is that destiny?

We create our lives a thought at a time. And sometimes, it comes down to changing a thought such as "Why did this happen to me?" into "There is a divine plan and there is a reason for this, and my choice is to create the most positive reaction I can.

LOVE OF MINE

Are your palms sweaty, is your heart racing, And your voice caught within your chest?

* It isn't Love, it's Like.

You can't keep your eyes or hands off of them, am I right?

* It isn't Love, it's Lust.

Are you proud, and eager to show them off?

* It isn't Love, it's Luck.

Do you want them because you know they're there?

* It isn't Love, it's Loneliness.

Are you there because it's what everyone wants?

* It isn't Love, it's Loyalty.

Do you stay for their confessions of Love, because you don't want to hurt them?

* It isn't Love, it's Pity.

Are you there because they kissed you, or held your hand?

* It isn't Love, it's being Unconfident.

Do you belong to them because their sight makes your heart skip a beat?

* It isn't Love, it's Infatuation.

Do you pardon their faults because you care about them?

* It isn't Love, it's Friendship.

Do you tell them every day they are the only one you think of?

* It isn't Love, it's a Lie.

Are you willing to give all of your favorite things for their sake?

* It isn't Love, it's Charity.

Does your heart ache and break when they're sad?

* Then it's Love.

Are you attracted to others, but stay with them faithfully without regret?

* Then it's Love.

Do you accept their faults because they're a part of who they are?

* Then it's Love.

Do you cry for their pain, even when they're strong?

* Then it's Love.

Do their eyes see your true heart, and touch your soul so deeply it hurts?

* Then it's Love.

But do you stay because a blinding, incomprehensible mix of pain and elation pulls you close and holds you?

* Then it's Love.

Would you give them your heart, your life, your death?

* Then it's Love.

Now, if Love is painful, and tortures us so,
why do we Love?
Why is it all we search for in life?
This pain, this agony?
Why is it all we long for?
This torture, this powerful death of self?
Why?
Because it's...
Love

love

"Writing is easy. Anyone can do it. All you have to do is … Okay, I’m lying. But there are people who think like that. Those who don’t write, usually. They could write a book … they were always good at school essays … it’s just that they’ve always been too busy with important things. But if they had the time they could knock it off in no time at all."

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Sometimes I wonder
What it would be like to live above
The thick white clouds
My wings slowly moving
Watching the mortals below
And never be able to touch them

I am created to envy their eternal existence
My soul wounded,
I look to the sky
And meet a pair of eyes
Filled with the longing
To be me

The Chance To Love Everything


All summer I made friends
with the creatures nearby ---
they flowed through the fields
and under the tent walls,
or padded through the door,
grinning through their many teeth,
looking for seeds,
suet, sugar; muttering and humming,
opening the breadbox, happiest when
there was milk and music. But once
in the night I heard a sound
outside the door, the canvas
bulged slightly ---something
was pressing inward at eye level.
I watched, trembling, sure I had heard
the click of claws, the smack of lips
outside my gauzy house ---
I imagined the red eyes,
the broad tongue, the enormous lap.
Would it be friendly too?
Fear defeated me. And yet,
not in faith and not in madness
but with the courage I thought
my dream deserved,
I stepped outside. It was gone.
Then I whirled at the sound of some
shambling tonnage.
Did I see a black haunch slipping
back through the trees? Did I see
the moonlight shining on it?
Did I actually reach out my arms
toward it, toward paradise falling, like
the fading of the dearest, wildest hope ---
the dark heart of the story that is all
the reason for its telling?