I vowed to myself long ago I’d never die bitter and even though I may have years or seconds to go before my death I find the flight to internal happinesss has to do with love. 

No matter how far I’ve gone down the rabbits holes to life, love has reared its confusing head. 

The more I contemplate on what love means to me the more I find its interchangeable parts. I see how love can change and evolve. I see how others treat love and show love in different ways. 

For the longest all I wanted was love – that love I thought originally would only be provided to me by someone else. Either a friend, or a “lover.” But the more and more I placed that obligation on someone else the more heartache I received. 

So the conquest of finding internal love started. I’ve had to look within and seek the love that has to be surely there and dare I say just accept people for who they are even with their unwilling or inability to love me the way I want them to. 

It’s almost one of those selfish/selfless acts I’ve heard about. 

At 32 years old there are days I’m to tired to go on this journey and other days I feel as jubilant as a 4 year. 

Writing though has stayed with me even through the times I’ve ignored the urges to pick up a pen and paper.

It’s consistently allowed me to express myself and get the bitterness away through scribbles, rants, soggy tear riddled papers and now this blog. It’s helped me to understand that it isn’t the external love I seek but the missing/lost internal pieces within that I crave and need. 

And for that I will always be grateful. 

So as I put these childlike blocks together in what is becoming my life’s journal I’m beginning to see the larger picture. I can see that the love I so desperately sought has been vomiting out through my finger tips this whole time. 

And just maybe through years of practice and patience I can truly and whole heartedly love myself and all that I’ve done. 


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