New Moons

Depth Perception.

the favorite bulb is the one that shines on a fogged up mirror

the favorite song the one loud enough to escape

sun drips down, sticky and slick,

on to what you cannot wear to the pool,

on to what you cannot eat after 4pm,

moon washes over, tightening, suffocating,

like the covers you wrap around yourself,

like the folds you pinch and pull,

like everything that isn't the same on your face or on your hair or on your hand or in your head

and you can't,

you can't iron it out, you can't cut it out,

every day that the moon gets fuller and every day that the sun gets brighter is the day you realize the beauty in everything but yourself and

every day that you manage to hide behind or be less than or just not show up is another day you compare the beauty in everything including yourself and

that's the day you don't like the results

so how long until our favorite moon isn't full anymore?

how long until it's the one that doesn't even appear?

love always, laura elizabeth.

Les Étoiles.

In the French language, to be born lucky is "être né sous une bonne étoile," or to be born under a good star.

Well, mon petit chou, the sky tonight is looking more beautiful than the one before we met, though it isn't quite up to par to the first time our hands became acquainted or certainly when our lips became lovers, the sky was beautiful when we were thrown together in a scene and even more so than when it was over, the sky was beautiful when it watched us talk on your driveway until an hour too late, and the night we climbed on top of all sorts of things was covered by one of the most beautiful of all,

mais j’étais née sous la nuit avec les meilleurs étoiles, parce que je peux te connaître maintenant.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Sunshine Days.

A lovely little post just to fill you in.

If you're reading this, you probably either care about me to some degree or you're a complete stranger, so I feel completely fine with saying what one of my biggest problems is: I feel so much more inspired when my heart weighs heavier and when my rainboots are downtrodden, which isn't to say that this past month or so has been perfect and joyful at all times but as much as I'm sure you'd love to hear about the stress in my life, that's something I should probably stick to verbally venting to Sarah. I could hide behind the fact that I've been too busy to breathe, almost, let alone write, but any good writer would shake their head at me for merely suggesting it. No, I haven't written because how do you write about one of the happiest times of your life? How do you describe feeling more loved than you can remember? How could I ever put into words the exact way he makes me feel safe even when he's not there because I know I'm in his thoughts the way he's in mine? Why do you think Taylor Swift has so few songs about how great her life is?

The fact of the matter is, there are a million different ways I could tell about how my heart's been broken. I can take the smallest fissure someone's created and write something eloquent about it, given enough passion to. But all I can say about my heart nowadays is that it grows warmer every time he cooks me a meal or makes sure to tell me goodnight, or that he opens literally every door, or that he massages my back, or that he continues to let me tickle him because he knows how much I love it, and I love all of it, and I love him, and I love the way he makes me feel every day even though I don't know how to express it at all, and I can't think of any better way to describe how well we work together than to say we can beat anyone at charades if we're playing together, and I might have a block when it comes to writing about happiness but I hope it's enough to say that I'm happy when I'm with him. So, there you go.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Embers.

I guess the shoe only fits in fairy tales.

Tonight, I'm considering putting my thoughts to flame,

just to see if you'd make for the fire escape

or still relentlessly stick around.

Tonight, I'm considering not closing my eyes,

just to see how well they would adapt

to not recreating you for a night.

Tonight, I'm considering just how you managed

to parade right on in without ever auditioning,

without ever paying the admittance fee,

and without ever learning your cues,

because now I can't even remember what act preceded yours,

all I know is that act ended and packed up and left

without me even realizing it, and I still haven't, and I won't,

and I'm considering how you really make me feel,

because it's alright to pretend I'm the ringleader

and it's alright to pretend I'm a lion tamer

and it's alright to pretend I'm able to spiral out of a cannon

but how long until the pretense burns away like I wish you would

and how long until the audience realizes I have nothing under control

and how long until you're tired of performing

I only have so long left in this town,

you only have so long left in my show,

so why don't we make it memorable while we can

and then let the embers burn down

love always, laura elizabeth.

Story Time.

"Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love."

-Albert Einstein

Imagine the exhilaration of speeding along the freeway at night, completely focused on the wind rushing through your hair.

Imagine the beauty of a drive through the autumnal canyon, drinking in every detail of the leaves and the trees and the people around you.

Imagine the crisp taste of a coke on a Friday night, partying with your friends because it's finally the weekend, acting like it's the last night you'll live.

Imagine the comfort of caramel hot chocolate, curled up next to a fireplace, reading your favorite book and relishing in your abounding free time.

Imagine the wonder of a fierce storm, water rocketing towards the earth like bullets, lightning lighting up the sky like nothing you've ever seen, the thunder right afterwards resonating in your very bones.

Imagine the nostalgia of watching the sky's tear drops slide peacefully towards the bottom of your window, tracing their tracks as they slowly make them.

Imagine the fascination of a different country, stepping foot in a place completely foreign to you and diving into the culture without inhibitions.

Imagine the relief of your own home, of your own bed, of your own pillow, of being surrounded by those you've known your entire life, those who will love you endlessly.

Imagine the bass of the best dance songs you've every heard, pumping through a room packed full with gyrating bodies, dancing along because no one's paying any attention to anyone else.

Imagine the rifts of your very favorite music, the kind that can make you cry because it's pure poetry put to a tune and all it's ever done is remind you of times lost.


Imagine putting all these things together, and giving the result a name, and tell me

Do you really expect love to make any sense?


love always, laura elizabeth.

More Poems, Less Sleep.

"You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough."

-Mae West

Right now, Addy is [hopefully] asleep in the beautiful city. 

Right now, Benjamin is probably watching a movie.

Right now, Sarah is probably reading Nico a bedtime story.

Right now, Kelsie is probably watching tv with Taylor.

Right now, someone is dying.

Right now, someone is being born.

Right now, someone is about to give up.

Right now, someone is being saved.

Right now, someone's breaking up with someone else.

Right now, someone's about to go all the way for the first time.

Right now, someone just cheated on their significant other.

Right now, someone just had their first kiss.

Right now is the most important moment of everyone's life.

Right now is the loneliest,

Right now is the happiest,

Right now is the most heart breaking,

Right now is the absolute sweetest,

Right now is the worst,

Right now is the very best,

Right now is the only moment you have.

What are you doing with it?

love always, laura elizabeth.

TGIF.

"One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody."

-Mother Theresa

But here's the true, real, completely accurate and exact thing,

is that you're taking everything you don't know about me

and making it what you do know about me,

and it's alright and it's all good and all fine right now

because it's the weekend, weekend lover,

but what happens on Monday again,

what happens at the next beginning,

what happens next middle,

what happens next end and when will it really end?


Sometimes I wonder why we keep moving forward only to end up where we started.


Sometimes I wonder why we keep moving even if we don't know if it's forward,

we keep moving even if we don't know what we're moving to

even if we don't know when we will get there

we don't know how we'll get there

who are we going for

or why


The truest thing I can say about this

is how you're taking everything you don't know about me

and pretending it's everything you do know


love always, laura elizabeth

Hopeless.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

-Robert Frost

write more, talk less.

smile more, sigh less.

think more, act less.

dance more, walk less.

sleep more, cry less.

hold on more, let go less.

let go more, hold on less.

allow more, push less.

defend more, tolerate less.

notice more, see less.

listen more, hear less.

remember more, regret less.

feel more, feel less.

love more, love less.

hope more, hope less.

live more, die less.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Cinnamon.

It only lasts if you make it last.

How mundane of you, to sit there and pretend like you're noticing everyone but me.
How mundane of you, to watch me pretend like I'm noticing everyone but you.

How mundane was it when the spearmint from your breath
breezed through my window when I passed you by
How mundane was it when my eyelashes fell off, remembering how
they used to brush the cinnamon off your cheeks

How mundane was it when neither of us tripped, neither of us hit the ground
but we keep pulling these Leaning Tower of Pisa moves on each other,
we never fell but we haven't been properly upright for some time now
How mundane was it when we pretended
but we were never pretending
yet we're still pretending

How mundane is it, that I can feel so much about so little and so little about so much
How mundane is it, that you're so utterly not mundane

love always, laura elizabeth

Night Owl.

Say what you need to say.

It's only because of how much I care about the stardust dripping from lamp posts that I've noticed how little you care about the storms dripping down my face, and it's only because of how much I loved it when you played me the piano that I noticed my piano hasn't been played since.

Have some of my words stuck to you, like yours to me? I can't shake them off. I can't peel them off. I can't scrub them off, though God knows I've tried. I'm trying. I will always try but you are the one who showed me how much energy has to be put into something that will last. I've spent so much of my energy on you, for so long. I've spent so much energy on all of you. It's only because of how little energy I get back that I've noticed how much energy I've spent on all of you. And I can't anymore. I can't give energy without receiving any, because that is why I keep burning out. That's why I saw spots this morning, and why I couldn't stop shaking, and why I almost threw up every time I opened my mouth. It's because of all the energy I don't have to expend on you anymore. I have much more important things to spill my energy into every day than you. 

Watch out, darling. Watch yourself. Your cheeks are beginning to crack from the over-concentration of salt, and the colors of your eyes are beginning to look permanently green. Your pillow is beginning to stain black where your eyelashes lay, and there is always hair stuck under your fingernails from clutching your head too tight. Your eyebrows are starting to stay creased, love, so be careful; my mirror can only hide so much. Don't become so stagnant. Don't forget to breathe. Don't let yourself become stone.

love always, laura elizabeth.

After.

Show me how you make a first impression.

 

 

 

The fact of the matter is, for every relationship there are three parts: the before, the during, and the after. By rule of thumb, the length of the during oftentimes is positively correlated with the length of the before. What I mean to say is, the amount of energy you put into a relationship before it's solidified determines the longevity of the relationship itself. An unfortunate fact, however, is that the after is the longest stage of the whole process, sometimes spanning up to years; it never really goes away, in the end. People leave their mark on you forever. You can never truly be over someone until you've established feelings with someone else, and even then there will be lingering nostalgias.

 

At any rate, I've been stuck in the "after" for quite a long time now. I know I'm close to the very end because I find myself wishing for, wanting, craving the feelings that come with the "before." I want to feel twitterpated. I want to think about a guy and have my stomach explode with butterflies. I want to be smiled at and be happy for the rest of the day. I crave the idea of someone I can stress over, with all the childish hopes and fears that comes with a crush. I'm so tired of meeting a guy, hooking up within days, and two weeks later pretending like I never even knew him. I'm so tired of wanting someone to care. I just want someone to care, is that too much to ask?

 

Basically, I want a guy to sit with me and read. I want a guy who'll present me with movie after movie, and force me to sit down and watch them with him. I want a guy who'll do homework with me, even though we won't talk the entire time because I'll get too distracted. I want a guy to take me bowling, and to Color Me Mine, and to little art galleries in Salt Lake City because that's what all the hipster couples like to do.

 

I want a guy to want to know me. I want a guy who will study me, and learn all the things that I do, and reference them at random times. I want to be surprised by how much he knows about me, because there are definitely things that I don't talk about. I want a guy to tell me that I'm actually not inferior. I want a guy who wants to make me feel beautiful. I want a guy who loves to hold me.

 

But mostly, I just want to know that I'm loved.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.



Full Moons.

We're going in circles, but dizzy's all it makes us.

The strangest thing about sleeping tonight

is how you will be too.

The strangest thing about tonight's moon

is that we will both see the same one.

The strangest thing about the smell of the rain

is that it will smell the same to the both of us.

How can we be so close, in so many ways,

how can we be so far apart in all the others.

The strangest thing about my memories of us

is how different they will be.

The strangest thing about the way I feel now

is how much you don't feel the same.

The strangest thing about my salty cheeks

is how you never saw them in the first place.

How could we have been so close, in so many ways,

to have been so far apart in all the others.

The strangest thing about you

was always how you felt about me.

The strangest thing about me

was never how I felt about you.

The strangest thing about us today

is how alike it is to how we were then

love always, laura elizabeth.

So.

"And my only regret is having regrets."

Everything is so different.

Everything is the same.

Everyone is so different.

Everyone is the same

I'm stuck. I'm stuck in limbo. I'm stuck in a reality of knowing everyone and knowing no one.

It's like I'm so close to freedom, it's like I'm so close to a fresh start that I can literally taste the Starbucks that I will drink so independently. I'm so close I already don't have the money for basic needs, such as food. I'm so close I've already alienated myself from everyone I know. In fact, I'm so close I can almost feel myself bouncing back. I can almost feel myself running right back over bridges that have long since burned away, running back to people who's backs have been turned for far too long. I'm running back and I'm running forward and I'm trying so hard to just stand still, all at the same time, and I don't know how to be independent and I don't know how not to be, I don't know how to let go but I don't know how to hold on, either.

This is limbo, folks. This is Senior Year.

It's funny to me, that limbo is called what it is. I mean, you have the limbo that I'm talking of, a sort of in between, abstract idea of a place where you're trying to get to where you're going by going as far away as possible while staying in the same exact place; but you also have the other limbo, the game that they play at cheesy Hawaiian parties where you have to lean back as far as you can to pass under a bar someone else has set. It's funny to me, because aren't they the same thing? Aren't I bending over backwards trying to reach the standard that was set by someone else? Couldn't I lose my balance at any moment? Isn't everyone waiting for that to happen?

I'm currently so stuck on the idea of moments that last infinity. I have so many, too many to count, too many to name, too many to remember, but they're still there. They're still affecting me. They still pop up in moments of "Remember When?" And maybe they aren't hilarious moments that I can tell at parties, that'll make everyone like me, but they're important memories all the same because I wasn't worrying about the past, I wasn't worrying about the future, I wasn't even worrying about the present; I was just living. Isn't that a great standard to live by? Isn't that an impossibly low bar to limbo under?

Don't worry, life is only as difficult and depressing as you make it. Don't worry, vulnerability is a losing characteristic nowadays. Don't worry, I can use anaphora in everything I do and recognize that I'm doing it.

Don't worry, because I'll be here long after I'm gone.

love always, laura elizabeth.

June '13.

I have the emotion to write poetry, really, I do. I have the vocabulary and I have the knowledge, at least I seem to think I do, which is all that really mattered anyway. I lack the phrasing. I lack the metaphors. I know enough about good poetry to recognize it and be jealous of the author, but I don't know enough to actually write it myself, I end up trying something like this until I inevitably get frustrated. The words necessary to capture you elude me, and it's frustrating, but I'll keep trying, because I really do know enough about poetry that I should be able to write it well by now.

I think it's funny that last November I hadn't done Ballet in five weeks and I almost quit, but now I have three toenails falling off and more blisters than I would prefer because I was just the lead in Snow White. I think it's funny that a year ago, I was thinking about how two years previous to that I had my first kiss and since then I had fallen in and out of love with someone new. I was wrong, of course, I was still so very deep in the trenches of World War Mitchell a year ago from right now. I know I really am free now, though, because every other week the same thought floats to the top of my mind that says, "Remember when we were in love?" It's not accompanied by feelings of sadness, either. It's not accompanied by much, really. It's just accompanied with some lines of songs and seven digits that are as persistent as the sun. But it's no point, really. Where we used to struggle to stop talking to each other, we now struggle to continue. We can't have a lasting conversation to save, well, anything, really. This isn't to say that there are hard feelings between us. This isn't to say we don't care. This is just to say that we've truly moved on. It shouldn't be allowed to move on as far as we have, because we've moved on so much that we've almost moved back in, and isn't that a disaster waiting to happen.

The problem is, I'm waiting for love. I'm waking up and telling myself that I have more than enough love to supply a third world country, and then I'm going to sleep telling myself that maybe the sun will bring more opportunities. I can't keep living based on the sun, guys, because it's Summer and I'd much rather have the starlight in my eyes. But that isn't the problem here. The problem is, I'm waiting for love, and love doesn't come to those who wait for it. Love sneaks up unexpected, when you're too busy splashing around in the ocean, when you're too busy buying otter pops from the local neighborhood kids, when you're too busy doing your online classes because you're too good of a student not to. It's not that I'm not doing those things, but I never let my back be fully turned in case Love decides to make a visit and I might miss it if I'm not watching out for it. I know this isn't how love operates, but I also don't know this at all. Who am I to say that's how it happens? I know She Will Be Loved, I know it forwards and back, but when will I Be Loved?

Boys go on missions. I go to Target. C'est la vie.
~laura elizabeth

Laissez les bons temps rouler.

Do you really want to live forever?

 

 

Joyeux Mardi Gras, toute le monde. It's Mardi Gras, it's fat Tuesday, everyone indulge and laugh and do crazy things because it's a beautiful night in the life, and it won't last forever. Tomorrow's Lent, and tonight, you not only have to give up the day but something about you that you want to change. You have to give it up until Easter, in what Madame says is 41 days (but I'm confused because from now until Easter is 47 days. But it's okay). Maybe at that point you'll be more grateful when you get it back, or maybe by that point you'll have broken the habit. Either way, 'tis the season for change. Forget New Year's Resolutions, half baked wishes that don't make it past March or April if you're dedicated. This is the real deal, a real tradition that people in cultures completely foreign to us prepare for and put a lot of stock in. Why doesn't America follow this? The inventors of Lent even thought through the fact that everyone gives up trying to be better at some point and learns to love themselves; they just made their "resolutions" 41 (47?) days long. Then you can eat chocolate on Easter again and life is good.

Okay, well, I'm giving up sugar, mostly. I mean there's sugar in everything but I'm not gonna drink soda or eat ice cream or even worse, chocolate. That's right; I finished off my entire stash of reesees and heart shaped york patties tonight in preparation for my hiatus. This will be good. Maybe some healthy eating will stick with me.

But here's the thing; that's not all I'm giving up for Lent. I'm officially, finally, permanently giving up you; God knows it's been long enough. But not just you, I'm giving up a couple other "you"s too because they're people that aren't gonna do me any good. I can wish and I can hope and I've certainly been dreaming about a different life, a more glamorous one, one where I'm twitterpated over a guy that pays attention to me or one where cute boys come up and ask for my number. You guys, it isn't me. I might want it to be, but it's not me, and that will never be me. Leave all that short cuteness to the Justyns and Matties of the world. I'm not short. And I don't have pretty hair, either, so don't even pretend like you like playing with it.

Anyway. No matter how many times I have to say it to myself, I will keep on saying it until I'm happier with my love life: It doesn't matter who I'm not, it matters who I am. Maybe we are all made out of mice, but we're all made out of lions, too, and I will punch you in the face if you tell me there's no owl in me too. It's not like we're all the same, it's not like we're supposed to have been. And it's not like we're always going to be the same, either; we have to let ourselves move on internally before it can happen externally, too. So this Lent, I'm giving up on that me, the me of the past and the me of my dreams, I'm giving up on you and you and you and him, and I'm also giving up on sugar. Wish me luck or good Karma or something.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Bingham Boys.

Young, wild, & free.




So when was the last time you looked at someone? The last time you actually looked at someone's face, looked into their eyes, and didn't let yours dart away the second they met? When was the last time you held someone's gaze just a little too long? When was the last time you smiled at a complete stranger? When was the last time you told someone you didn't know to have a great day, and truly meant it?

When was the last time you felt like someone you didn't know cared? When was the last time you felt like someone you didn't know, wanted to know you? When was the last time you truly, absolutely knew you were doing something right in your life? When was the last time you were okay with getting lost a little? When was the last time you texted him first? When was the last time you danced out of pure joy, because you finally got the girl, finally got the job, finally got the part, finally got the grade?

When was the last time you did something crazy? When was the last time you kissed someone? When was the last time you jumped in a pool, or a pond, or a lake? When was the last time you trespassed?

So maybe he doesn't like you. Maybe he told you the girl he likes is in love with someone else, and maybe you know that that girl isn't you. Maybe he told you you're a good friend. Maybe he didn't say anything to you at all. Is that something you can change in the next fifteen minutes? Give yourself fifteen minutes and do something with them. Make moments, people; life is about the little things, no matter what your math teacher tells you about the ACT. You aren't going to get everything in life and that's a fact. It might not be something you'll always want to hear but it will always be something you need to live with. And that certainly doesn't mean you can't take the next fifteen minutes and find a stranger, talk to him, smile at him, flirt with him. It doesn't mean you can't blast music in the car, scream sing along even though your throat is already gone, follow random people around just because you can. It doesn't mean you can't take every oppurtunity to laugh. Memories don't make themselves, you guys. You have to go out, be actively searching for these moments, you have to be willing to say yes. You have to be willing to let go of all the bad minutes and immerse yourself in the next fifteen. Don't let the boys keep getting you down. Don't let your hair keep getting you down. Whatever you do, don't let technological difficulties get you down (yes, this is a reference to the two huge pictures.) Because you only have so many moments. Whatever anyone tells you about minutes and hours and days, life is composed of moments, chronologically stacked up in our heads. Make moments, not salt water.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Wild adventures.

Rules of Adventuring:

1. Go somewhere you don't know.

2. Take lots of pictures.

 

I just want him to know me.

I want him to KNOW me, everyone. I want him to not just know me but try to know EVERYTHING about me, because isn't that just one of those romantic ideas? The boy that you didn't know, that tries to know everything about you just because he can? There's a lot to know about me, even though I don't always think so. He can know how my shoulder blades stick out; how I can actually grab someone's hand with my shoulder blades intentionally. I want him to know this, and not just because it's practically my signature trick. I want him to know every song on the playlist I listen to almost every night, and I want him to know why that song is on there. I really want this, people. I want him to know the significance of the song "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John and why it almost moves me to tears. I want him to know why I love owls so much, and I want him to know the first owl I ever loved. I want him to know not just the one pair of shoes that I wear every day, but all my pairs. I want him to know Psych like I do. I want him to know why I stayed in Ballet, and why I'm in Musical Theater, and why I'm going to try out for Dance Company next year. I want him to know all the places to take me when I'm in all the moods I have. I want him to know what I believe, and why, and how I feel about God and how I feel about the Holocaust. I want him to know how long I've had my same teddy bear and I want him to know how I snuggle down with it every night. I want him to know the smell of Caramel Machiatto on my breath, the smell of my shampoo in my thin, thin hair. I want him to know how I feel about my height. I want him to know me, but mostly I want him to want to know me.

Look, I know where I stand with people. I know where I stand with him. It's getting better, sure, but we don't have nearly enough time for all the knowledge I want him to have. I know that I tend to grab onto things with both hands too fast. I know that I tend to jump into shallow waters head first and maybe that's why I keep ending up broken. But it's so hard to not just jump in when you can already feel yourself slipping, you know? And boy, am I slipping and sliding all over the place, and I don't know how long I can last before I just take the dive and hope the water's deep enough that I won't get hurt right off the bat. But I guess it's still too early to tell.

love always, laura elizabeth.



525,600 minutes.

Smile more, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

 

 

Take chances, you guys. Stop telling yourself it's okay to be down because we're in the blue months and just be happy again because snow is actually really fun and the cold is fleeting. You don't have to be at the beach or pool or out of school to be happy, honestly. Just be happy. Don't get too stressed about grades, please, stop that. If an A- doesn't kill me, it won't kill you. Ditto for Bs and Cs. Oh, and stop stressing about drama that will eventually pass anyway. Boys suck, I get it. I understand. It's okay. We have so much life in front of us that he will soon be one tiny inkspill on one, maybe two pages. This is high school. Nothing lasts forever that starts today, unless you really want it to. When I say that, I mean friendships and good times, but it's also true for the bad times, too. Things will last a lot longer if you keep putting so much energy into them, so stop it. You're only tiring yourself. Oh, and stop believing you have to be like everyone else. You really don't. Be yourself. It's enough, really, it is. Stop telling yourself you aren't beautiful, in fact, the opposite is true. It's so exhausting to always be putting yourself down, so just stop, please. You have 525,600 minutes every year, and every minute you spend being sad is a minute you could've been happy. It's okay to be sad sometimes, but you gotta make up for those minutes lost.

 

And if you take anything away from this post, make it this: Stop doing your homework sometimes. Not too often, and not a lot, but really. Find something better to do with your time sometimes. It isn't the end of the world. Take it from me.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.



People, God, and other things to believe in.

Not all who wander are lost.

 

 

 

It's hardly a coincidence that all the things in my current life are suddenly coming together to make me believe that much more in the consciousness we loosely call God. I'm not in India, studying in an ashram (though I desperately want to be), but I am reading "Eat Pray Love" and I'm in India with her, which is sort of the same thing, and maybe living vicariously through her is enough to get me where I need to be with my spirituality. Because here's the thing, the road to healing oneself isn't some straight, smooth plane of easiness. Not that anything really broke me, except myself, probably. I'm good at that; I think we all are. I could tell you in a million and one ways the reasons why I am not enough, but I will refrain and simply tell you the one reason why I am: Because I am alive, and God lives in me.

 

I'm not religious to any extent; that much about me is painfully obvious. But that in no way means I'm not spiritual. I'm a dancer, aren't I? I've tapped into that energy more than some, even if I've been hesitant to call it divinity. But here's the thing. I finally stopped putting out the negative energy that has kept me cynical and within the hour, I received positive energy back. If that isn't God, then I honestly don't know what is. I might be skeptical about religion and Bible stories and creation and everything else I know almost nothing about, but when it comes to God, I know him as much as the next person.

 

Who am I to tell myself I am not enough? In one regard, who am I to keep telling myself that I will ultimately end up alone? Who am I to tell myself this means there's something wrong with me? I know it's been said that we accept the love we deserve, and I think it's about time I realize I deserve a lot more than what I've been accepting lately. Look at me. I've stooped to the point where I am attached to a boy who loves to call me because he thinks I'm hot. That isn't some high love, people. That's the love of physicality. Which, of course, is important, but it's the root of love, and certainly not all I deserve.

 

Before today, before this moment, I never truly understood that quote, the "we accept the love we think we deserve." I mean, I always thought that the fact I am a hopeless romantic meant I already think I deserve great love. But that's not it. In fact, being the hopeless romantic I am and have been has left me incredibly vulnerable to the love I've been accepting lately, because if we're being honest with ourselves, hopeless romantics will accept almost any love due to the fact that all they want is romance. But that doesn't mean I can't and haven't already changed. I'm still a hopeless romantic, but in the best way. So come at me, people, and do your worst; I'm riding high on the vibes of positive energy that was bound to make its way back to me eventually. And that is the meaning of God.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.