call me ocean hearted: September 2015

Oh the places we've been.. Oh the places we may never go..

Main Street in AF: I'd be your life flight if that meant going back to a time when we hadn't started throwing darts at e...

what follows after seven p.m.

I overthink and overcompensate and spend too much time comparing myself to others when I should just finish my freaking math homework. ...

SOS

Tonight was soul saving. Tonight was thunderstorms, lightning flash photography, parkour, and puddles. It was reachin...

(written by sami rackman and i)

I love you in run-on sentences.

You are imperfect, and I daresay that’s one of the things I love the most about you.

You are a “great perhaps” I want to seek.

And I was familiar with the way your voice sang lullabies and goodbyes.

I traced the veins in your arms and trusted them as a map to home, and I wound up in your heart, where I wanted to be all along.

You’re my favorite song. You always have been.

You and I are just the right amount of crooked.

You helped me believe I wasn’t broken after all.

You are my favorite color: all blues, greens, and pine trees. You even made the sky blush.

And every time I think of my favorite color, I can’t help but think of your ocean eyes.

Your skin is the color of the beach at Santa Monica, coincidentally, these are two things my hands will never tire of touching.

You were the melody in the dissonance of the mess you helped me begin to sort through.

You are my burning building.

You were ready to leave, so you left, and I’m still not ready to let go yet.

You tasted like nostalgia and ache and too much frosting.

I knew you loved my ocean heart, but you would never dive into it. At least, not without a life jacket.

You were a mess, and I was a broom.

And we were both storms. Maybe that’s why we could never get the timing right.

I LOVED YOU IN THE MOST INCONVENIENT TIMES.

One time, I realized my heart was on my sleeve, and I only knew after somebody pointed out that it was broken, so they gave me a string to sew it back up, and now I can’t manage to let anyone back in.

But I still have a hole in my heart, and in wanting you, I’m only trying to fill it with more emptiness. I wanted to tell the cardiologist, “It didn’t heal correctly, it still hurts.” but I fear he’d say, “Broken hearts will always beat irregular.”

BUT THIS ATOM-BOMBED HIROSHIMA HEART WILL GROW FLOWERS AGAIN SOON.

We were sparklers.

You sparked a flame I didn’t think I could kindle.

What a lovely, insatiable wildfire.

We created our own universes, and every time they collided, we created shooting stars that sang as they fell for something bigger than themselves.

Our constellations could light up the night.

Looking up and seeing stars, but looking down and seeing scars.

The world would come to kiss your scars if they saw them as I have.

I wish I could give you the world, but the world is already on your shoulders.

And your hands are big enough and important enough to hold my whole world, but my hand will be enough for tonight.

You just need to find the people who will lift your worlds with you.

You were born to feel these things.

You played hide-and-seek, except I couldn’t come looking for you for exactly 63,113,851.9 seconds. And in case you were wondering, yes, that’s how many seconds are in 2 years.

I LET YOU TAKE PIECES OF ME I DIDN’T THINK I EVEN HAD TO GIVE AWAY.

We knew from the start that we were complementary puzzle pieces, but we’re only getting cut trying to pick up these broken parts now.

We were born to feel love, and passion, but we were also born to hurt and feel pain and loss.

I wonder if the universe feels like this when a star collapses.

I couldn’t stand the thought of you loving me when I couldn’t love myself.

If only I could kiss you from across an ocean.

It was impossible to think about you leaving, so I had to think about me leaving instead.

Tell me you won’t leave, and tell me you won’t forget, and please try your hardest to keep true these inevitable lies.

After he left, I thought there was only one thing that could potentially heal me, but it turns out..

KISSES AREN’T BANDAIDS.

You don’t realize your tears taste like salt until you are drowning in them.

And maybe you have a lot to cry about.

BECAUSE I MISS EVERYONE ALL AT ONCE.

With you, it was like running through a rainstorm: I left cold and shivering, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. You’ve ruined the rain for me, though. I used to miss no one in particular but now I particularly miss you.

I miss you like lightning misses thunder.

I missed you two minutes after I met you and every second since.

I missed you before you were even gone.

I miss you even when it’s only silence separating us.

I miss you every single time I see the ocean, it has always reminded me of you.

I’m on the moon and missing you.

Even the stars have the capacity to miss you.

THE MOON, THE STARS ARE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU.

You were my ocean, and every time you weren’t near I couldn’t form a cohesive metaphor.

But you said, “Not everything is a metaphor.”

And I said, “sometimes beauty is in the attempt.”

a sticky noted poem

(written by sami rackman and i) I love you in run-on sentences. You are imperfect, and I daresay that’s one of the things I love the ...

impossibly oceanic

(written august twenty seventh) I have an ocean heart but what if I'm scared to death of drowning in it???? I'm waiting ...

(written july second)

My best friend tells me that my freckles make constellations, but in all reality, my mosquito bites make more of them now.

They're all over my legs.

I smell like campfire all the time, and I stay up way past when my parents suggest I go to bed.
I drink way too many 32 oz peach sprites with half and half, and it seems like everything I own smells like slurp.

Man I gotta lose some weight before 2 years is up, and gotta remember... Not every boy you kiss you should date seriously... Or fall in love with, but you gotta figure out what a good kisser is, and they say practice makes perfect.

It's actually quite hilarious how 9 am is a retched time to be awake and functioning and every time some one suggests it I gasp, and insist they take it back and repent.

Heaven forbid I wake up before noon and do something with my life.

And heyoooo don't spend all your money on Chickfila.. You're supposed to be saving that money for college. Jokes on all the haters, because I love chicken more than supporting myself in my college career.

Also, don't mention the marriage word, kissing word, or children word or else I might give my dad a hernia, and sprout a few more gray hairs on his head.

How many days until the first missionary gets home? Second? Third? Oh ya and how about that fourth? Gotta save some kisses for them too.

They tell you bed bugs don't bite during the summer, but bed bugs creep into your dreams and man, they have a way of making fantasy seem realistic, so ha ha good luck getting to sleep.

My baby brother is growing up and I'm going to college, and I have more in common with my sisters than I thought I would ever be able to empathize with.

And mom, please don't be mad at me that I cut my hair, there were too many memories clinging on to the end of every strand and I had to cut it completely off to keep from weighing my head down and giving me headaches. I couldn't stand it anymore.

So in however many days from now I pick up and finally become that thing, that daunting word.. An Adult, I guess after being thrown out of the nest you gotta adapt somehow.

I'll go into it with scars from my mosquito bites, memories of the people I "used to go to school with", and stories of late nights and the disappearing act so many seem to play for 2 years.

Don't be upset if I cry the first couple nights. Or months. But, they tell me... It's natural. You are just nostalgic for summers anthem.

summer's anthem

(written july second) My best friend tells me that my freckles make constellations, but in all reality, my mosquito bites make more...

chocolate chip cookies and blog renovations

when the sun goes to bed infinitely, and the cloud's last tear hits my windshield i'll find you. when i find your constellatio...

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Oh the places we've been.. Oh the places we may never go..

what follows after seven p.m.

SOS

a sticky noted poem

impossibly oceanic

summer's anthem

chocolate chip cookies and blog renovations

I'm Kal

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