From What I've Tasted of Desire.

In my head it was always one or the other, and you got to choose:
Fire or Ice.

Ever since I first remember hearing the pairing of the two I would always claim myself as Ice.
I admired all it had to offer.
Beauty in a way that was clear, and pure, and precise. Beauty that knew it was beautiful and didn't have to prove itself. Ice was always calm in the face of this world, hauntingly calm with a soft heart that never looks back twice. Ice seemed misunderstood. Ice is cold even when it stares you straight in the eyes and burns you. Ice holds itself with such pride that never claims the acceptance of others, it know who it is, it knows what it was made for. Ice knows, and honestly ever since I was really little that's all I wanted, was to know things.

But now that I am trying to be honest with myself more, I am discovering that I was never Ice.

I am Fire.

From the bright tips of flames on the top of my head that flows in the wind without a single care, all the way down to the scolded and calloused bottoms of both of my feet from walking all over the world barefoot. I am a Fire that rages within every part of my being. I am honest to a fault and take love with a grain of salt. I'm wonderful in small and careful doses, but if you get to ingrained or too involved I burn with a fiery passion that claims things as my own. I love with fire in my eyes. I'm hotblooded and stubborn, even when it comes to small things like folding shirts a certain way, or having to have a picture shot a certain way. I stand firm and strong for the things I believe in, and even when I falter, I am made to engulf anything that stands before me. I am a beauty that knows no boundaries, and sees not faults. I am a beauty that doesn't have to question itself, a beauty that is fierce and strong and desirable to the eyes. My naturally hot blooded self warms even the darkest & coldest nights under the stars with wonder and mercy and grace.

I burn.
I brave.
I belong.

This is where we walked endless hours of the night hopelessly grasping on to as much of this life that we possible could. This is part of the place I lived that felt the most like home. The place where everything was better and everything was safe. A place that held many of my tears in its palm without shame, throwing them right back into the ocean. My dear, this is where I was most in love. In love with who I was becoming even though I couldn't quite grapple her into a box of should be and could've been's. This is where I was most in love with life. A girl who fought tirelessly for the people she adored the most. This is where I unashamedly proclaimed Gods name over and over and over again without having to actually say a single word. Because this was his word. This is where God held me closest in His arms. This is the place where I truly found a best friend. A safe haven of young hearts that were trying to grow through life, encouraging each other through the heartaches, and bracing each other for what was to come. The boy escaped every now and then to a distant land from from the water, and those moments were hard, because the ocean was too big for the girl to try and understand all alone. So she would sit on the oceans edges and would wait and wait for those moments when the boy would come back home and at just the right moment they would walk together along the seawall in wonder. 

I think in Colors that have yet to be Created.

When somebody asks me how to describe a specific color, I quickly become tongue tied.
Not because its a hard question, or because I couldn't explain. More so because the way she sees the color may be vastly different from the way I see it.

Colors are Christmas lights tangled around our memories that we turn on every so often to catch a glimpse of something that we can't seem to forget. Thankfully when we don't want to, and unfortunately when we do.

Like when she asked me for blue, I always think of you and the way you looked deep into my eyes and said "I always remember your favorite color is the blue that they sky turns right before it rains", or the iridescent waves crashing over my head as I finally chose to relinquish the weight I carry to the air cradling me in its arms before allowing me to sink into the heart of an old acquaintance that I seemed to forget to cherish.

How about green? I automatically think of my best friends tiny car in Japan that we packed such joy, warmth, laughter, love inside. Or the fields I used to roam, giggling, ready to deliver the basket with my heart inside. The tree I climbed with courage and wondered if he even noticed that I wasn't afraid, not only to reach the top to see everything the way he saw it, but to be so close next to him in such a tight, private place, where the only eyes on me wore his. Sometimes its just that simple, when I think of green I think of his eyes.

She doesn't even have to ask yellow, because its already a part of me. My curly locks that changed during the summer season to a brighter hue, like the way I felt when he finally intertwined his hand in mine, and his body against mine, and eventually his heart. And surprisingly even when he let go of my hand, and and walked away with out turning around to wave goodbye, I still thought of yellow, because it wasn't about him the entire time, it was about me. I am yellow.

Red. The color of my first bruised knee, my first bruised ego, my first bruised heart. The color I felt when I finally decided to let myself fall down on my knees in desperation hoping for something worth holding onto. The color I felt when my mother held me in her arms, despite my unprepossessing appearance, and wept a deep, tragic, sorrowful thing that needed to come out.  The red when he finally put his boots down on solid ground after years on end in a war zone. The red that I finally decided is part of me whether I like it or not.

Mostly all the colors that I am inside haven't been created on this earth yet.
But whenever somebody asks me my favorite color, I can never explain.
I can't put a name to it yet, because I don't know it yet.
But its a color up in Heaven describing the tremendous joy He has put in my life.
A color He created, I'm slowly discovering, that is just for me.

I miss Somebody I haven't met yet.

Sometimes it’s hard to let some things, and some people go.

Familiarity breeds deeper roots.

I used to say there are all kinds of love, but I never really said it in a way I believed it.

There is the “buckle up and be careful” love, or the “let me get the bandaid” love.

There’s the “I will get up earlier in the morning to pick you up from the bus stop” love,

and the “you can have the last cupcake” love.

There’s also the “you’re not allowed to go the party on Friday” love,

and the “I know you can do better than that love”.

But honestly it’s all the same love.

It’s just handed out pamphlets on cracked cobblestone corners of our hearts that we deem worthy enough to stand on and say “here I am, someone care”.

But sometimes people aren't ready for love, they will say they are but they just aren't.

And it will hurt. Damn it will hurt a lot, but that’s okay.

Even when you already have the car ride snacks, awesome jam mix, and the coolest shades,

you shouldn't have to convince your shot gun rider that the trip will be worth it.

Because it is. You are. Never sell yourself, you aren't something to be bought.

You are a heck of a driver, with a terrible singing voice, and a lot of spunk.

So don’t wait up for people you have to convince you’re worthy of,

use that off key voice, roar as loud as you can.

Have a messy hair day and a thirsty heart for adventure.

Because one day soon before you even know it, while your at a stoplight,

the right person ready to tackle that adventure might just come up and call

shotgun.