hopeful

i don't know if there will ever come a time where i stop holding on to hope no matter what i'm aware of i still have this ounce of expectancy dancing throughout my body for outcomes i have no control over keeping me farther away from reality and restricting me to a confined cage where i seem to cling to disillusioned ideals this mentality while optimistic serves as my greatest enemy my deepest pain for it is not the event itself that causes the sadness, the anger, the disappointment, the regret it is the hope i had that things wouldn't turn out that way

yoga

lying on my back staring at the same spot in the ceiling my eyes know where to gaze they're familiar to the atmosphere the white flecks of paint created grooves in the tile i try to focus on this try to find new elements to it new nuanced images of the bumps on the ceiling my body is stretched i want to take myself out of this position to uncoil myself to release my body back into comfort my mind is racing varying thoughts of dinner tonight of yesterdays events of tomorrows plans of summers darkness of the songs in the room of the shirt i'm wearing of the stupid, plain, bumps on the ceiling until for a moment i can relax focus on my breath i can forget for a moment that i'm lying on the floor in an uncomfortable pose i can think for a moment that i am unbothered that i am free and whole and at peace

cologne

I smelt my father's cologne today. It's odd, because it isn't like this scent was made for him. It was sold in several stores, for anyone to purchase. Any man could own this cologne. It could remind any daughter of her father. But it still feels so personal, so connected to him, that it seems as though he was the only one who could've ever owned it. When I smelt it, I was transported instantaneously back to him. Him getting ready for work. He had the most beautiful shirts, with the most pigmented colors. The smell reminded me of him saying goodbye to me on snow days, before he left. He would make a snarky comment about how jealous he was of me getting to stay home all day, and when he left, I eagerly awaited his return in the evening. The scent brought me to fond memories of him. Him coming downstairs after a shower, ready to go out to eat on a Friday night. These meals with my family were so routine, yet so special. Sitting in different booths of different restaurants, telling stories about our days in class or at work, talking about movies we had seen, songs we hadn't heard in a awhile. Even though we saw each other everyday, it felt so separate and remarkable. I sat next to my father at every meal, because we always had side conversations to ourselves. We shared something different, him and I. Occasionally, I'd get really tired, and I would lay my head against him. The smell of his cologne would be right against my nose, ingraining this scent within me, forever reminding me of him.

writer's note: i feel the need to apologize for the subject matter here, as it's deeply personal. and while my writing can sometimes be intense, i feel like it's abstract enough and hidden behind this stylistic imagery that it becomes less personal. but, i'm trying to step away from that a little, and allow myself to write more narrative pieces, and not feel like i have to apologize for writing about my life. i don't even find this piece to be particularly great, but it's about trying something new and allowing my feelings to be processed--which is what this blog is all about, anyway. thank you -- ls