is related to us, it is something we can associate with, hence the relation. But then, just as with time, you realize, Oh, wait, no. I'm sorry. I've been mistaken. Controlling change? Influencing change? Nope. Change is, conviently, only really realized in retrospect. Wait, if I was that was then, and I'm definitely not that way now...hey, when did all this changing start to occur? It is, however, as we very well know, already done. Or so we think. (It's never done. Scary thought, eh?)
But alas, I'd say change is typically for the better.
It has been in this case.
Much better.
Mucho Gusto better.
The only downside are the few threads of gold, the ones that meant something (mean something) and you only wish you could firmly grab again. Can it be done? Is it possible? We shall see I suppose.
Same Bat-time. Same Bat-channel.
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wow, that all seemed to come out of nowhere. | | |
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