still

i will be still
know You are God.

still waiting

i'm going crazy
the minutes have never gone by so slowly
without you here to help them along
there's a reason i never get to places early
i can't stand the wait
the not knowing
the restlessness that needs to launch me from this sitting position to leap about and pummel the air
the heaviness of the near tangible anticipation
i can't breathe straight
i'm hurting to the point of tears
the first tears since
asd;lkfj
save me

now,
dammit.

these tears taste saltier than i remember..

a lullaby for love

i've always loved that park
it's always possessed some sort of romantic quality for me
it was that park i had in mind when i told you that
i didn't need flashy lights
that all i truly wanted was the modest sheen of the moon and the street lamps
that i wanted to breathe in unison with the night and feel its feathered kiss
that i wanted to listen to music that actually meant something to me-
music that would move more than just my body
music that if i closed my eyes, i would see beyond the darkness
music that would breathe life into fragile memories
and unavoidably afflict the existing moment
it was that park,
with those dancing people,
that i would rather have been at all those nights

tonight i watched them dance and thought of the futile efforts i'd make to try to get you to dance had it been you and i
i watched couples hold each other
in more than just their hearts

i watched an old man amidst the couples, arms extended
dancing alone
and i wanted to go over and dance with him
but i couldn't find the strength in me
and in that moment i realized how often i fail to have the courage to truly follow my heart
i always speak of it, speak of being led by my heart
but it's not my head that gets in the way,
it's my guts

i never have the guts to do the things i really want to do
so, come out with me tonight
meet me under the moonlight and together, we'll sing lullabies to a sleeping city
let's create anthems of our own tonight

does it not pang you that after a year and some, this is it?

gotta live it up one time before it's over
this world belongs to us tonight

run, baby, run

the only good thing about the rain is the way it makes the colors run
every illuminated hue spilling outside their lines
painting stripes on the street, the sidewalk
colors sticking to droplets, sliding down
weaving
cloaking the city in technicolor

i felt sad tonight
with some help from the ataris
and the rain

and when this hourglass
has filtered out
its final grain of sand
i raise my glass to the memories we had

these relics of remembrance
are just like shipwrecks
only they're gone faster
than the smell after it rains
- so long, astoria/the ataris

do you see it running?
like the colors in the rain..

for the majority of today,
i thought it was thursday
and when my disillusionment shattered
i felt like i lost a day
a day i didn't even have to begin with

how did i get so good at losing things that were never mine
i got attached, and you let me
at least you didn't stop me
no, you definitely let me
and now i see i couldn't have been more wrong
i'll keep making excuses, but i'm almost out
and so is time
maybe the timing
is beating our hearts
we're empty

or maybe just me
do you even realize?

goodbyes

a few more
but nothing yet
why?

i feel dead inside
dead dry eyes like marcella

where did this nonchalance even spring from?
the only times i'm even remotely nonchalant is when i'm waltzing into compounds putting on such airs they just let me blow by, assuming i belong

let alone emotional nonchalance
thanks,
but no thanks

i want to feel
sad

now, in this moment
while we retain
relevance to each other

while we remain,
relative to each other

i feel like i'm taking it for granted
being frivolous with my assumptions that
it's not the end

but it is
isn't it?

i won't say i'm in

i read into
and i fall
for the words you don't even have to say
the words my assumptions guide into your mouth
that mouth
that smile

i tell myself
you're scared
you're not
prepared
to be..

that explains the incongruencies
right?

or maybe,
it's just me-
i am silly.

after the sunset

every day should open to a chorus of birds
and close with the embrace of a sunset

i never really thought a shanghai day could
guess i should've given it more credit
had a little more faith

though the birds got kind of annoying after the initial chirps that penetrated my consciousness
after the first realizations of,
hey,
i don't normally hear that
that's kinda special.
then i started noticing patterns
CHIRP! hootHOOoo tweeeeet.
CHIRP! hootHOOoo tweeeeet.
and as soon as the anticipation kicked in
ohh man

but the sunset
there was no rhythmic predictability to sap away its beauty
even the buildings put on new airs of grace
it's a marvel that of the 17 million people in shanghai
not one (ok, maybe one or two might have afforded to)
succumbed to plucking a rose each from the bed of clouds
to hold a whiff of beauty
i would have.

had i not been caged in a car
speeding between those gracious buildings

nausea

nausea.

everything makes me nauseous-
the glowing monitor
the thought of food
the lack of food
the thinking of food due to the lack of food
(oh, the cruelty)
meat in particular
dairy, too
possibly even chocolate

i contemplated writing last night
if even just one italicized word
to keep the dates running seamlessly

i'm
not
ok.

thanks for asking..

better is one day

would you know my name
if i saw you in heaven?

would it be the same
if i saw you in heaven?
- tears in heaven/eric clapton

what if it's "no"
you tell me it isn't
but
what if.

sure, we'll have all the time in the world
but
what if it's we, individually
you, me
we
in its simplest function as a plural
grouped merely quantitatively
i will have all the time in the world
you will have all the time in the world
but we,
together...

all the time in the world
in a state of vague inebriation?
an automatic ecstasy?
after all,
there will be no sorrow, no tears in heaven
but isn't it said:
the joy is not the same without the pain

i don't even know what i'm going on about
i don't mean to doubt

i'm not good at this
i feel so unsure, timid
appreciating life is my forte
that's what i'm good at
i can help you appreciate all the little things
i'll paint for you dazzling shades of silver
i'll pick roses and hold them to your nose

but i need you here when i lift my eyes past the roses,
the faces, the sky, the joys constrained by gravity
i need your confidence to grasp the surpassing joys awaiting
i need to borrow your steadfast knowledge that truly,
better is one day.

this river's ramble

sometimes i find myself feeling like the fourth little piggy
which isn't exactly something to boast about
to identify yourself by what you lack
glass half empty, much?

(ohmygah.
my stomach hurts a little too much to write
maybe the warmth of my laptop will alleviate the discomfort
serve as an over glorified hot water bottle
that's versatility for you)

but sometimes we can't help but lose sight of what we are
and fill our field of vision with everything we aren't
everything we lack
providing for nothing but a blank stare
and who's ever engaged by a blank stare..

i think i'm still a little scared to let myself completely go here
to ramble
to babble

it's like two creeks
if one creek really admired the other creek's flow
the way it rounded bends so effortlessly,
the infallible smoothness of every cascasion
and in its flurry of aspiration and insecurity, attempted to match the other creek in each finite detail
to reproduce each splash in its exact magnitude at an identical location
to replicate each bend, each tumbling of froth over rocks, each splay as it navigates around logs
the harder it tried
the harder it worked to mold its own natural flow
well you can imagine it
it'd be ridiculous, ridic-dac-donculous even
oh little creek, your God-given flow is just as beautiful.
go on-
ramble,
babble.

our beloved Father

our beloved Father
please come down and meet us
we are waiting on Your touch

open up the heavens
shower down Your presence
we respond to Your great love

we won't be satisfied with anything ordinary
we won't be satisfied at all

open up the sky
fall down like rain
we don't want blessings
we want You

open up the sky
fall down like fire
we don't want anything but You
- open up the sky/deluge

the words of this song really hit me this morning

how often do we truly pray for His presence rather than His "presents,"
to be able to say as we sit at His feet that we're there solely as a result of a deep longing to be close to Him, to breathe in His fragrance, to revel simply in His companionship, rather than to bring forth a list of petitions, wherever they may range from a relentlessly itching mosquito bite to a friend's salvation.

how truly intimate and special would it be to tell Him, our beloved Father, "i don't want blessings, i want You," and to mean it without a hint of a hidden agenda, without a trace of any shrouded conception of saving up good graces to expedite future pleas.

the other part of this song that really hit me this morning was the line
"we respond to Your great love"
we respond.
we respond.
yesterday at youth we touched upon whether or not someone would go to heaven if they said they believed in God but then didn't live for Him. my thoughts on this have always been that to be saved, according to romans 10:9, you gotta confess with your mouth and believe in your heart. it's not a one part thing, it's not just confess with your mouth, period. you need that second part, believe, and hearts are not very good liars, so if you truly have that part down, and you believe in this great love, you can't help but respond with your life. at this point, i'd always be stuck for that last concretely analogous piece to complete my point, but i finally got it:

our lives as Christians are but an echo; once His love is sounded in our life, we can't help but respond with our life.

the Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him.
lamentations 3:25 (NKJV)

the first toes

the first toes to dip beneath the glazed pane of tranquility
the little piggy who neglected going to the market in order to go for a swim
and then managed to persuade his peers to-
go out for a change,
take a break from roast beef,
surmount his fixation with his persisting comparative lack of roast beef,
and enjoy where he's at rather than flee from any given point B in a raptus of ear-splitting squeals-
respectively, (what a good influence) and accompany him as the cool rush
washes over
and over
just enough to remind you it's there
never forcefully, never one for ostentation
it'll never force you to remember
but smuggled into each splash lingers
a whisper
please.