What Remains of Spring

It was sometime in early March, when the remnants of a wintery sky remained unpolished by the coming of Spring. You asked me what it was like to have met him, and I merely composed myself, trying to come up with the right words to describe our first encounter. 

"He was like a breath of fresh air," was my response. 

And you smiled, and asked how it could be so. I needn’t exaggerate the night as we walked under the starry New York City lights, or the way we laughed as I tripped over invisible hazard. How he held the door while I encouraged him a taste of foreign cuisine, and how even through the laughter and the open conversation thrown up in the air about life, family, and love, he simply listened. As I did, despite holding back the private personal fragments of the past, how we stood and sat and ran up against the old and new places we abandoned through our youth. How he pointed to the skyline, and motioned towards the infinity of the future. How he could so easily hold it within his reach. How I saw in him, someone I could possibly repeat moments of everyday with. 

So what happened?” you asked. 

I needn’t answer in literates. I turned to look through the window and spoke what my heart believed to be true of what ended a memory I still hold to be dear. 

"I had to go home, and so did he." 

A Tangible Sort of Love

I received a letter from someone today, while checking through a pile of mail. Reading it really made me feel like I was significant, considering I must have ran through his mind for him to take the time out of his busy schedule to write me something on pen and paper. It’s so hard to find people these days who ever take the time, and I really appreciated that.

Time, I learned, is something we have a lot less as the years pass. 

I almost teared while reading it, really. Mostly because he ended it reassuring me of my worth. As if he knew it was the kind I needed all along. "I feel like you could use something a little more solid and tangible these days. This is just a reminder that I am here for you whenever you need a friend to wind down with, cry to, vent to, and talk with. Stay happy, my friend.”

And I am so so thankful for you.

Brooklyn College Campus
It’s hard to find a specific place you can call your own, especially with a space as limited as ours. But this, I’d like to call it mine. Far from everything else, far from everyone who tend to recognize me from the past as the girl who kept to herself when she can. Always full of resentment, always pushing people away. Although that girl’s no longer here, some of her qualities still resurface through me every once in awhile. I still see her every time I choose solitude, I still hear her from every old friend’s voice. Like the time he came to mention your name, always holding back the rest of the sentence out of pity it might still hurt me.
I’m okay, my love. I’ll be okay. Always have.
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Brooklyn College Campus
It’s hard to find a specific place you can call your own, especially with a space as limited as ours. But this, I’d like to call it mine. Far from everything else, far from everyone who tend to recognize me from the past as the girl who kept to herself when she can. Always full of resentment, always pushing people away. Although that girl’s no longer here, some of her qualities still resurface through me every once in awhile. I still see her every time I choose solitude, I still hear her from every old friend’s voice. Like the time he came to mention your name, always holding back the rest of the sentence out of pity it might still hurt me.
I’m okay, my love. I’ll be okay. Always have.
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Brooklyn College Campus

It’s hard to find a specific place you can call your own, especially with a space as limited as ours. But this, I’d like to call it mine. Far from everything else, far from everyone who tend to recognize me from the past as the girl who kept to herself when she can. Always full of resentment, always pushing people away. Although that girl’s no longer here, some of her qualities still resurface through me every once in awhile. I still see her every time I choose solitude, I still hear her from every old friend’s voice. Like the time he came to mention your name, always holding back the rest of the sentence out of pity it might still hurt me.

I’m okay, my love. I’ll be okay. Always have.

Grace Street Coffee Shop
"You never know with him. He’s just so damn nice," K said. And he was, he was the type of person that would go out of his way to drive three hours on the opposite direction just to make sure you get home safe. 
"Or he could just be really into you," I replied, "No matter how nice you are, you have to have at least some sort of emotional attachment or interest if you’re dropping your whole schedule just to accommodate someone else that’s supposedly just a ‘female friend’. Seriously, guys don’t just do that." 
"I know, but it’s just so confusing. Last night he slowly crept inside my room so he won’t bother me with work and asked if I wanted tea, of course I said I could make it myself, but he insisted he be the one to make it for me. See? I don’t know if the things he does mean something more." N sighed deeply, and motioned towards her coffee. "I really like him, my whole family is in love with him, I just don’t want to end up looking like a fool if all of this ends up one sided on my end of the boat." 
"Honestly, we’re all fools in love. You just have to figure out if the person you end up looking like a fool for is worth it. And by the sound of it, I think he is."
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Grace Street Coffee Shop
"You never know with him. He’s just so damn nice," K said. And he was, he was the type of person that would go out of his way to drive three hours on the opposite direction just to make sure you get home safe. 
"Or he could just be really into you," I replied, "No matter how nice you are, you have to have at least some sort of emotional attachment or interest if you’re dropping your whole schedule just to accommodate someone else that’s supposedly just a ‘female friend’. Seriously, guys don’t just do that." 
"I know, but it’s just so confusing. Last night he slowly crept inside my room so he won’t bother me with work and asked if I wanted tea, of course I said I could make it myself, but he insisted he be the one to make it for me. See? I don’t know if the things he does mean something more." N sighed deeply, and motioned towards her coffee. "I really like him, my whole family is in love with him, I just don’t want to end up looking like a fool if all of this ends up one sided on my end of the boat." 
"Honestly, we’re all fools in love. You just have to figure out if the person you end up looking like a fool for is worth it. And by the sound of it, I think he is."
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Grace Street Coffee Shop

"You never know with him. He’s just so damn nice," K said. And he was, he was the type of person that would go out of his way to drive three hours on the opposite direction just to make sure you get home safe. 

"Or he could just be really into you," I replied, "No matter how nice you are, you have to have at least some sort of emotional attachment or interest if you’re dropping your whole schedule just to accommodate someone else that’s supposedly just a ‘female friend’. Seriously, guys don’t just do that." 

"I know, but it’s just so confusing. Last night he slowly crept inside my room so he won’t bother me with work and asked if I wanted tea, of course I said I could make it myself, but he insisted he be the one to make it for me. See? I don’t know if the things he does mean something more." N sighed deeply, and motioned towards her coffee. "I really like him, my whole family is in love with him, I just don’t want to end up looking like a fool if all of this ends up one sided on my end of the boat." 

"Honestly, we’re all fools in love. You just have to figure out if the person you end up looking like a fool for is worth it. And by the sound of it, I think he is."

La Colombe 
"Why do you always disappear?" he asked, on a morning I planned not running into anyone, with tired eyes and a weary heart I answered much to his surprise. "Because every now and then I tend to lose myself. I disappear in order to find her." Though it was true, a part of me held back wanting to say I just needed someone to notice. That losing myself came in all sorts of consequences, and I just wanted someone else to come searching for that part of me I lost, too. And so he smiled, and asked if I wanted to eat my croissant. 

La Colombe 

"Why do you always disappear?" he asked, on a morning I planned not running into anyone, with tired eyes and a weary heart I answered much to his surprise. "Because every now and then I tend to lose myself. I disappear in order to find her." Though it was true, a part of me held back wanting to say I just needed someone to notice. That losing myself came in all sorts of consequences, and I just wanted someone else to come searching for that part of me I lost, too. And so he smiled, and asked if I wanted to eat my croissant. 

I still read the words that have echoed through my walls within the time we’ve spent apart. These words, whether they may hold as much value to you now as it did then, they’re my only reminder of the things that have kept me going through the quarrels never fixed from the previous night. Although, it’s been a year ‘til this day, these words- laid brick by brick unsettled from the past is my only reminder of the person I was, of the person I willingly gave up in order to settle for you, with you, and because of you, of the desire I held in order to prove that it could have been something to last, and to fight for. “You’re worth the risk-” these words, they remind me not to be so cruel in believing my worth. 

Too tired to care, too used to the same old conversations, it’s so much easier to just let yourself grow numb to the words that they let out in front of you. 

It’s funny, for so long I’ve always prided myself on my eloquence at secrecy, on being such an awfully private person, and yet you can probably compile the hundreds of posts I leave behind and truly know me without even knowing my name, first. You can probably assemble the pieces to the puzzle within the things I write about and conclude that there’s really nothing more to the story than the occasional self-loathing. Everyone’s life isn’t as picture perfect as they make it seem. I, for one, am not exempt to that fact. I can write beautiful prose about what once was, romanticizing the gestures done by people who probably don’t mean half the things I tell myself they mean. But see, even someone as cynical as I am can still try to find the good in the little things, too. 

And even though I still roll my eyes whenever I catch myself reading the things I write about love, well what the heck. I don’t care as much about what people think of me as I used to. Scratch that. Maybe I still care a little bit, but just a little. It doesn’t keep me up late at night anymore. 

Because the only time I take the time to write on here is when I’m in love or out of love.

basically how I feel about my tumblr