Green Lightening

I know you wouldn't understand this because your memory is beautifully impeccable, but many of our past memories get blurry, mostly blurred together. What night did that happen? What was I driving then? Why did I choose the creme dress over the red dress, or was it the other way around?

Yet some memories are still so vivid that I sometimes forget they happened years ago, like I just arrived home from smelling fresh lake water or you kissing my toes fresh from my favorite shoes? Remember that one? You had me pull over into the gravel just to bend down and kiss my dirty feet. I felt more adored in that moment than ever before.

But the night with the green lightening. That night I remember above all the rest. Did you even kiss me? I don't know. We probably held hands, but even that I don't recall.
I remember the green lightening.
The wind was rocking my cheap Honda and I was afraid. You could see it. You always knew when I was afraid. I never wanted to tell you, though. I wanted to you to think I was fine all of the time on my own. That's just not true. For anyone.

The lake water was splattering on my windshield and my palm sweat drenched the steering wheel. You brushed my cheek and said you would follow me home.

No. I'm fine.

Okay. Are you sure?

You followed me home anyway. You ignored my reassurance because you knew otherwise and you followed me the entire way,
Driving I noticed we were chasing the green lightening down every deserted back road, trees like goblins eating on power lines and leaves diving into our windshields like dead black birds.
You pulled in front of my car and chased the green lightening far from me, taking the blow of branches and limbs.

You have always taken the blow and always tried your best to chase the lightening far from me and my tranquil world.
You have always followed me home when I reassured you that I'm fine on my own.
You have always kissed gravel lot toes and sweaty palms.
I think that night is when I really fell in love with you; when you saw the softness and vulnerability through my strength.
I couldn't fool you. I couldn't get around you or away from you.

I could have written you a card, given you meaningless stale chocolates or a balloon that will pop or deflate next week.
That's not enough for you, green lightening chaser. Toe kisser. Piggy back ride giver.
You deserve much more than I could give. All I can give is me.
But that's always been enough for you.
We're enough.

Thank you for always chasing green lightening so that my world is never disturbed, for taking the blows of branches and stray limbs so they never reach me.

I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.

"What the hell am I doing?" and other mysteries of your 20's

Do you remember that catchy yet exasperating song by Britney Spears that came out in 2002 titled, "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman"? I was twelve when the song was released. I would put in my butterfly hair clips, kiss Lance Bass in my NSYNC poster and sing that song into my hair pick (I have a white girl fro, okay?).

At the ripe age of twelve I thought this song was written especially for me and all of my fellow pre-teened, confusion-stricken peers.

No.
NO.

Spears was 22 when the song released. Well out of her teen years but yet not quite on the climb to 30 (undoubtedly the age of official adulthood). She had reached the age that every 20-something begins to feel "the shift," "the change," "the black plague."
 Okay, I made all of that up. It's not that bad.
But, that's the age I started to panic.

"What the hell am I doing?"
"What the hell am I going to do?"

Thoughts of the future, degrees and careers begin to creep into our dreams and daily thoughts.
I swear a few months ago I looked down into my alphabet soup and my noodles were spelling "biological clock," "decisions," "graduate already."

My biological clock never started ticking, but how easy is it at this phase (or any phase, really) to look through our newsfeed and see everyone else in their mid-twenties having it all together?

Oh look, Martha just had another baby.
Oh look, Jennifer just got a promotion.

What the hell? I'm 25 and still eat Cheetos for dinner ON A GOOD DAY.
My dear, sweet, little twenty-something's, I have so much to tell you.

1. Stop comparing your life to the highlight reels of everyone else's. Martha might be running on 3 hours of sleep, picking cheerios from her hair and wishing she could still go out with her friends as often as she used to. Smiling photos, "likes" and #blessed doesn't mean someone is happier than you are. They could be miserable. They could be looking at your feed, thinking the same about your life.

2.  Be where you are now. Oh dear ducklings, how easy is it to think about our lives in some distant time, wishing our lives away to the next job, the next boyfriend, the next step we feel we are supposed to take? We rush to get married because it's what we are supposed to do. We rush to have kids because "You've been married for about a year now, about time to think about some little ones,eh?" We rush to graduate so that we can land our dream job. The next, next, next. Sweet ladies, be where you are now. Live now. Be present in the here. Be happy in this chaotic, confusing, but beautiful season you are standing in right now. Stop hoping and wishing your life away year by year. You are in one of the sweetest seasons of your life. You get to discover who you want to be and who you are ultimately becoming. Right now! Isn't that a gift?

3. It's okay not to have your life together. You are twenty-something, 21, 22, 24, approaching 26 (don't remind me!). You aren't supposed to have your life together. You are supposed to be living and figuring it all out on the way. This is a joy ride, love. Stop beating yourself up and taking all of the joy out of it! Roll those windows down, turn up the tunes and let your fingers make love to the freeway air. This is the one time in your life when people won't look at you cross-eyed when you say you're currently on a journey to find yourself (screw them anyway, right?). Take advantage of these adventurous, wondrous, wild years! Quit your job if it doesn't make you happy. Dump that guy if he treats you like garbage. Try new foods. Travel new places. Learn a language. It's your time to learn more about yourself and more about the world around you. Who wants to have their life together when they can be on an adventure?

4. Not everyone is meant to stick around. Okay, this one sucks. It really, really, really sucks. So many faces have come and gone through out the years and it hurts. Your twenties are a time of making the friends that will stick and unfortunately losing friends that you thought would be around to watch your kids grow up. You change. You grow. You choose a path. They choose another. But, that's okay. Going separate directions at the fork in the road doesn't mean you can't smile at one another when you run into them at the grocery store, it simply means you knew them for who and what they once were. You accept that some people grow with you for a season and then you both began to grow differently, not better than the other, just different. Cherish the people that have grown you in the past, the ones growing you now and the ones that will help grow you in the future.

5. Get the tattoo. Take this literally, or don't. If you know me personally, you know that I would take this all the way to the tattoo shop! Live a little, babe! I wouldn't recommend a large fire-breathing dragon or, well, to each his own, eh? These are the years that you should make mistakes, take risks, be spontaneous! I am about to turn 26 and do not regret any of my tattoos, but most of them were a last minute, " I want to do this. This is my body. I'm getting this tattoo!" Own your choices, even if ten years from now you think they were immature. Isn't that beautiful, though? Why not let yourself hang out in the middle land for awhile? Get the dragon (no, not that) tattoo. Read whatever book catches your attention even if it's awfully written. Jump. Run. Ski. Get on the plane. Leave. Go. Come back again. Make a decision. Regret it. Change your mind. Do it all over again. Your twenties don't last forever, honey. Do something that scares you a little.

Sweet twenty-somethings, please put on your sassy red pants and try to enjoy these fleeting years. Time will be there. The career will be there. Graduation will come. Marriage (if you want that) will come. Children (if you want those) will come. Stand in the middle land and breathe in uncertainty, for years of certainty (sometimes mundane) will come in due time.

"The Quiet Girl"

That is probably the most boring title of a blog I have ever written, but I did it on purpose.

When someone reads, "The Quiet Girl," they get bored. It's boring. I did this because perhaps quiet girls are seen as boring by some outsiders, particularly loud people.
Was that offensive that I called you a "loud" person?
I thought that's what we did now-we tell people who they are based off of how many words that they speak.
No?

Oh.

I wanted to enlighten the public on the freak shows of the quiet girls.
The introverts.

First and foremost, my mind is loud.
It seems contradictory that I may not speak often or loudly, but yet my mind is extremely engaged.
Sometimes, an introvert's mind is too engaged. We are constantly making observations, evaluating and dissecting the world around us. How can someone talk when their mind is so busy?

Our minds do much more work than our mouths. To me, that's a positive.

Next slide please!

Quiet individuals make excellent listening buddies. We are often the sounding board for our friends, but also strangers. I joke often with my husband that I must have a flashing sign on my back reading, "Please tell me all of your life troubles!"

I joke about it, but I really enjoy it. I can't count the number of times I have been sitting in a waiting room, minding my own business, when a woman decides I look like someone trustworthy and silent enough to entrust their stories with.
I once held a woman in a tattoo parlor, sobbing that her husband just left her. True story.
What a privilege it is that my presence screams louder than any words that I could say!
What a privilege it is that strangers feel at ease enough around my "quietness" that they can pour out their hurts because they know "girls like her don't talk."

Que slide change.

I'm sure you've heard this before, but it is true that confidence is silent and insecurities are loud.
Want to know who the most insecure person in the room is? The one making the most noise.

I'm not insecure because I'm quiet.
I'm quiet because I'm confident.
I feel no need to fill the room with noise because I can be comfortable in my own silence.

We live in a world that is constantly moving, bustling, hustling. A world constantly filled with beeps, buzzes, rings and racket. We live in a world that never allows us to just be still, to appreciate a quiet room with only the company of ourselves, to enjoy a meal without checking our emails. We live in a world where when we do find ourselves forced to be alone, we must fill the hole with letting the world know exactly what we are doing, so that we don't feel so alone with ourselves. We live in a world where we feel the need to be validated by a click of a button on our life update or a photograph.
When silent hits, it makes us uncomfortable.

Take some time to be alone and to be silent. It might do you some good.

So many people who call us quiet don't truly want to hear our thoughts, ideas or anything really, they just want noise, anything to fill the silence that they cannot appreciate or understand.

Next slide, please.

When a quiet girl wants to communicate something, she does. She doesn't just communicate it, or say something to just say it, she communicates effectively and purposefully. She says exactly what she means to say and when she means to say it. Her words are developed and thought-provoking.

Have mercy on our souls that we only speak when we actually have something worth saying.

I don't think its a far reach to say that we have enough blubbering baboons around to fill the silence, we certainly don't need more of them.

I have no intention of "recovering" from my quiet nature. It's not a disease, it's a characteristic I wear with pride.
My quietness is actually a strength. Many people do not possess a quiet, strong presence. They can't. They have to be loud. They have to fill the silence in a room. Oftentimes, they are the ones intimidated by the strong silence of you, "the quiet girl." You actually have mystery to you. Intrigue.

Wallflower? Oh no, dear.

While the rest of the world is busy filling the air with meaningless small talk about the weather, my mind will be spinning, working, changing the world.

Bragging: Babies and Bae

Why I Will Brag About My Spouse On Social Media. 

It's become a hot topic on both ends on my newsfeed. 

Happy couples posting photos every day together. 

Another friend posting that they're tired of seeing mushy crap fill their feeds. 

Another friend saying that truly happy couples don't post on Facebook about it. 

This post will most likely be taken as a bias one, because I am a happily married woman. 

I'm also the girl that doesn't want to see five thousand photos of your baby, every. Single. Day. I mean, he looks the same as yesterday honey. We all know about his cute bald head and every bowel movement. Thank you. 

Do you want to see a photo of me and my husband, or any other happy couple, every single day like the bald headed (but cute, I'm sure) baby? 

No. 

Who would? 

But, will I continue to "brag" on my social media outlets about my marriage? 

You betcha. 

Will I continue to shine a light on my husband in every way and in every form and at every opportunity that I can? 

Absolutely. 

I understand that as a single person, it's probably annoying to scroll through your feed and see couples hanging all over one another, giving forehead kisses and hash-tagging #blessed for every Instagram photo (I'm personally not a fan of the latter). 

As a non-baby lover, I'm sure I make the same disgusted face when I see a baby covered in mayonnaise that you do over yet another kissing couple photo. 

BUT-I want to stand up for those of us that are genuinely happy and regularly post about our spouse on our own pages and/or write continuously on their walls even when we are sitting right next to them. 

I know that social media is often used as a highlight reel of everyone's best moments; they look happy, their makeup is done, their kids aren't hitting one another and everyone looks perfectly perfect. 

It's hard to decipher truth from reality on social media. 

We all know everyone was whining and crying before you took that photo and told everyone how #blessed you are. 

Let me be real here: life is hard. Real hard. 

When you marry someone, the right someone, you marry everything that comes with them. They become your person. 

You want to share every stupid moment with them. 

And because they are your constant in a chaotic world, 

And because they are your logical when life makes anything but sense, 

And because they are your life jacket when you feel like you're drowning, 

You want to share every stupid moment with the world, too. 

You want to share that because you still have your spouse to flirt with on their Facebook wall, 

Because you still have your spouse to clink coffee cups with, read books with, sit in church with, go to concerts with, laugh with, cry with, celebrate with, mourn with, that there is still hope.

There is still happiness. 

There is still balance when there's another person on the see-saw. 

We don't do it to rub our happiness in your face. 

We don't do it for your likes (that is an evil form of validation). 

We don't do it for you. Period. 

We do it for us. 

Sure, I tell my husband how proud of him I am every day in person. 

I grab his face and tell him who he is to me every afternoon. 

But-public recognition is important to everyone. 

We like to be told by our bosses how good of a job we are doing. 

We like to be told by strangers  in a grocery store how good of a parent we are. 

We like hearing our parents praise us for doing basic, adult responsibilities. 

Hey-it feels awesome! 

Everyone deserves that pat on the back- including our spouse. 

We don't want to fill your feed with fake, "look at us" photos, but we want to let the world know that life is freaking crazy, but you can still be happy as hell. 

And when you're that happy, you WANT to share it and you SHOULD! 

And when others are that happy, you SHOULD celebrate with them. 

I'm glad you're happy about bald baby. Even though I don't understand it (like at all), keep on sharing that happiness!

 And if it's a dog, please share even more. 

Instead of scrolling through your feed and rolling your eyes at someone else, yet again, for sharing a photo of them smooching their significant other or posting on their wall from five feet away, celebrate with them. 

They will celebrate with you too, in whatever form of happiness it is that you choose. 

But please, #blessed only on photos of pizza or puppies. 

When God Gives You A Hammer

Even if you didn't grow up in church, I'm sure you've read, or heard, the story of Noah.


Each time I've had this story taught to me, though in many different styles and by many different teachers, the focus has been fairly similar.
The ark, the flood, the animals, but most importantly-the rainbow.

Re-cap: Noah was a cool dude so God saved him and his family from destruction and showed them a pretty rainbow and we can all breathe a little easier now because God will never flood the Earth again. The end. 

Great!

Wrong. 

I don't think it's the rainbow that should always be the main focus, here. What about all the days, months, years before the rainbow?
What about all the sleepless nights before the flood ever came?
What about all of the hours in the hot sun, in the dirt, hammering away at an ark that nobody else thinks will do you any good?

Rarely ever mentioned, but so important.

Sometimes God  gives you a hammer. 
"What am I supposed to do with this, God?"

Response: "Work. Build. Hammer."

We hear God, but we look down at that hammer and question, "That's great God, but where's the pay off? Where's the harvest? Where's the flood you promised? Where's that rainbow?"
God's answer?

"Just keep hammering."

The least fun answer we can get.
No time frame of when our dreams will be fulfilled.
No clear plan of action.
Just build.

I might be going out on a limb here, but I can't believe that Noah never questioned what he was doing some days. Sure, Noah found "favor" in the eyes of the Lord (Genesis 6:8), but he was still human and he had a family to provide for. Can you imagine if God told you today to quite your day job and to start building an ark?

If you live in Seattle, maybe this wouldn't be so strange, but anywhere else, doesn't get that much rain. In fact, where Noah was, hardly EVER got rain. He was practically building an ark in an Arizona desert.
Day in and day out, Noah hammered. Noah built. Noah fumbled with nails and plywood.
I can see the looks from his neighbors now, the stares of his concerned children, the annoyed tapping of his wife's feet when Noah is more concerned with building an ark than he is helping with the dishes.

Yet, Noah built. 
Noah hammered. 
Noah waited. 
Noah got up each day, looked to the sky for rain clouds, saw an empty sky and yet continued to work and work hard. 

Sometimes God asks us to wait, to hammer, to work hard, when we would rather skip to the part about the dove and the rainbow.
Has God given you a dream?
A vision?
A glimpse into what He has for you?
I know He has me. I know He has my husband.

We look to the sky for rain clouds.
We wait. 

Waiting sucks. So does working towards something that seems useless. I'm positive there were days that Noah stood back, looked at the massive piece of scrap wood and thought, "What in the world am I doing? I work all day and all I have to show for it is an empty pocket book and a tired back. Am I going anywhere? Is the rain ever going to come?"

I have so many dreams. I have individual dreams and also dreams that my husband and I share. We question God when the rain will come. We beg Him to show us His timing! 

God, where's the flood?
Where's the rainbow we know You have for me, for us?

"Hammer. Build."

It can be a frustrating reply, but often times the answer is simply to keep working. We often have to work hard on seemingly endless, tiring, tasks before God brings us the promises He's made. 

If you sow, you will also reap.

Maybe you stand back from your eight to five job some days and wonder how in the world working there is going to get you to where you really want to be, wherever that may be, maybe the sands of another land, an orphanage, etc.

Maybe God is asking you to hammer away at a desk job, but you know that He has your heart elsewhere for a reason.

Take heart.
Noah was six hundred years old when the flood finally came.
Six. Hundred. Years. Old. 
He then had to wait another year on a smelly boat to finally reach his destination.

I think you can hammer just a little longer.
Wait for the rain a little longer.

God made His covenant with you, His promise with you; He will keep it.

Your job is to wipe the sweat from your brow, pick up that hammer, look to the sky and work hard.

Do the job you are in to the best of your ability.
Clean toilets better, fix wires better, make copies better, handle phone calls better.

Hammer.
Build.
Wait. 


Genesis 9:
12 And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come:13 I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. 

To Caler: On Your Thirteenth Birthday

Say it isn't so.
Tell me I've miscalculated the years.
How are you thirteen today? 

I suppose I knew it was coming sooner than later;  you've been reminding me and your dad that you simply cannot order off of the child's menu anymore, even if you do eat less than your younger brothers.

Thirteen year olds are basically grown-ups, right?

You want to grow up so quickly, so I want to write you to let you know that it's okay to linger in your childhood.
It's okay to take your time to grow old. 

With this letter we celebrate thirteen years of beautiful life, but with this letter I also want to remind you of so many of the things I wish I would have slowed down to hear before I grew up far too quickly.

1. Slow. Down. I know you're at the age where you want to be an adult, like yesterday. You want to drive. You want to be independent. You want to rush your childhood, racing passed it with no second thoughts. Caler,slow down. First, adulthood isn't even that fun. You want to sleep in, stay home and watch Spongebob, but you can't. You have to wear pants every single day and sticking out your tongue at jerks can get you fired. You're supposed to be "mature" and "responsible"-neither of these are fun words. Trust me, you want to listen to me on this: take your time and enjoy just being a kid. I rushed through growing up and I now long for the days of spraying canned cheese in my mouth and riding my bike until dusk.

2. Seek God above all other people. I know right now, girls are a thought, but they haven't yet taken president over video games or Saturday morning cartoons. Guess what? They will. One day, you will notice the way the sunlight makes music with a certain girl's hair instead of the score on your xbox game. It will smack you down like a ton of bricks, just like that. You will begin to spend more time ruffling gel into those curly locks of yours and try to shave hair not yet present on your upper lip. Girls are great, hey, I'm one; one day you will find a pretty amazing one (WHEN YOU'RE THIRTY). But, make sure they are not even near the top of your priority list until you find the one that God has for you (WHEN YOU'RE FORTY). God, family, yourself, your dreams, your school-these are the elements of life that should take residence in your heart until it is time to hand part of yourself over to your bride (WHEN YOU'RE FIFTY). Seek Christ above all others, all things, all dreams, all pursuits-this will lead to a joyful life, a fulfilled life, even when other partsdon't seem so great. I've made this mistake-it's not pretty. Seeking anyone but Jesus to fill you will leave you feeling so, so empty, sweet boy. 

3. Do stupid stuff. Okay, I'm not your mom or dad so I can tell you stuff like this. DO STUPID STUFF. Cocaine? bad. Toilet papering houses? good. (Don't tell dad I told you that though, okay?) Of all the things that I regret from my teenage years, doing stupid stuff (not cocaine) isn't one of them. I rolled houses. I put shaving cream on people's heads at church camp. I put flour into their blow dryers (you didn't hear that from me). I danced with my best friend in my childhood bedroom to crappy pop music until 4 am. I had a lot of fun, but stayed totally sober and never once broke curfew. It's okay to have fun. It's okay to act SILLY. Being serious all the time is lame. Laugh. Laugh a lot.

4. Never stop hanging out with your parents. I failed miserably at this one and I regret it now. I currently jump on any chance I get to lay on my parent's couch, eat their food and just talk to them. You spend so much of your teenage years wishing your parent would get off your back and then find yourself at age 25 wishing they would be around to hug your neck more often. Don't miss out on hanging out with your mom or your dad right now. Believe it or not, they're actually pretty smart, and funny, and cool people to talk to. Bonus: they both love you to pieces and want the absolute best for you, so they will be even better than talking to a best friend about your troubles, because they've been where you are. They have faced the battles you will face. You know what? I bet they have some pretty swell advice to offer.

5. Be your own person. I know the next few years are vital to your reputation (P.S-this word is dumb. Nobody really cares after graduation who you are or what you did). I know right now everything about life seems uncertain; it's constantly changing and you're growing slowly into the man you will one day be. But-be your own person. You have so much to offer the world, why would you want to imitate anyone else? Your heart, your talents, your values, your dreams-those are yours and yours alone. Develop your own thoughts, for nobody can take those from you. Vote how you want to vote, think how you want to think, feel how you want to feel. I want you to believe in something because you truly believe in it, not because you were told to believe it. I want you to be your own person and to find yourself along the way through your own life experiences. Your mom, your dad, me, we can all walk alongside you, but we can't walk for you. You have to earn your own legs and learn your own path. Know that I will be there to love you, no matter what that path may look like.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.

You are dearly, dearly loved by so many.

Now, blow out your candles and make a wish!

-B

The Place I Cannot Join You In

You are sleeping. 

Your lungs sound different when you drift off to a place that I will never be able to join you in.

Maybe we are walking together somewhere, or drinking coffee in a shop that pieces of your brain glued together; a place that only exists in the world that I will never be able to join you in. 

"No gifts, remember?"

I remember. 

This isn't a gift. 

It's a stream of consciousness, it's my own place that you will never be able to join me in.

You can only peek into it's cracked door, only briefly catch murmurs as you lean your head as closely to the white-washed door as you possibly can. 

When I was a child I lied on my back at the top of the staircase that your boys now scoot down from on their bottoms. 

I would lay there and listen to my parents talk to one another about things I shouldn't have heard. Secrets, I guess.

I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to stay awake and hear the soft tones of my mother's voice. Many times I couldn't even decipher words from the long prose she spoke, but I knew it was lovely still.

I always fell asleep. 

You stir ever so often under the sheets. I wonder what wakes you. 

Is it a nightmare? Or is it a dream so beautiful, your body is fighting to stay a little longer, in that place that I will never be able to join you in?

I'm going to paint our kitchen a pale yellow. That's how I always pictured it would be. I wanted a yellow kitchen with you so badly. I wanted a yellow kitchen, fresh wildflowers in the window and Sunday morning coffee. 

I wanted to fight with you, about anything. About sugar maybe, or the type of milk you drank straight from the carton. 

I dreamed of the simple things, like shared grocery lists and book collections. 

Was The Great Gatsby mine, or yours? 

We would laugh and shrug because it wouldn't matter anymore. 

Yours and mine would be the same. 

You're rolling over more frequently now. Dawn is stirring with you. 

This isn't a gift.

It's a stream of consciousness, it's my own place that you will never be able to join me in.

How did we get here, sleeper? 

How did we manage the climb to the top? Are we at the top? Are we somewhere in the middle? 

The middle seems like a good spot to sit and hang out for awhile. 

Like a good spot to plop down with sandwiches and talk about nothing. 

Maybe just a good spot to enjoy sharing this space with one another for a short time. 

What's it like in the place that I will never be able to join you in? Am I in a cream dress in the woods? Are we laughing? Do you spin me around and hop over fallen trees? 

You're letting one leg breathe from the sheets now. 

This chapter has been brief, lover. This one of school supplies and evening walks. This one of sharing. I share your toothbrush at times and you pretend to not enjoy that we're so comfortable.Your eyes have always been honest with me, though. 

Before this mid-climbing spot of sharing air, you told me that you would always meet me there, in that place that you will never be able to join me in. 

I can't meet you there either, in that place I will never be able to join you in. 

It is a place that we can not share together. 

We go there and we toss. We turn. We let our legs breathe from the sheets. 

We go to this place that we can not share and we still search for the other. 

We search for the pale yellow kitchen. 

We search for the shared book collections, the shared coffee creamer. 

We search for anything to share in this place that we can never join one another in. 

You are about to wake. You're becoming more vocal now. 

I think we always search for a space to share with one another; I think we always have been searching and always will. 

This isn't a gift.

It's a stream of consciousness, it's my own place that you will never be able to join me in.

You're awake.