1 Corinthians 13:4-7

I frequently listen to the shitty recordings of your songs. The guitar is well balanced. But your voice floods only my right ear. Your songs get stuck in my head all the time. N1 still makes my heart flutter. Not in the same way, just an endearing, "I miss this" kind of way. I miss you. I miss the way you understood me. I miss your constructive honesty. The way you'd hold me accountable. The way it would make me furious. The way you'd nearly sing me to sleep on iChat. The way I'd click on the end button because I didn't want you to watch me sleep. The way you begged for me to just be my honest self. I often find myself asking if what we had was real. We were so young, but does that really discredit the sincerity of what we felt? Does it abolish the feelings I couldn't explain? 

But I'm older now. I know it was unreasonable for me to expect you to walk through my bedroom door when I was home alone and afraid of the groans and whispers the house walls made. I know it was unreasonable for me to hope you would surprise me by coming home a day earlier than you told me you were going to. I know it was unreasonable to expect you to say the exact right thing at that exact moment. You taught me that the right thing wasn't always nice. Nor was it usually what I wanted to hear. But you were capable of that heartfelt honesty. 

You came into my life at a pivotal moment. It was an essential time in my adolescence and my walk with Christ. Meeting you swayed the decisions I made regarding school and friends. I was so alone. I was surrounded by people that I knew, but I didn't know any of them. No one was interested in the things I was learning. No one was concerned with the crosses I bore. You were an instrumental piece to my growing pains. 

Now I know that it's okay to wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm allowed to have feelings. And although sometimes they're going to be rejected, it's far more important to let them be known than allow them to be a mystery. You taught me that taking the risk is sometimes the most significant action in a relationship. If I don't, then there won't be a relationship. I've realized that I can't keep everything locked up. Most of the time, it'll be more beneficial for me to tell someone, anyone, than no one at all. 

I loved you as much as a confused fifteen year old girl is capable of loving a seventeen year old young man. Unfortunately for our relationship, I have since surpassed my fifteen year old capabilities. But God has a reason for everything. He gave me you so I could learn how to love someone to my fullest potential. 

Although I am entitled to my fantasies, I'm not allowed to literally expect them from a man, and get upset when it doesn't happen. I no longer have these disillusions of what could be. I realize what is and I'm content with that. I'm easily satisfied. 

And I owe that to you. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

Lessons Learned

This is me learning a lesson. 

Trust no one,
feel nothing, 
do not invest, 
and never be like that. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

Gungor

I play my piano completely exposed. I allow my towel to fall onto the bench while I touch each key softly with my fingertips, just hard enough to formulate a G major. I work the progression from G to A to D until my voice grows tired. Each note touches my naked skin; becomes absorbed into my open pores and resonates throughout my bare body. My hair falls into wet curls partially over my shoulder. I feel the cool droplets descending onto the small of my back.
All this pain,
I wonder if I'll ever find my way.
I wonder if my life could really change at all. 

I press my foot down onto the sustain pedal as I push down on the last chord. The notes carry themselves out as I turn my head to look at my reflection. I see the silhouette of each vertebrae poking through my back. I see the way my 12 ribs say hello. I see my collar bone, I see my tiny wrists. But I also see the fat rolls on the front of my stomach. I see the stretch marks on my thighs and the bare cellulite kissing my piano bench. It's never good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?
You make beautiful things...
You make beautiful things out of the dust. 

Images swarm my head. They're like cartoons, teasing the fears in my brain; wondering what I'm trying to make of myself and asking if this is worth it. Telling me that if I give up, it'll make me a coward. 
All around,
Hope is springing up from this old ground.
Out of chaos life is being found in You.

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie