Ugly ever after.

a colourful, smiling picture from a few years ago: "you look less angry at the world". how horrible to imagine my anger unfurling itself in my gaze, seeping out of my pores, assaulting those brothers and sisters who've grown used to my tears these last months.
i really, really hate you. take this away from me, lord jesus.

on love songs

who do you write songs for now that you have tossed me aside? whose words do you steal now that you have no right to mine?

on not singing

i don't know how to sing hallelujah these days. i just put my hand to my heart and pretend i'm not trying not to cry and hope that everyone else is genuine enough about worshipping jesus that they don't notice. (they are genuine. but they do notice.) i love the prayers of my real flesh-and-blood, with-me-in-this friends, so much that the tears escape quicker than i can even pretend i'm not trying not to cry. but i want them to be your prayers, your arm around my shoulders, and your eyes willing my tears to stop. i wanted, just then, in the imagined space before the 'i' that begins this pathetic little paragraph, to write something on here that would show you how much i hate you, but i love you too much to hurt you like that. i perversely wish that i could protect you from the knowledge of how shockingly badly you have treated me. it sort of disgusts me how i still want to protect you. because, no, there is nothing that you have done to deserve my love. there is no doubt in my mind, or anywhere near my mind, that you are not going to meet someone better than me.

STILL CANNOT BELIEVE.

YOU PASSED ON YOUR DEPRESSION TO ME LIKE A COMMON COLD.

yael naim - far, far

Far, far, there's this little girl. She was praying for something to happen to her. Everyday she writes words and more words just to spit out the thoughts that keep floating inside. And she's strong when the dreams come 'beause they take her, cover her; they are all over. The reality looks far now, but don't go -

How can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess inside.

Far, far, there's this little girl. She was praying for something good to happen to her. From time to time there are colours and shapes dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands. They invent a new world with oil skies and aquarel rivers. But don't you run away already - please, don't go.

How can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess inside.

Far, far there's this little girl. She was praying for something big to happen to her. Every night she hears beautiful, strange music - it's everywhere, there's nowhere to hide. But if it fades, she begs, "Oh Lord, don't take it from me, don't take it"; she says, "I guess I'll have to give it birth."

Just look at yourself now, deep inside - deeper than you ever dared.

Angry easily.

people say crap to other people without knowing anything about them or about their hang-ups or difficulties or spiritual battles. and not suspecting that things that might appear trivial or superficial to them can actually carry huge and unwieldy baggage that they have no right to weigh down further with their thoughtless, black-and-white 'honesty'. surfaces aren't always just surfaces, and the symbolic freight of objects or things is always disproportionate to the actuality of those objects or things. obviously: that's the basic tenet of the symbolic realm. just because something looks lightweight doesn't mean that it's not really, when it comes down to it, when you penetrate those surfaces, when you think for more than two seconds before opening your mouth, when you get over your vague and arrogant assumptions about what's going on or not going on with people you barely know, when you get over yourself, when you actually shift to selflessness and pick up the load for yourself, incredibly, indescribably, painfully heavy.