lights will guide you home..

... and ignite your bones.
and I will try to fix you-


There is no definition to beauty. No definition and no end. There's something to be said about anticipation.
There's something to be said about beauty. Beauty comes in the smallest and biggest packages. It's rare and common all at the same time. It comes with a pretty bow, it comes with the thickest of thorns. It hits you like a sack of bricks and creeps up on you slowly at the same time. It's everywhere and it's no where. It's in your finest moments, and it's in your darkest hour. It's in your breakdown and it's in your laugh. Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.
The same can be used to describe anticipation. We are always anticipating something. There is always a reason for what we do, and for the words we speak, and I feel like a lot of it can be nailed down to anticipation.
Life doesn't stand still and that's a theory that's really been nailed into me lately. It's a now or never kind of lifestyle we all anticipate. We are always waiting for something, and the hardest thing to do is to be in the moment.
When you are breaking apart, you anticipate feeling better. We never allow ourselves to truly revel in the moment of sorrow. Feel every ounce of it seep through us. That point where you just can't bring yourself to move, to think, to feel is incredibly rare. Maybe it's because we're scared of our thoughts in that moment. To the darker places it can lead us. Maybe it's because we're intelligent beings and it's difficult to allow our bodies to relax and hit rock bottom. Even if we do, it can never last long.

Lately I've been anticipating snow. An odd thing, considering I ran across the world from it last time. I lived in a place where snow was our best friend, we hoped for it and we played in it. As carefree as the children we were leading, always knowing a warm place was within reach, and warmer clothes were never too far. It's different in the city. The second a flake falls to the ground we rev up the engines of our plows and work our butts off to clear it. It turns grey with the salt we lay and it turns yellow and mushy in all other places. I'm anticipating frolicking. Living through the eyes of a child and letting loose (without the help of alcohol [maybe]) and toboganning to my hearts content, snow angels, forts, snowmen. You name it, I'll be doing it. I remember as a kid trying to stay out as long as I possibly could before someone called my name and I sulked back inside, leaving drops on the floor from my snowpants I wasn't quite ready to take off. Re-enacting is a tricky thing, but I plan to do it. No holds.

I've also been thinking of inspiration. I find inspiration in the strangest things. It's watching someone flourish before your eyes, watching someone come from their darkest hour in a graceful 180 spin, watching an animal bounce back from a difficult procedure in a strikingly short amount of time, it's reading over old emails and reveling in the fact that your words held your court and nailed in a point no one could understand. It's watching time lick and heal your wounds, and watching people bob in and out of your life. I find the beauty in a breakdown to be the most magical of them all. That we can sink so low, and then be okay. That the past stays there, and in accepting that comes maturity and the ability to forgive in one fell swoop. I keep thinking - 'if He brings you to it, He will bring you through it' and seeing it played out before your eyes is a blessing. Even when it's through the minds of another, anothers thoughts and words, and point of view. I see His work in so many places and just want to fall into His hands and thank him.

There are places and things that change you for the better or for the worst. I found a place that I have had a hand in changing for the better. I know that gigs are gigs and one day the time will be up for this one, but if I can convince even one person to think different thoughts, and view all people in a better light then I feel I've done the job I was meant to do. There are certain things I'm not ready to forgive and while hypocritical, I'm still trying and that's the difference I see. I took a stand, hopped off my eggshells and gave my feet a rest. They're still hurting and may be for a long period of time, but I refuse to completely shut a door that was slammed by someone else. Maybe my view point is all wrong. Maybe I'm disappointing a lot in saying this, but maybe it's my truth. Doors are hard to close and even harder when it's been there for so long. It's such a comfort to have that ol' squeaking rotted door around and it's difficult to replace it for a new one. Even though many are recommending the change for the new door. Others get annoyed by the squeaking, I found comfort.
When someone changes the door for you while you're out of town is a whole other subject. You need to get used to the new one, while mourning the old. Try to forget about the old one and missing the squeaks. All doors have issues, nothing is perfect. The fact of the matter is, I never had the chance to truly say goodbye to the door before it closed and was taken off it's hinges and to me, that means I never got my issues with the door off my chest. While I wasn't happy all the time with it, it was good to me and had a lot to offer in the ways of the world. It was the door I would go to when all others turned away. Now I've turned away, and my door doesn't even seem to care. The new one is all 'tell me everything' and I just refuse to discuss it.
It's an awful metaphor but hopefully it gets the point across.

I've found myself anticipating my old door walking through the new one and while it's hard to believe that will never happen considering the frame around the old door is a living douchebag (whooopsies, yeah I said it) and the frame still sits on the door, whispering in it's ear and keeping me from seeing past the frame to the door. Those issues go so deeply that I fear I may never be able to see the door as it truly is, or see past the frame. I hope one day it's possible. Judging by my past it may very well be possible, but who suffers then. Do I become a human punching bag again? Or is it maturity that inevitably makes the past redundant. Maybe it's a whole mixture of things and I have no idea. I'm grasping at straws at this point and have lost the point I was trying to make ages ago.

Basically, right now I see the beauty in the life I'm living and while I may be tired and some days I may be stressed about certain situations - I'm living my life. I'm making the most of it and finding my motivation and recognizing my anticipation. I know what hurts me and I know what has affected me the most in the previous months. I have found my peace, and I hope someday you all can find yours as well.
Blessings
Nessa