the notes that touch us

Music was made to touch your soul, to wrench your heart right out of your chest and palpitate in your hand just to teach you that you’re alive. It’s supposed to relate to you in a way that only you will ever be able to understand, and you know that nobody will ever be able to appreciate it quite as much as you do. You’re supposed to love it so much it makes you hate that you love it as much as you do. It makes it so that all you want to do is meet the artist and hug them and look them straight into their eyes and tell them that they’ve touched you in a way that will never be rivaled.

the ones who get out of bed

grief strikes everyone in different ways. some deal with it by delving into addictions of some sort. others by lying in bed for months. others yet staying there ages and never getting out. avoiding the topic. obsessing the topic. these are the things often thought of when grief comes to mind. but where are the stories of the people that find strength in faith or companionship. where are the tales of the individuals that get out of bed. the ones that acknowledge the fact that their loved one want them wasting away their life that they were stripped of.

the homeland

sometimes i try to run away from the things that are the best for me. i forsake them in an effort to break free of my norm and be my own person. there is a certain group of boys that i have loved since day one of my collegiate career, and they call themselves the 2e boys. no matter where i wander off to, i somehow am always led right back to them. they are the biggest blessing i have ever experienced. they have been there for me in every way imaginable, and no matter how far i have strayed from them they will always be there for me when i come running back. they're my family. my boys. and could never be replaced in all of eternity.