What do I mean by it

Imperfection is beauty…

The idea that only certain people, or certain things can be recognized as beautiful, I have never been able to grasp. I have seen people look at others or things with such an admiration. It made me question, what do they see? What makes that person, thing, or place worth giving a second look. Now I believe I can understand it to some level, now I can comprehend what actual beauty is. It’s being able to see a person, place, or thing, and question every detail of it. See every detail that it or person was made with, and ask how, how long did it take, what was the intention for these different features. And see how beautiful it is to see so much difference, to see the aging, the beating it took, the loneliness it has endured. Ever look at an old building, wonder how old it is? what is it made from? that somehow it’s still standing. What caused those chipping corners? the faded discoloration, what has it seen, how many people have walked in and out of it, how many brakes it had, how many repairs it needed? That’s my thoughts when I see a building, a person, or place. and just the idea that this place, person, or whatever, is somehow still standing, amazes me. The life that has passed, and yet there is still someone out there that will love it, stare at it with such beauty in their eyes. See every wrinkle, every chip, every fade, every detail of it, and just be awed by it. Everything, every person, has a story, a sad one and a happy one. And I’m just curious to know them all. So to me, I like things the way they are, I like things that are forgotten or ignored, because its those that have on heck of a story, and that is beauty, the details.

-Note To Self

My anxiety through the roof

How do I explain that feeling, when thoughts of losing someone are there. that initial thought of anger, yet sadness. How everyone around me had chances to just break down and cry, get comfort. Yet I stand there stiff as a rock, just watching there reactions, whishing I could do the same. How come I don’t get to just have a moment to break down, how come I don’t get that selfish moment. I suppose because I know better, I know that there needs to be someone stable, reasonable. Or maybe I just can’t, maybe I don’t how to just let go. This week has been the hardest, most exhausting one, spent everyday back and forth. From my parents home down south to the hospital and back to check on my children. To be honest I just want to go back home, I want my husband to hold me tight and tell me that it’s ok, I want to be able to cry like a baby in his arms, and get comforted by him. I don’t recall feeling this kind of feeling, for those that have lost a parent I can’t imagine how they must have felt. Just the thoughts and all the waiting sent my anxiety through the roof, and yet I had not a moment to pause and allow myself to wallow. I’m tired, but I will be honest , now I feel relief. My mother will be home, and I can go back home, I can go back to stressing over my school process, and of what mess my kids are making in there rooms.

 -Note To Self