my heart, my messes.


Why is my heart always flirting with disaster? Why must i allow myself just enough to keep me wanting more? Why do I set up the road blocks only to kick them over time to time, for quick glimpses of gratification? How is it possible to desire chaos so severely, while at the very same moments, my actions only serve to guard and avoid even the slightest of waves.

Why not step out of my own way? Allowing my heart to make a mess of things once in a while. Oh, to get so swept up in a mess that each breath gets tripped up in the throat and all the words to describe it get caught between tongue and lip. There is beauty is the unmanageable. Real, raw, unfiltered beauty to be experienced and enjoyed.

Is not having to clean up the debris and stand up for made mistakes worth never having the indescribable feelings and emotions that can undoubtedly make me feel absolutely alive? Perhaps my heart isn't the one flirting with disaster. Maybe its my not allowing the heart what it calls for that is the real disaster.

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[par-uh-shoot] noun, verb, -chut·ed, -chut·ing.
a folding, umbrellalike, fabric device for allowing a person, to float down safely through the air from a great height.

“But it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.” — American Beauty