Lieke - The Netherlands -
love playing guitar , piano and singing -
Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.
Pluk de dag - Seize the day - Carpe diem
I’m thinking I would like to dance in the rain with this person. I would like to lie next to him in the dark and watch him breathe and watch him sleep and wonder what he’s dreaming about and not get an inferiority complex if the dreams aren’t about me.
I want someone to share my secrets with, someone to talk to late at night when I can’t sleep, someone who feels comfortable around my family, someone to protect me when I’m scared, to comfort me when I’m sad, someone who doesn’t need to say that he loves me for me to know it’s true.
Making mistakes is part of learning to choose well. No way around it. Choices are thrust upon us, and we don’t always get things right. Even postponing or avoiding a decision can become a choice that carries heavy consequences. Mistakes can be painful-sometimes they cause irrevocable harm-but welcome to Earth. Poor choices are part of growing up, and part of life. You will make bad choices, and you will be affected by the poor choices of others. We must rise above such things.
In that moment, I wanted to cut out all my sins from my body and lay them down upon the earth before you. Like pieces of bark they are rough and dead, once clutching onto my very skin, all a part of me. You make me want to strip myself bare and lay myself out to you, I want you to see all my flaws, I want you to know I am not beautiful, yet all the while wanting you to take me anyway. I am composed of things that are dead, so many things I used to be have died, I am not a tree, I do not give life, I am just bark, flaws, stitched together with hope for something more. I wish for love, I wish for more.
Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.