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.

"Florita" and other important things.

"I know you're not perfect, but I think you're great anyway."

And all day, feelings have been rising from their roots and growing again, and I don't know if it's some phantom limb or the actual thing, but it feels more real to me than it has in months. In months. I go and all of sudden the words start buzzing like a hummingbird's wings, incomprehensible but still there, still so solidly there and I can't ignore them. It's like those chocolates, that sat on my shelf for months, for months, and I just looked at them every day and couldn't do a blessed thing about them because what does one do with a present someone gave to you before you rocked their world? What does one do with those feelings after you tell yourself to stop feeling them?

I suppose it goes without saying, but no matter what I say, I am still me, and no matter what you do, you are still you, and no matter what we pretend, we are still us and we will always be us. We can't change that. I can't change that. I don't know how to change that and I don't want to change that. We'll always be this in between and we'll always be more than nothing but less than something, in all sense of the phrase. You will always be you and I will always be me and because of that, we will always be us.

I just don't know how to live like I'm dying, I don't know how to live like I'm living, either. I don't even know what that means. Right now I'm living and some day I won't be. Can't I live like I'm immortal because in this moment I am and forever will be? Can't we live in our moments? Do we always have to live for the next one? If you keep living for your next moment, at some point, you're living for something that doesn't even exist, aren't you? Where am I going with this? Where are we going with us? Where is He going with me?

I don't mean to be rude, but what do you do and why do you do it? What will it ever accomplish? Shouldn't you live for this moment and not any of the ones before? Isn't that what I'm doing today? Why can't I have the answers?

When I got my wisdom teeth out two years ago, I fell asleep with my coat on. When I woke up, it was off. I kept asking, "When did I take off my coat? Who took off my coat?" and the doctor kept saying, "Shh, shh, stop talking. It'll only make it worse." And of course, this just made me more panicky, because why was it easier for him to say that instead of just telling me when I took my coat off? Why did he think that would be easier for me to hear? I never found out when I took off my coat that day, and I hope that isn't some sort of foreshadowing for how my life will play out.

love always, laura elizabeth.

"Don't ask, don't tell" tell-all.

It was bound to happen, really. Like, it was a night three weeks in the making, practically.

It's funny how when some inhibitions let go, some voices of reason come back. Voices of reason that say, "What does it matter if you drive by his street at one in the morning? Is he going to see you? No. So why would you?" And so you don't, despite a million and one times where that didn't matter. Voices of reason that say, "So let him be. Let yourself be."

And of course, letting go of the inhibitions is part of the rules. You give some, you take some, and some just had to go. That's just how you play. And in this game, this boy always wins. It could practically be called his game. It's in how he treats you all night, it's in how he responds barely then completely. It's in the "goodnight" text he sends half an hour later. It isn't coincidence, you know. Sure, he might be thinking about you, but he's thinking about how he can get you to keep coming back, and that's the real reason he presses send. Mitchell has succeeded in making me cynical, people. He's accomplished almost the impossible in making a true romantic see reality.

Another voice of reason- "Why don't you name him on your blog? It's silly. He's just a person." And so I listen tonight, instead of ignoring it, like in the past million and one posts.

He succeeded. You succeeded. I succeeded, but I lost, too.

love always, laura elizabeth.

Heaven and Hell: an analysis.

I never really had words, but at least I used to think I do.

 

 

But here's the thing:

we fall without meaning to

and we love without trying to.

we hope without meaning to.

we die without trying to.

if you haven't recognized that,

you're in denial and need to soul search

(or something.)

 

Speaking of soul searching,

I'll meet you all again in the stars someday.

I try not to think of all the people I won't know in ten years,

because they're my world and it's like the world explodes

every time I say goodbye.

I don't let go easy.

Addy once said I taught her to let go easy,

and I'd like to intervene and say that she doesn't know me very well,

because I don't let go easy.

I grab on too fast,

I hold on too tight,

and I don't let go easy.

I'll search for you in the stars.

I'll search for those nights, those feelings.

Every feeling, every person, every moment,

they make up the stars,

and someday I'll have the time to search through them again.

I'll see you then.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.