Ramblings of a Human

This will be mostly stuff I've written with the occasional foray into other writing related things. Thanks for stopping by! 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

It’s hard. The first instinct is to say they aren’t worth it—the thoughts, the tears, the tug at the bottom of your gut—any of it.

But something small and true rings in your ears after the pain from the blow subsides: they are still the person you loved.

They are human. They too are allowed to be wrong on occasion, to make mistakes, to live in the aftermath.

You move on because they hurt you. You forgive because it’s right. You wish them all the best because, after everything, there is spirit, magic, beauty, even kindness left inside them.

You will love from a distance. You will not harden your heart. You are made of stronger stuff than that.

-S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

And that’s the thing—everyone thinks they’re a realist.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

I'm not sure who I am, except that I am composed of contradictions which confound even myself.

S.P. 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

And then there are moments when the shadows fall away and the light is the color of honey and the world is not all bad. It is a place for people to love and feel, and the hard things carve out a space for happiness too.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

Translucent effigies wander around my mind. Aimless, they haunt without real malice. Past wounds still sting with present despair. Still. Forever and ever amen. They have no beginning and no end. Names and faces, but no skin. They are hot in my cheeks and cold in my chest.  Joy eaters. Heart rotters. Tear bringers. Love slaughters. I'm still waiting for it to save.

S.P. 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

I am seeking words to live by. The tears well up in my eyes. Home is where the heart is. My heart is cold and dry. Where is the long path leading? Where is my hard fought peace? Resting its back on the brick at the corner. Searching for something to keep.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

I’m so tired of caring what they think. I can’t stop caring what they think.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

I’m realizing that the people who genuinely seek truth are the people who admit they don’t know what it is.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

Words are not a universal language. I’m not talking about the difference between Spanish and English and Ancient Greek. I write what I cannot speak. I think in words that go beyond even my writing.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

What does passion look like? What is its shape? Its color? It is association without boundaries. It is giving up your tears and long nights, your name and your image—all for something you can hardly control. It is saying that even this has been worth the risk.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

And it's hard because I don't just want to catch the highlights of a city. I want to analyze the syntax and sub-themes and imagery too. I want to crawl inside its veins and feel the thrum of its heart against my skin.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

Humanity's the worst. People. . . People I'm ok with.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

The most attractive thing in the world to her was experience. Not just in romance or relationships but in life.

S.P.

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

Hey. You matter. So do they.

S.P. 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

My brain reasons. My heart screams.

S.P. 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

It didn't seem right. She finally knew she was enough, but still no one else took notice.

S.P. 

[sarahscaffeinatedrants]

She was veering, terrified, towards the future. Forms and interviews and finances. Freedom and independence and fulfillment.

S.P.