One Raindrop

cropped-cropped-img_20140712_2034591.jpg

Inside one raindrop the world changes.

Beginning as droplets on chipped windowsills

bringing their forgiveness, happiness, or sadness.

Not because the translucent angel tears

seep emotions out with the rain,

but becauseย it is the rain.

Sunny days are beautiful, but the rain…

the rain reveals true feelings

while rainbows are proof of promise.

Such a beautiful thing in this world is

raindrops on soft and fragrant flower petals

the kind that only bloom for a week or two all year.

It’s a dream.

A dream that replays like a favorite black and white movie.

Maybe it’s a memory? And finally waking up is inevitable

while the sun of a new day beams down its glory.

It’s that one little raindrop filled with life…

that just disappears.

It evaporates into the air

or soaks its way into the stem of that flower.

Here it will forever live on and come back in memory.

Only on another rainy day

will I see that one raindrop,

and be chasing the lilac dream.

Advertisements

Happiness Is Free

ad80533d-4f2f-4928-93a5-7ac144a959ec_zpsiis5oe5b

I think at some point, in all of our lives, we start asking the question why. Why am I working at this job? Why am I here? And why can’t I?ย Just over a month ago I quit my first job after college. There are some things that simple won’t keep me at a workplace, and this was one of those things.

I’d wanted to quite the entire year I was there. Not because of the job itself, but rather because of two individuals. (Props to you two that got promoted on lies and scandal). I however, have moved on and along with moving on, I’ve learned a little bit more about myself, and I am proud.

It takes a strong individual to constantly try to be perfect in the eyes of others. What I’ve learned is this. It takes an even stronger individual to accept imperfection if it means doing the right thing. This was the case with my job. But lets forget about that now.

A month of summer has had a rejuvenating spell on me. Everyone has to work to make money. Money buys things, and therefore makes us happy. Can we be happy without money, or less than what we’re used to? Or for that matter, can we be happy with less-than-perfect lives?

Can money really buy happiness or is it free?

Some of the happiest people I know don’t have a lot of money. Others that do, seem so uptight and worried all the time about having enough. Where does the line have to be drawn?

When a hummingbird migrates North after spring when all the flowers are in bloom, do you think they worry about having enough money to travel with? Or do they fly carelessly, needing only the earth to survive? What makes us anymore special than that of animals or birds? A brain?

Why are so many things just so not important? If life is short, than why not live it happily? Why not do what you love and in the process make money? If living happily can mean imperfection, too, then sign me up because I’ve heard from a little birdie that happiness is free.

 

So Succulent Summer

This summer has been so succulent for me. Yes, it’s had desirable qualities, has mentally nourished me, and has been full of juice and beautiful blooms. Succulents are beautiful, and these I captured at my grandma’s garden. My summer has been a journey. A journey into the real world, if there is such a thing. After graduation and after getting a decent first job, I’ve been learning a lot. Along with this journey into the real world, I’ve taken an adventure into the imaginable with my writing. It was such a great feeling when I released my first novel. Now, it sparks a light in me to just know that for the rest of my life, I can write what my heart tells me, and no one can stop me. It really is a great feeling.

eedc1d34-6adb-4e9d-b852-57d224162b2a_zpsd6e035bd

To write, one must be inspired. It must come naturally to us. Yes, there are times in our writing when we take a break until our hands must bleed with unspoken words. Words that nourish the eyes of avid readers. I remember the first time I read my favorite book and how much joy that brought me. I also remember writing my first novel and seeing how much freedom it brings my racing mind that must write. Writers are born with a natural instinct to tell the world what’s in their head, how they see the world. It amazes me to know that I can forever write, forever learn, and forever grow like succulents.

21bef440-b804-47a9-a8e4-5053a5daf74f_zps488def47