Every time I twist the stem
And feel a little *pop*
as my mind reaches the letter "E"
My heart sinks a little.
Will I always be alone?

Every time I eat out,
I open my straw with care
In hopes that the knot will come undone.
***Close your eyes, inhale nice and deep, as you exhale, tug on both sides. Your breath will catch in your throat for a split second in anticipation. It's normal. Open your left eye first and peek under the table at your hands. The verdict will be made known immediately.***
For me it's never anything to smile about.

But keep your "hashtag forever alone"s because so what? So what if I'm a freshman at BYU? So what if my tall, dark, and handsome Prince Charming's face is blurry and hazy and resembles a big ole question mark? I'm eighteen and a half for crying out loud!!! I have my whole life ahead of me. And the next life too! There is zero rush.

So, Prince Charming, if you're out there somewhere, go save a few more princesses and make their lives a little bit sweeter, be a gentleman, journey to new lands for two or so years, fight a few dragons, and when you're wondering where I am, I'll be right here. Waiting patiently, without complaint.

Sbhkhshsubdvehwixhevwjshdvdkajxbznzjhvbkdbsoadwkqpafrjsjndnekdicwy and then some.

That ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ is what I call finals. Yes, the cliché college student feelings have manifested themselves to me at last. It's a real thing, folks. {Even though my finals aren't that difficult, they're just painfully inconvenient.}

Too pleased that I have three whole weeks for Christmas break. Also, too pleased that I have zero classes on Tuesdays next semester. Too pleased that we're getting a real Christmas tree to put in our basement for the first time in years {in the room right next to my bedroom... Holler at those Christmas smells!!}. Too pleased about 400 thread-count sheets that are my favorite color. They make me feel so sophisticated, and I've never slept so peacefully in my life. Too too pleased for the world.

Upset that my wisdom teeth decided to introduce themselves at the same time I'm preparing for my other surgery. I WOULD have to get two procedures done in the span of a year. {sorry if you're tired of hearing about the surgery to come. I have a lot of anticipation anxiety, so sue me. To make it up to you, my darling readers, I promise to share post-surgery funnies!!!}

Everybody talks about missing you, how nothing is the same anymore. But no one can tell that my mind has entered a coma until the day you'll come down that escalator. I'm not as much of me without you here. And I can't believe I just admitted to that.

Please stop. I know your intentions are good, and you're great at being civil, but I honestly cannot handle it.
It was all I could do to forget you.
And now that I'm free and alive, your captivity hovers just above my atmosphere.
I don't ask questions because I've learned not to care.
Now, don't read that wrong, because I do care about YOU. I still care with all my heart. I just can't let myself feel too much because feeling too much makes my heart ache.
I'd rather be numb.
It's selfish. It's prideful. But you know what? Take Hannah Montana's advice.
So if you please, just do us both a favor and give me some space
to live.
Perhaps, if the timing's right, I'll see you next November.

Whoa. That was way more teenage angst than I anticipated.

Time goes by. So slowly.
Thank you, Celine Dion.

Snow on snow.

Fredricke, Veronica, Reginald, Franz, Viola, Louie, Sofia. Some other sophisticated, European names are welcomed and highly suggested. Please. I need a solid name that sounds posh, stat. The gender doesn't matter.

Here's the thing.

The end is so close, I can nearly lick it.

Svetlana Zakharova. My idol.

Today my leaps were the highest I've ever leaped. Which was fitting, for they were the last ones I'll be doing for a long time. I made sure to thank my body for being so nice to me, even when I was anatomically cruel to it. I stayed strong behind my twinkling eyes and smile until I fell into my bed and snuggled down my sheets, completely exhausted and wallowing in pain. I wept. 

I wept for pain. I wept for sorrow. I wept for longing. I wept for loneliness.
I wept for fear of the unknown.

Here's the thing. Four months is a long, long time.  

****Dear Dance,
It's going to be a blue Christmas without you. And New Year's. And January, February, March, and even April. Don't miss me too hard, though, because I'll be back {with a three inch scar} when the sun rises and the flowers bloom.
Yours Truly,
The broken one.****

Magnets

Her soul cried out for help,
Only to be constrained and hidden by counts and accents and French words that mean some sort of flourishing of this arm or that leg.
Her soul cried out silently for help.
The miracle of a brown-haired, beautiful girl with glasses and a big heart pierced through the wall and took down all the defenses. The broken and mangled soul was set free.

All it takes is a little reminder that God is in control, and sometimes you need to eliminate some clutter from your life. Try praying. Try remembering how nice it must feel to other people when they're treated with respect. Try remembering that you have nothing to be sad about because you are alive and breathing and beautiful. And God cares about you. Because He wants you to succeed. He lives for the moments when you smile. He lives for the times when your testimony thrives. He loves you. And me, too.

P.s. Half-birthdays. Holler at your boy.