She would always show us her dreams they were crumpled up like leaves from holding on too tight

There’s beauty in the pain, can you see it?

Crushed dreams are worth as much as shredded classified documents. Sprinkled on your life as a reminder that you failed. You can desire something as much as humanly possible but if you don’t have the will and the action to take upon your dreams, they will be discarded like last months magazine. Your proof isn’t in your bright eyes or your smile when you think about your dream. It’s in your aching feet and in your scarred hands.

Dreams are a call to action not a hint of hope. Hope is healthy for the heart when you think you won’t make it anymore but motivation is what causes you to never need hope again. You’ll never be in a position where you need hope if you are doing what it takes to get past it. Hope is a milestone after you hit rock bottom. Faith is what takes you the rest of the way. Faith in yourself. That the dreams you have had can’t be ruined by someone who doesn’t think you can accomplish them because they weren’t capable of accomplishing their own desires.

Take the hope you get when you’re a writhering plant, believe in yourself, and water yourself daily so you can be as strong as you were before all of the nastiness of the world infected your views of yourself and your accomplisments.

Hope is in the sun rising

You were my hope but now all the hope I have is in watching the sun rise to remind me I am still alive

I’m happy right now. I get like that sometimes. Happy. For no god damn reason. It’s almost as if my body is trying to remind me that I am still alive. That I still have some remnant of hope and motivation in my exhausted body.

I stayed up watching Sons of Anarchy and time got away from me commonly how the ¬†consumer is to a machine. That’s all I did these days. Watch this show about a biker gang to keep my mind in the consistent loop to make sure from breaking and having to face reality. Weird mindless tricks to keep me alive. It’s 7 am or it’s gotta be sometime around then because the sun is breaking through the trees. I’m watching this sunrise and trying to capture this in my mind perfectly. That will never work so I took some real pictures, too.

Sometimes I hope these cigarettes will last forever. This moment is too good. Red hot chili peppers, a windy morning, and the sun rising over these trees and the treehouse so precisely that it could be painted. I wish I could paint. I would paint this view perfectly. Maybe I would even add me sitting here, smiling in contentment with this half lit cigarette in between my worn fingers.

This moment is perfectly imperfect and thats what I live for. If I could add sound with my picture just like the painted waterfall that used to make noise in my grandma’s living room I would play the distant airplane and the faint music that is inspiring me to be a better human being.

I often times have a love/hate relationship with this world I was thrown on without a manual, but right now in this exact moment I fucking love this shitty world I was born on.