An open letter to an unconditional love

The following content is of fiction. What has been written is for pure entertainment and literacy purposes only.

“So you look for patterns because that’s what humans do to try and make sense of things. In hope of some divine order. And you look in movies and songs and the things that you read for symbols, points and swirls that match your own. But the only real pattern there is, is the one you make when you hold up a mirror. And reflect.”

Earth

I was entirely grounded.

Standing completely on my own, I was proud of who I had become.

I had a rough start to life, but I had made something of myself which people always said would never be a possibility.

I was given the choice to become obsolete and endure using recreational drugs and call it a 'hobby', or I was given the choice to refrain from blaming my past and avoid becoming an example of what the birth of abuse and misguidance looks like.

I wanted to define my life.

I wanted a purpose and a reason.

I knew mistakes and I had seen failure,

but it was my choice to believe that there was more to life than what I had been given.

I didn't have it 'tough'.

Sure, 

youthfully homeless and unconventionally mistreated from birth would be societies definition of a disruptive and scarring upbringing.

But I was aware that people like me could prove a rich man's opinion to be otherwise.

I made it my destiny to become what I thought was important.

I wanted health and prosperity,

I wanted wealth of love and money of need not want.

I wanted an average life,

which was extraordinary.

Because to me, 

I was born at the bottom and the top seemed to be an irrationally popular place.

I wanted more than what I was given

but I never wanted to lose who I became because of it. 

Air

Fighting for my own ground meant that the times where kids made friends and discovered reasons to laugh, were the times I spent trying to find a way out of a difficult situation.

Abuse can be hidden by acts of fabricated love.

I lost my voice at a very young age and it wasn't until I was 15 that I realised if I didn't speak out, I was never going to survive long enough to move out. 

When I tell my story everyone say's "why didn't you just leave"?

But everyone fails to imagine what it would be like to walk away from someone who is rightfully your own blood.

Although I was terribly unfortunate with the way I was raised,

it would also be unruly of me to blame that all on one person.

A compilation of wrong choices and unfortunate timings lead my parents into a hole in which they themselves, could not climb out of.

With experiences of their own which developed misconstrued feelings of the world around them, my parents lived a life entirely on their own accord.

It was unlucky, for them and eventually for me,

that our lives crossed paths and I was born to a family who didn't want me nor did they expect me.

An ominous surprise would be what I would've named my birth. 

An untimely predicament in the lives of those who were lost. 

But, again, looking at my glass half full.

An optimal experience for a girl whose words want to be heard.

I have come from nowhere, but I know sure as hell, that I am going somewhere.

I don't know where 'somewhere' is yet, but it will most definitely be far from where I started. 

Fire

There are never instructions for pain. 

There has never been a book of scientific facts written, explaining what it was exactly we felt in the pits of our stomach and why our ribcages burnt when our hearts were broken.

Nor is there an antidote for lost words or a method to produce dry tears. 

I gave up a little.

I gave up entirely on myself.

I gave up eventually on you.

Periodically, the pain has evolved over an extensive amount of time. 

It hasn't just consumed me all at once, but slowly and invisibly, it has eaten at me piece by piece. 

I would rather it have come in one wave. 

With adrenaline and power it would have killed me indefinitely, but as the lips of shore kissers wash upon my feet daily, I watch smaller destructions occur constantly.

The hardest part,

there is nothing I can do to prevent it.

It's knowing the potential obvious,

but choosing to live in the concealed.

I want to write about the aftermath,

the beautiful and inevitable mess that I once used to call home.

It was hard to distinguish whether it was love or just a compelled feeling to act the way other kids did with their mothers.

I was never shown how to love nor was given the chance to know what it felt like.

I would love to say that I knew that the way he looked at me resembled that of the way my father looked at my mother, 

but when his eyes bored down into mine, I felt the bruises which burnt my cheeks every Tuesday. 

I had overcome fear and taught myself life lessons which mothers genuinely teach down to their daughters.

I had worn my fathers strength but refused to learn from his anger.

I had become a mix of my backgrounds but developed my own spirit.

He loved me for the rejuvenated destruction that I was.

I loved him for not cursing at me and creating a shadow above my head whilst i sat in corners.

I was strong and I was somebody.

I had a name, a voice and a home to call my own.

But I guess it doesn't matter how far you run from your past,

it will always follow you.

I was completely dispatched from my past, except when it came down to loving him.

I tried, over and over again to remember what it was I taught myself under bridges.

I taught myself that love was possible. 

That what I was shown when I was young was wrong and that love can be found in places you least expect it. 

Unfortunately words are just letters that humbly resonate to a particular eye,

and my eyes could not grasp the concept of trust or love- or beauty within skin and bones.

If I learnt anything from the way we held hands,

it was that I only did it to protect myself from potential harm,

and what an awful misinterpreted meaning of love that was.

Water

I learnt to fight the urge, to let the pain of my past destroy any chance at I had leading a normal life. 

There were moments of doubt and insecurity, but he understood.

The night terrors and the screams of uncertainty.

Through scratched sheets and stained cheeks, he saw the good the lived within me.

He was why I stayed true.

He was the reason I rose from all of this.

Although there were times where I was reluctant to believe in a truth that was not shown to me,

he taught me what I could not teach myself.

He taught me that it didn't matter how many scars I wore,

or that I became tense around stronger men.

He taught me that love could heal those who did not know they were broken.

I never considered myself to resemble that with a shattered history.

I always envisioned myself as powerful, mature and strong.

He saw me as the little girl that hid in corners and slept beside railway lines.

He knew everything that I was and it was only when I met him that I realised although I taught myself how to live,

he taught me how to love.

It wasn't until he held my hand for the first time that I realised everything that I was, 

was based on books and I became a product from words that weren't my own.

He gave me a reason to look back into my past and discover my true reason for having a future.

He made me thankful and appreciative with the cards I was dealt.

He is the reason why I am writing to you,

without him,

I would have chosen to forget you altogether and he made me realise that even you,

my blood and bones,

deserves to be loved.

Because I know you were scared too.

I know that deep down you would have protected me if you could, but it was those pills you drowned in that prevented you from trying.

Because I'm sorry that the life you led never became of anything different,

and I'm sorry that nobody ever told you that it could have been otherwise.

That although you never showed love to me,

or gave me hope in a love that could last,

he told me that I should and will learn to love you unconditionally.

Because a love given,

without a love received,

is the real reason why love,

was found in the first place. 

Walk with me

“I am alone in the midst of these happy, reasonable voices. All these creatures spend their time explaining, realizing happily that they agree with each other. In Heaven’s name, why is it so important to think the same things all together.”

—  Jean-Paul Sartre 

There is nothing I can say nor do that will never consequentially affect myself or others around me. In return, how I feel will always be dictated by my surroundings and who I associate myself with. 

Love is always quite a reserved topic. Essentially, I am afraid of confrontation and judgement and that maybe my words will either offend some or be considered childish by others.

Terrified, writing about how I feel and how my life is constantly a whirlpool of emotions, talking about things that are close to home becomes a potential war zone which openly invites others into my mind.

I am neither an adequate poet or a respected counsellor, my words are cruel and true and sometimes they reflect my innermost thoughts that scream louder than I want to be heard. 

But I told myself before I started all this that what I had to say, I believed should be heard and I shouldn't be afraid nor persuaded to change my mind for the likes of others. 

It will never be easy.

Guy or girl, young or old we are always going to want to love and be loved in return. Humanity on its own demands love to be felt, whether it be with another human, pet or object, love will always exist and it will always come hand in hand with other emotions- in particular pain.

I guess this is where I begin. 

A love for many is a love used too often. A typical recurring mistake I tend to make and a mistake that I have also not yet learnt to overcome. Whether it's my personality or a trait that I have grown up with, I have always learnt to see the good in others.

My lesson to be learnt is that how I feel and how I act upon my feelings should not be controlled nor should I allow the judgements of others opinions, on my actions, affect my emotions. 

I was told a couple months ago that people are always entitled to their own opinion. I can't assume that people are always going to agree with my choices and I can't expect everyone to understand my reasoning for particular motives.

I also can't assume that people will always hold their tongue and I should expect that people are going to want to voice their opinions whether it be beneficial towards me or not. 

It was as soon as I understood this (which keep in mind, took me a few months), that I  found clarity. 

I guess, as a blossoming teenager that is discovering the ins and outs and do's and don'ts of friendships and relationships, that I have wanted to find an easier option than to suffer under silence.

Yes, I have made mistakes and yes, sometimes what I say isn't always set in stone and yes, sometimes I will lie in saying that I feel one thing but truly feel the opposite.

But I think the biggest thing for myself at current, is realising that how others dictate my life is unhealthy. How people's emotions and thoughts fight against my own and i fail to remain positive. 

I allow the voices of others to change my voice and I allow people to make subconscious decisions in my head. 

I was blind to the idea that asking for help and guidance is sometimes a negative thing. I used to think that everyone was harmless and people's opinions were only healthy because I believe that people genuinely wanted to help me.

It's a bit sad to realise that really, your own true thoughts and voice should really be the only thought you trust and to just go with your gut.

Sure, its a terrible thing to not believe and trust those who love and support you, but it can also be selfish of them to think that you should do what they say because it's right for them or they believe it's the right thing in their mind, to do. 

In my head, I've found it a very confusing place to be in times of emotional relapses. 

I seek the opinions of others but whilst doing that, I lose my own voice and my own thoughts and my happiness then becomes dependent on an opinion that is not my own.

It's not easy and I finding it to be challenging,

but keeping my own voice and trying to remind myself that my opinion and choices are entirely made up to my own accord will be worth it in the end.

People experience different emotions, people lead different lives and most certainly more than anything, people are made up entirely of different 'stuff'.

What we think, what we do and how we act individually, although can resemble one another, will never be entirely the same.

What I realised, although hard to accept entirely, is that no matter how close someone may be to my heart or no matter how much trust I bed within someone- they will never understand me fully.

My actions, my words and my feelings should never reflect that of someone completely. I may take pieces of the people around me and add them to my own inner, but i will never again, live a life according to those of others.

What I do, how I act and how I go about making decisions and living my life will be entirely my own choice. 

This way, 

with love, health and whatever else life throws at me, I will be able to face things 100% on my own and I think that is the most crucial characteristic a person should have. 

I may lean on a shoulder or call a friend, but at the end of the day, my voice will be genuine, I will never doubt anything that I do and I will always trust that no matter what I hear or see, that my own actions and voice is entirely organic to me.

So, although the famous quote goes along the lines of "you can't really understand another person's experience until you've walked a mile in their shoes", I believe in my own.

You can fit in my shoes and walk a mile in them, with direction the same and a steady pace, the way we walk will always be different. 

1000 lights

The following content is of fiction. What has been written is for pure entertainment and literacy purposes only. 

"Stars die and are born in places like this one. They condense like raindrops from giant clouds of gas and dust. They get so hot that the nuclei of the atoms fuse together deep within them to make the oxygen we breathe, the carbon in our muscles, the calcium in our bones, the iron in our blood, all of it was cooked in the fiery hearts of long-vanished stars. You, me, everyone… we are made of star stuff."- Neil deGrasse Tyson

Nebula

I guess the beginning of where this all began, started out during nights where I lay on my back and looked up. 

Sometimes there were stars above and sometimes i just pictured that they were there. 

Majority of my time, i liked to indulge myself in the recreation of drinking in the free lights that are vastly spread across the sky.

I'm a dying breed. 

Living in a city with so many stars and too many eyes, I find that we become distracted by looking at each other that we forget to look elsewhere. 

Beauty in above was replaced by human kind and many of us decided that the glisten in another's iris became more important than the twinkle of a falling star.

Protostar

My escape from reality relied upon clear nights.

I wasn't a sad story and my problems were typically first world. 

However, i found it nurturing to be alone and to remember that there were bigger things out there than we were aware of.

I was never caught up in textbooks or heavy drugs.

I never became a cliche or stereotype.

I never belonged to anyone or anything, and in return I kept my sanity. 

In a life where kids became fragile if their phone died and money poured from your parent's wallet,

I learnt to appreciate the dirt under my toes.

I didn't become susceptible to the fads of high school, 

and i wasn't interested in playing mind games with girls under bed sheets.

I didn't notice that I led my life very differently to those of my age,

but when i did, 

I thanked my lucky stars that I was able to remain entirely my own self 

and celebrated with "comfortably numb" on loud and a beer at 7.

Red Supergiant

I found a star in her eyes. 

I wish this was a typical teenage love story about sweaty palms and untouched thighs. 

But it isn't.

I didn't know her name and her story didn't matter to me.

She was arrogant and rude and blew air kisses to her fans as she pranced down school corridors.

She was the reason why i induced myself in star filled coma's and was reluctant to enter a world associated with people like her in it.

Her lips popped bubbles at the back of classrooms and her pony tail slapped 32 people a day. 

Sure, she was alright looking from afar, but i made sure distance was kept between us in case people like her were contagious.

Supernova

She was a plague that i would eventually die from.

Our distance became slim and as her forehead bumped mine her eyes became brighter.

I'd seen a comet last year which lit a fire in my ribs but when i saw her, i felt an incandescent love for the stars that were her eyes.

I never believed in a world where people truly fell like meteors in showers. 

Metaphorically speaking, i fell 10,000 ft inside for this girl, yet i despised her existence for more than 10 years.

I didn't know what love felt like but i assumed it felt a little bit like this.

She wasn't aware of the spark that lit, but her eyes told me more about life than one would know.

She looked and saw all of me in a second of rare insanity.

No words were said and no motive of her or mine showed that what was shared in our eyes, would ever return again.

Similar to a shooting star, maybe it was something beautiful for a second but would never be seen again until another rare occasion. 

It can't be forced or predicted, but the love that i had for the light that shone out of her had me entranced. 

My own taste of narcotics at the expensive price of having to look away.

Black Hole

I wanted to believe in a love that had the strength of a gravitational field so intense that no matter or radiation can escape.

 I wanted to be remembered by someone whose words didn't matter and but their voice was still loud. I wanted to believe in a love, that chased the sun and drank under the moon. 

I never even considered a life that included romance and i didn't believe that love was an amber in your stomach that warmed to a certain person.

She gave me a second of a pure ecstasy, somewhat addictive to those who didn't know how to handle it.

Although love was enticing, it was irrationally common, just like the routine way the sun goes down and the stars come alive.

I didn't believe in love nor did i want to endeavour on dedicating my efforts to a form of something that could vanish as quickly as her eyes darted from mine.

I believed in existence and stages of life that were conclusive and that eventually we all disappeared, returning back to exactly where we came from, nothing. 

This is not a sad story and although you were told that this wasn't a traditional love story, 

you still kept reading didn't you?

We are told one thing and expect another.

There is a little light in all of us, 

there is hope in thinking that there is more than what we are given.

We like to believe in brighter things that will light up our life, 

and there are.

So when the sun goes down, and your street lamps go on,

remember to look up.

We see what we want to see

Dedicated to everyone who thinks that I am writing about them, I am. 

Our past is just a story, to anyone but ourselves.

We consider our lives, or we like to think, that what we do in our day or what monumental experiences we have, will impact others.

We forget to see that everyone is going about their lives, trying to do the best for themselves.

Unfortunately, this means that whatever we do, doesn't concern others and therefore we shouldn't live our lives according to how other people live theirs.

I think it's an inevitable struggle. 

I wanted to be different. 

I also wanted to fit in.

It is more or less the struggle of standing on your own, but also feeling the need of other people. Wanting to be needed but also wanting to be seen as independent.

It's awfully complicated trying to find your ground, without others providing you the room. It's also difficult to find trust in those when it can't be guaranteed. Whether or not I can consider this a 'struggle' is really up to me, but in the past and potentially in the future, I see it as something I will always have to overcome.

New friends, family, love, work- the constant change. 

I'm not one to shake my head to change, but it doesn't mean that I also know how to accept it easily. 

My flaw? Dealing with change in a way that doesn't impact my past, present or future. 
I want to be able to see change, grow with change and adapt to change like i do the weather.

I want to be able to believe that people can see me and be able to understand how my mind works. I want to be able to believe that my emotions whilst running wild, can also be sedated. 

Although entirely unlikely, I would love to lead a simple life- but we all know that simplicity is boring

I'm very complicated, and although there is a part of me that has always known it, I have only just accepted it.
Complicated is not always a terrible thing. In fact, I think most people are complicated.

It's natural to meet people who test you, puzzle you and leave you awake at night questioning everything that you are. 

Complications are character and I like to believe that although I can be intricate, this makes me human.

A lot of people go about life wanting to fit in and to live an easy life. But what is an easy life?

I don't think life is easy. In no way will we be able to live, eat, grow as individuals and never come across a hurdle. 

But this is where I start to round things in.
We choose our complications and what dictates our emotions, activities and character.

How we let certain things affect us and our surroundings is entirely in the eye of the beholder. 

Some people are money focused and not emotionally dependant.
Others are emotionally dependant and aren't financially worried.

Everyone one is different, so what I found out, is that it is hard to assume that just because you feel one way, you can't expect others to feel the same. 

Who you are is entirely based on what you have dealt with, grown through and learnt from and trying to compare that to someone else and their story is insane. 

Insane, but also selfish.

Sure, I've assumed that people see things the way that I do. I assume that people can understand my writing and what I don't understand is when they read the things I write, why they don't understand the foundation of where it came from. 

But assumptions are foolish and so is trying to conform or expect others to love you for the same things you love in others.

I'm not saying you won't be loved, but I am saying that everyone has their reasons for being who they are and making the choices they make. 

We see what we want to see in the world. 
Whether that is peace, wealth, love or any other type of vision, people shouldn't have the control to change that. 
Nor should you want to control someone else's.

What we see or what we want to see, reflects in who we are and when I realised that, I saw my complications become simple.
My life became a lot easier and happier and in reality, I realised that I wasn't my sister or my best friend and I wasn't a celebrity that I was envious of. 

I am me, and what I see and want to be accepted from in others, people might want from me. 

And we can't all be the same person.