Broken records

This broken record continues to play. I don't know how it plays, but it does. Nothing broken should sound so lovely. The softness of the music continues to arouse me. The words. The rhythm. The beat. It is all so lovely. Yet it's broken. How could something broken play such a lovely sound. The sound that calls for me. I can't help but to be enticed by the sound. All the while being perplexed at how a record could play when it is broken. Its not that I don't know the record is broken, yet I continue to listen. I expect the brokenness to do that which defies the odds and play music. And for some time it does. The music plays with no skips. And then just as the depth of the music begins to reveal itself, the record stalls. The same word. Over and over again. Instead of stopping the record, I let it continue. I listen as if the sound that continues to ring in my ear, will be different. As if no action at all is somehow going to produce something different. It can't, the record is broken. As I wait and hope that this broken record will produce that which it is not capable of producing, I must convince myself that the record has reached its end. As lovely as this record has been. As many memories that the words of this record brings up, the time has come. Not just to put away the record until a better time. But it is time to say goodbye. Say goodbye to the brokenness. Time to say goodbye to the hopes and desires I had for this record. It is no longer good enough to just pack it away until a better time.This time it must be discarded. It is time for a new record. A new song. New memories. New dances to a brand new record. The rhythm will be different. I may not know the beat. The words will take some time to memorize, but it's time. It's time to be out with the old, and find the new. No more broken records. It's time for newness.

Dear Me

Dear Me,

Continue to be you. Be sensitive.  Cry.  Ask questions. Giggle loudly. There are days you tell yourself you must change. That you need to be different.  But as hard as you try,  you can't. You can't change your infectious laugh that causes people to say something. You can't change that you "talk white". This advise is being given on a day where you are questioning yourself. Why and what.  It's always why and what. But this time the why and what is different because it's made you cry. And you thought you were strong enough not to cry. That's really the problem,  you always think you're strong enough. You keep asking yourself what you did and why this keeps happening. As if somehow if you were different,  prettier, lighter, or more black the results would be different. But sadly,  they never are.  There are just a few things in life my heart desires. Not too much,  just a few.

Disillusioned

The happily ever after,  the butterflies in the stomach,  I love you letters. All an illusion. Respect,  love,  trust.  All illusion. Two imperfect people making a choice to choose one another.  That's it.  No sparks. No fairytale ending. Cinderella lied. Sleeping beauty was wrong,  and Snow white...also misinformed. It's all just a story we're told. Books we are read.  But life and fairytale don't marry well. Or at all. From the outside looking in,  fairytales are believable. The smiles, the photos, the beautiful and splendid weddings. But after the curtain is pulled and the pretty dress is taken off. After the cameras stop flashing and life resumes. The illusion no longer remains to exist. You're still left with two imperfect people, who've made a choice. Choosing one another. It's all just a choice, wrapped up in exquisitely breath-taking decorated paper. The outside appears beautiful, while the inside, the inside is just a simple choice.