hippie

I just kind of re-remembered that I used to write poetry. A lot. That seems kind of strange. I don't even know if I'd know where to start now.
Then again, I used to do a lot of things I don't do anymore. And I used to be a very different person. The difference between me now and me then becomes much more tangible in those moments when I encounter a piece of my past that hasn't been privy to the changes the last couple of years have ushered in... When I observe something with disgust only to arrive at the uncomfortable realization that I was that person once (which quickly leads to the realization that I'll be looking at today's unnoticed mistakes with the same disgust at some point in the not-so-distant future). I think, if this much can change in just a year, even, what will I be like by the time I graduate from college? Who will I be in ten years?

But who I am now is also who I've always been. I have some kinks to work out right now - byproducts of quick, unprecedented, unforeseen-without-the-vantage-point-of-retrospect change. Some good developments, some very painful realities I may never sort out. Isn't that life? I feel guilty even mourning what I do when I consider how fortunate I have been and continue to be. I especially feel that pang of guilt when I realize how terribly difficult to live with I have been, if unintentionally, yet certain people have stuck beside me. This is just baffling to me. I know this sort of loyalty is what defines a true and genuine relationship; however, unconditional love is one of the hardest things for me to wrap my mind around when that love is directed at me. Probably because I know my own flaws so intimately, and those flaws seem like inescapable obstacles.

How can someone be in love with a non-static individual such as myself, when the future is so uncertain? Even though I can easily conceive of a beyond-blissful future with a person whom I know will continue to grow and change (an exciting idea that I could daydream about without end), it is difficult to understand how those same feelings could be felt by that someone toward my annoying self. Many of us never seem to see ourselves for what others appreciate about us; instead, we notice our imperfections. I am nitpicky about this. I am trying to learn to love myself more - even while I try to grow up (a process which is seldom graceful), despite the unpredictability of life.
I'm trying to see myself even in just a small way through the eyes of the person who loves me for who and what I am... the person who assures me that, even after what has been thus far the most difficult part of my life to navigate (which has created personal instability and unpredictability, at times overwhelming emotion, and general confusion even as it has taught me invaluable lessons and molded me into more of the person I hope to one day become), he knows I am still the person he fell in love with... this person who has promised me a "forever" even when I feel I could never deserve it. I don't think I could ever really see what he sees. But the inexplicably euphoric, at-home feeling of his warm body beside me even when my thoughts and feelings are numb with cold makes me want to give myself a little more slack sometimes, because I know that it means so much to him that I stop being so hard on myself about some things. Because that warm body still beside me thinks I'm worth sticking by, and would do just about anything to help me understand that sentiment. Would, and in many ways has.
How did I get so lucky to find the most understanding, compassionate, patient, loving guy, the one who is the perfect match and compliment for me? The one who beautifully balances as well as encourages me? The one whose genuine character and unbelievable personality continue to fascinate me every day? I want to wake up to that undeserved but precious, priceless reality every day for the rest of my life. I used to be a lot more cynical about the potential for certainty at my still young age. And I am sure that this all sounds like some lovesick blabber to some. But there are few things in life I can say I feel sure of, especially since real certainty seems impossible in so many (if not most) situations. This, however, is obvious to me. Inescapably real. The kind of real I don't have to talk myself into. I am certain, and I don't feel silly (or naive) for feeling that way. I feel like the most fortunate person in the world. And I'm reminded every day that I am.

(I know, two entries in one day. Forgive me. I'm all alone in Tyler's dorm room while he's at R.A. training, so I returned to the blog for another go.)

P.S. I took my first trip today to a comic book store, which just so happens to be the very store where Tyler bought his first graphic novel. I probably drove Tyler nuts with my incessant questioning about every character on the shelves that looked interesting, but after much browsing and much help from my wonderful boyfriend I came away with my very own graphic novel: Volume I of Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. While I have purchased graphic novels before as gifts for Tyler and have read his copy of V for Vendetta (and just started on The Watchmen at his recommendation), this is the first one I've chosen for myself. Thankfully, if I end up becoming a graphic novels lover, I have a Wikipedia-like source to ask all kinds of questions, with the added bonus of free hugs (which Wikipedia cannot offer).