I can't believe I fucking dreamt about you last night. I really can't believe it had made me happy. But I really, really can't fucking believe that I was disappointed when I realized it was only a dream.

If you're like me and have been lucky enough to have your father in your life as a constant source of love and support, you have a lot to be thankful for. I recognize that not everyone is so lucky; I know so many others whose fathers have passed on, who have struggled with illness or addiction, who have been downright selfish, or have been absent for any other number of reasons. I have reason to rejoice and celebrate on Father's Day because my life has been blessed with the most amazing father I could ever know. If you're REALLY lucky (like me), your father has made you laugh until your cheeks hurt, helped you with your homework all those years, and shared something special with you, like a bond over music. Other people might be lucky enough to have a dad like that, but if I'm being honest, my brothers and I REALLY hit the dad jackpot. Max has someone he can bond with over craft beers and "manly" things (CC: Ron Swanson). Cliff has someone who, amongst other things, will sleep on a chaise lounge outside his/my room every other night to calm him down when he wakes up in a panic (CC: MOM, who also sacrifices her sanity to do this). I have someone who will rush me to the hospital when I have an allergic reaction to an antibiotic (again), drive all the way to Boston and back just to make MY life easier, and turn me on to good music. I'm lucky enough to have a dad that will always check in with me when I'm not feeling well to ask how I'm feeling or if I need anything at all, always with a warm, heartfelt shoulder rub. I have a dad who spent days and days taking apart the hard drive of my broken laptop so that I could have all my old documents, pictures, and music. I have a dad who will put on the Jazz station on the radio and quiz me on who is playing trumpet in that song, or who originally sang this song. I have a dad who encourages me, supports me, teaches me, and inspires me. I'm lucky enough to have a dad who fills my house with beautiful music when he practices piano, and who pushes me to perform my music when I'm too shy or self-conscious because he knows how much I really want to. I have watched and learned from my dad. I have watched him give my mom unconditional love and support, stand by her through trials and tribulations, try his hardest to understand without asking, and do what he can to make her happy. I have learned what a real man is, and how a good man should treat a woman. If you're lucky like me, you're one lucky son-of-a-gun. I have to be honest though - I'm the luckiest one of 'em. I have a man in my life who I can look up to and depend on as a constant in my life. Thank you for everything, Daddy, I love you!

Retrospect

I stayed, and I stayed, and I stayed

when you gave me reasons to leave.

Call it blind hope, call me naive.

Always urging me to walk away,

but I stayed, I stayed, and I stayed.

Call it self-destructive, poor judgment, it’s true

Call me crazy; I thought I’d save you.

I thought, if not me, then who? 

It’s funny looking back, 2 months wiser

Could’ve sworn you needed a savior, but it’s her.

Someone stubborn, harsh, relentless,

more like yourself, a fucking mess.

You might not agree; then again, when did you?

All the more reason it’ll work out better for you two.

You swore I’d someday hate you, 

and I swore I never would.

I hate a lot about you, but as always, I’m keeping my word.

It's Stranger to be Strangers

It took maybe eight times before I agreed to let you go,

I think that’s why you disappeared so fast; I barely saw you go.

I looked back for a second, but you were already long gone.

Please don’t mistake my punch-drunk words for longing;

Maybe I’m a little lonely, but I’m content going stag.

I can lift myself up without you bringing me down,

and I feel freer unattached.

Still, it’s stranger to be strangers,

now I don’t know where you live.

Your home was all I knew for years,

a month later, where do you rest your head?

It’s stranger to be strangers,

and I know you won’t be a friend.

Still, I’d love to know what happened

when you decided to fall off the grid again.

All I want is to be familiar, I’ll let you live your life,

I won’t intrude, I won’t be rude, but dammit, let me in!

It’s so much stranger to be strangers

when not long ago, we shared our lives.

Now I don’t know who you live with, or if your day was alright.

I don’t have a hang up here, it’s only been two months.

Your life changed overnight, and being on the outside 

just doesn’t sit right.

It’s stranger to be strangers,

goddammit, let me in!

I’m just a girl who loved your ass and dealt with all your shit.

At least, that’s who I was every day for a few years;

Now I’m just a stranger, getting stranger by the day.

2014

I rarely look back on the year and reflect for some reason. This year, though, I take tremendous pride in all that I’ve done and all that’s happened this year.

I got inducted into Tau Sigma National Honor Society as secretary, earned all A’s in every class I took this year, and got a second job that came with a few cool friends. I spent ample time with family and enjoyed every minute, I celebrated two years with the man I love, and I made quite a few new friends. I got invited to join another international honor society, joined Strong Women Strong Girls and got to mentor/be site leader for 10 phenomenal young girls, as well as creating a tight-knit family with my other mentors. I became active in even more clubs on campus, started making huge improvements in my fitness, and excelled in almost everything I did. Not to mention accomplishing last year's goal of getting up the confidence to post videos of myself singing!

I’ve always had trouble juggling multiple aspects of life, so usually there’s a lot that will suffer. This year was a huge step forward and showed me just how much I’m capable of. For 2015, I want to keep up with everything I’ve done, but leave more time for more artistic endeavors, music, spirituality, and better eating habits (and get back to working out the way I did for the first half of the year). I’d also like to work on letting go of my need for control and aversion to spontaneity and be a little more adventurous, open, and accessible. 

Happy New Years!

June 10, 2013

Most times I come over, you set the tone with a, “You look pretty,” in that bashfully cutesy voice. Sometimes you joke around about my insecurities, thinking it’s okay because you don’t believe any of them, but I still get upset. But when it really matters, you make me feel beautiful. When I went into the bathroom at that concert and I was washing my hands, there were two very pretty blonde-haired, scantily-clad girls on either side of me, fixing their perfect makeup and tousling their lovely waves. I looked up at my mirror and saw my frizzy, dull-looking curls where one side got so messed up somehow it looked like a ball of fuzz on top of my head. My gray sweatshirt washed out my already pale face and made the bags under my eyes pop. I watered down my mess of hair and walked outside where you were staring at the door, searching and waiting for me and you held my hand and you kissed my lips and the top of my curly, curly head and you kept me close while you walked me back to my seat and you paraded me around like I was the prettiest girl there and even though I hadn’t felt it looking in that bathroom mirror, I felt so beautiful when you held my hand. 

You paid no mind to the gorgeous drunk girl sitting in front of us, flirting with you, even trying to dance with you, and joked that I should ask her to come home with us. I told you I didn’t have a chance with the way I looked that night and you didn’t seem to understand and you told me, “I think you look beautiful tonight.” You smiled that thoughtful smile of yours that makes your eyes dance with joy. You kissed me right on my lips and told me you loved me with your words and your dancing eyes and your happy, thoughtful smile. You hugged me, you danced with me, you kissed my cheeks, my lips, and my forehead. You held onto me all night while those pretty drunk girls looked on in envy. I knew how I looked but I felt so beautiful when you smiled at me. 

Other times you make me feel beautiful:

In the morning when my hair is wild from having been slept on and my blush has faded away and I look oh so very, very sleepy but you still take a few moments to stare at me face-to-face with that thoughtful smile of yours, when you get jealous over guys or girls flirting with me or liking my pictures, in the shower before I’ve washed off my mascara and it’s running down my cheeks, when you call me a “sexy little thing” even though we’re just sitting there watching TV, when you accuse your own friends of hitting on me, when you pull me aside to heavy make out with me for just a second, when we’re hanging out with all your friends so you text me, “You look pretty” or snapchat me a picture of myself with a caption saying something like, “Gorgeous” and wait for me to look over and shoot me a big smile, when I hear you saying nice things about me to people behind my back, and just the way you look at me when we’re together makes me feel so, so beautiful.

May 22, 2013

Sometimes I look at you and I think I’d like to plant a tree with you. I’ve never wanted to make that sort of commitment with a person. We would watch it grow and watch its leaves change, fall off, grow back again while the seasons change and our love stays the same. We would watch raindrops spilling off the leaves and listen to them rustle on windy days and pray no thunderstorm will harm its branches. It would belong to both of us for the rest of forever, even if we no longer belong to one another. But the really nice part is that it wouldn’t only belong to us, it would belong to the earth in the same way we do and in the same way every person who walks by our tree would and that would be beautiful. And we could love our tree the way we love one another and share that tree with the whole wide world and it would almost be like we were sharing our whole love with them too. Maybe someone would walk by our tree hundreds of years after we've gone and think to themselves, “How wonderful.” And it would be funny because that’s the same thing I’d thought to myself about you. 

As much as I hate to think it, I know we might not be eternally intertwined the way the tree’s roots would be with the soil. But I would take solace in picturing you passing by our tree with any hint of subsisting feeling for me manifesting itself in your expression. I would hope it would be one of nostalgia, a quick gleam in your eye, a wistful smirk before you cast your eyes downward with a gentle sort of acceptance. I would hope you would remember it fondly and maybe occasionally you would take the long way home just to remember it again. I would.