Tag: connection

Autobiography

Compassion

Ruby Pipes4 Comments
forestforthetrees
“Forest for The Trees” © Emily Horne and Joey Comeau, 2014. a softer world.

Florence Scovel Shinn said, “When you send out real love, real love will return to you.” I think that’s the only way you receive it. You get out what you put in. You see the things you’re looking for. It’s easy to forget. Fall victim to the idea everything is cruel. Fail to realize there are kind things, too. You just stopped seeing them. It becomes ingrained. Accidental habits. Maybe that’s just one of the those things depression does to you. Rolls the fog in. Puts the blinders on. When you’re hurting it’s hard to see the goodness in the world.

It’s hard to see it happen, though. I understand. Bit by bit the softness goes away. Sitting in a room, having a conversation. You don’t notice the sun going down until you can’t see the person in front of you. As if the night landed all at once. When did this happen? When did I become so hopeless? So negative. So angry. Continue reading →

Relationships

Unflinching

Ruby Pipes6 Comments

"moving boxes" © Robert S. Donovan, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
“moving boxes” © Robert S. Donovan, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
We didn’t drag our feet. When Mason and I met we knew exactly what we wanted. Three weeks later I moved in. No hesitation. Over three years later and we’re still confident it was the smartest thing either of us ever did.

He makes loving him easy. Makes it safe to let my guard down. In those soft, tender moments it becomes clear just how different he is—this love is—than the ones I used to frequent.

The things I was fed flavored the rest of me. Every relationship I’ve ever had bled into the next one. Old habits and expectations that never served me well stuck around, wreaking havoc. I catch myself applying old salt to fresh wounds. Getting nowhere. Continue reading →

Autobiography

Attachments

Ruby Pipes5 Comments

"Empty Room, Window" © Tim Samoff, 2005. CC BY-ND 2.0.
“Empty Room, Window” © Tim Samoff, 2005. CC BY-ND 2.0.
I don’t keep things. Journals get discarded when filled. My photo collection gets whittled down over and over again. My mind remembers the way old friends formed their letters. The dots of their i’s, the curve of their a’s. But I’ll never uncover intricately folded pieces of notebook paper containing their secrets.

Sometimes I remember an old picture I wish I still had. I catch myself hoping that someone held on to a copy and it will resurface someday. Show up in the mail with no return address as a reminder we used to be different people. Existence used to mean something else. Continue reading →