You ever feel like you're just looking for someone in someone else?

*texts crush first without hesitation*

*2 seconds later*

Oh god why did I do T H A T

He was always the sensible choice. He's an engineer going to grad school with his life together, and he has everything going for him. We have tons in common and we have so much fun together.

Dating him was a choice I made when I realized I would be stupid not to go for it. I would be stupid to let this one go. And so for over a year, we've had a smooth, stable, easy, loving thing going. I thought to myself, this is it. This is the one I'm going to end up with forever.

And I didn't realize what had been missing from the beginning until the day I met someone who put a fire in my heart, and it's been burning there ever since. My boyfriend makes me feel warm and safe and comfortable, but I realized that for the first time in years, someone else was making me feel alive.

And somewhere there between lonely nights, prolonged conversations, shared laughs and private tears, I'm supposed to find a meaning to all of this. All of us.

People come and go, in and out of your life, to make you see the world in a way you never thought to look at it.

But you made me see myself. You taught me how my lips curve into a smile whenever I see those eyes twinkle at me. You taught me how happy I can be, if I just put myself out there and have the courage to dream.

But you also taught me how fragile I am and how easily tears flow down my cheeks onto my pillow at night.

And maybe that's the meaning of us. To make me realize that people are never just good or bad, but both at the same time and everything in between. People are people. Even the best ones. Even you.

- Circles

I just want to be able to love you, tenderly.

It used to hurt. Thinking about you. Thinking of what we lost. Apparently it hurt so much the nerves in my body thought I was in pain and reacted. That's why my heart clenched when I thought of you. Now I'm at the airport. About to hop on a plane. And it doesn't hurt as much. I still think of you and don't get me wrong it still hurts. But not as bad as it used too. And I can't help but hope maybe it means I'm finally moving on. You will always be my first love. But I have to move on. For as both. And as the plane pulls up. I think I finally have a chance.

I drove him home last night when he was completely hammered. He sang karaoke with me the whole ride, and asked me to come tuck him in. Seeing as I have it bad for him, of course I obliged. So I tucked him in, filled him up a glass of water, and then asked if there was anything else he needed before I left.

He stopped with the joking, and reached for my hand. I gave him a confused look, and he slurred out "You are so beautiful. I don't mean in just the physical way, cause you're kind. I hope you get everything you've ever wanted in life...cause karma goes both ways, you know? You deserve every wish you've ever had."

So I kissed him on the forehead, and headed out for the night. It was the only way I could stop myself from asking if that included him.

I feel like a crumbling building, so I create.

I take paintbrushes and, even though I have no built skill in drawing or painting, I make bumpy edges to soft drawings with water. I smile when it resembles my reference photo.

I take my guitar and sing, sometimes songs that are already written and sometimes songs that I'm writing.

I take my pen and write poems, a stream of consciousness, or letters to her. I, like my brush, paint her in what I imagine her to be inside of my heart like some sort of caveman. It's a crude and strongly misrepresentative, but it's honest.

These are just ways to build more bricks, and so far today I've built more than I've crumbled.


She showed me her secret One Direction blog today. She was red-faced, and clearly thought that this was the end-all of secrets.

But I simply scrolled through, laughing at her silly commentary in the tags.

I think it possibly made me fall harder for her.

I always wrote off your eyes. From stolen sideways glances across the room I saw them as plain dark brown, almost black, an outlier in the realm of the rest of your irresistible features.

But then we talked; our first real conversation in years. Words slid easily through by mouth, a sharp contrast from my usual reserved self. I couldn't tell if I couldn't stop smiling because you were, or vise versa.

That night, when I closed my eyes, all I could think about was yours. Up close they aren't black at all, they glow golden brown. And when you look at me, your stare holds and I wonder what you think of my eyes.