There are days when my imagination in my enemy. It likes to keep me company in my darkest of times and romanticizes a past that was more of a horror story than a fairytale.

There are days when I want to dip my soul in memories and just soak. Then there are others where I'm praying they'll be washed away.

I'm not simple. Loving me will never be easy. I bring every travesty that's rocked me- with me, to the table. I won't pretend to be something I'm not, and I don't expect you to be blemish free either. That's much too boring of an existence. A past means you've lived, you've prevailed. My ears are open. My heart is accepting. I want to know how you are. I want to know what made you... and I want to feel free to share the 'not so pretty' parts of me, with you.

You are not disposable. I know you feel that way when people choose to walk out of your life, but their emptiness causes space. And that vacant area of your life is desperately crying out for the one meant to take up residence. Let the angry tenant go. You don't want someone staying because you've begged and pleaded for their occupancy. You want the one who sees your quaking heart and says: "Honey I'm home".

That you were able to walk away, gives me my answer as plain as day.

Some people are so accepting of mediocrity, that they think that living a passion filled life is a fairytale. Prove them wrong.

Trying to explain feelings that are foreign to your heart, make communication daunting, even frightful. How does one express sensations that cower in the corners, fearful they will not be accepted by their inspiration?

How I wish I only felt using my hands and not with my whole heart.

You think it's time for a new beginning. You long to start from scratch, so you seek new things - trying like hell to reinvent yourself. Out with the old and in with the world's new. But you'll never create a version of yourself that is as magical and unique as the original. So... just be you.