Firework.

I'm writing posts over posts of blogs and hiding them behind the scenes of this website. Could it be that I'm actually too shy to hit "Publish Post" and let you see me? Writing is a socially acceptable form of getting naked in public. And it seems I've truly understood what it means to reveal yourself to a world of others; others who may misunderstand, others who may mock you in a crowded room, others who may steal your ideas, others who will hate you for the verbal carnage you spew. But among the others are a select few who may find inspiration behind the stories, the art, & the wrath, who seek wisdom behind your lines and words, who value what has to be said, who understand that it is written.

This one's for you.

I'm just your average girl, making your average everyday choices. To go to school or not go to school? Which jacket; which shoes? To date this boy or that one? Red pill, blue pill? I've made a choice to become more of a woman. I've made a choice to be my own light that fills up a room. But sometimes there comes a person who will swing by, take a liking to what they see, spark a firework inside of you in attempt to sweep me off my feet. More times than not it's a dud. They end up picking themselves up off the ground after getting bucked, dusting themselves off as they go because I'm looking for something that falls within certain margins they do not meet. This is my world. I want it the way I want it. It's my life so I can be picky and choosy over the hand that feeds me.

I've always been Independent. I got my own. So yes, I'll always fight over you washing my dishes in my house because you are my guest. I'll give you an evil smirk when you beat me to opening my own doors. I'll argue when you refuse to let me pay for anything. I don't like being baby'd. Chivalry is dead. I've accepted that. Every girl has. However, I will admit that it's nice to see that it exists and the gestures don't go unnoticed. I'll appreciate that you give me your coat without even asking if I feel cold. "You don't have to dote on me.... I'm not that kind of girl" yet you spoil me rotten anyway; whether I enjoy it or not.

He came around while I had distracted myself elsewhere. He caught a glimpse of her, something ignited. He put his best foot forward & followed it. Despite everything, he dropped it on a whim. Matchbox in hand he showed me a side of man that I knew nothing about and lit the sparkler, filling everything up with light. I can't get a grip or find a handle on how to hold such a thing. If I try to put my fingers around it, I'll burn. When it started I was in limbo and I had to make a choice. It took some distance for me to realize that I had fallen without even knowing I had stepped off the ledge because I saw something glowing in the distance. Now he's got me speaking in tongues that I thought I cut out of my throat, forcing me to realize that this life is a gift. But he doesn't know what he's opening. He doesn't have a clue at how many people had to sit on top of this case to zip it shut and like a fire without oxygen, the flame was put out.
There were no tears, there was no remorse, and I realized there has been no regret. From it I was changed and I had nothing to lose from choosing the path I chose. I have nothing to lose in repeating it once again. But I don't want to fall into relationship repetition; fighting arguing sadness crying, etc.
Futuristically speaking, we may never work. No matter how bad I would want it to. Don't blow wishes on my lashes because they may never come true. It's going to take too much effort out of me to tell you otherwise. You're not wrecking any homes. You aren't causing me pain. We're setting ourselves up for disaster. I'm gonna try to save you. But it's hard when I can barely save myself from falling into your clutches because it's familiar, it's different, it's where I know I've always belonged. It's a burning. It's a desire. It's a flame.
Now it's like everything is on fire.