from diamonds to dog tags

strengthaboveallelse:

“Distance is not for the fearful, it is for the bold. It’s for those who are willing to spend a lot of time alone in exchange for a little time with the one they love. It’s for those knowing a good thing when they see it, even if they don’t see it nearly enough.”

You get used to sleeping with someone. You learn the feel of their arm around you, the sound of their breathing, the beat of their heart. It doesn’t matter if it’s been once or years, you fall in love with it. Then they go away, back home, to training, deployment, something makes them go so you are left to lay in an empty bed. It hurts, to sleep alone, but it’s worth it. Someday he will be there with you again and in that moment, between awake and asleep, it will feel like he never left.

(via ourloveismilitarystrong)

Easter morning was the same routine as every year. Wake up to my brother yelling for me the get up so we can find the easter eggs around the house that the bunny left, a huge breakfast followed by two more button busting meals at both parent’s houses. Just as I think about taking a nap as I begin to come down from the sugar high, I decide to reach for my phone to see if there were any messages. Not expecting much since the few people I communicate with daily I’d already talked to, I had 7 missed calls from Caleb. My heart dropped. I had missed his call, AGAIN. Frantically, I call him back constantly until I get a message that he’s on the phone with his sister but will be calling soon and to be ready. Never thought Easter would be the day to get to hear his voice again. It had been over a month since I’d last talked to him and even though it was only for 6 minutes and 37 seconds and every second flew by faster than the last, it was such a relief to hear his voice on the other end. 

I thought I missed him when he didn’t return phone calls.

I thought I missed him when I had to wait until the final bell rang in highschool.

I thought I missed him when he spent time with his friends.

I thought I missed him when I went away to school.

I thought I missed him when he went to work or picked up extra hours.

I thought I missed him when we could only spend 5 of 7 nights together.

Now that I only get phone calls when he’s allowed,

now that we are 1,470 miles apart,

now that I won’t see him until July,

now that I sleep alone 7 out of 7 nights,

now that we are in different time zones,

now that wearing his clothes are my only way of being near to him

I know the true feeling of missing him. 

Before he left for Oklahoma, I had a dog tag and this ring made with e.e cumming’s quote, i carry your heart with me, inscribed so that we have a constant reminder that no matter how many miles and hours separate us, we’re always together.

As an almost twenty year old, I’ve buried a grand total of 8 people; 6 of them under the age of 21. Needless to say, they all passed away within 6 years. Eight people, six years, too young to die. there’s something about the saying, only the good die young that sits wrong with me. in every fairy tale the good always prevails, succeeds, lives through to the end and usually gets the girl. last time i checked, dying wasn’t a success, a way of prevailing or getting a girl. dying leaves only the soul to be appreciated and while that’s better than nothing, it’s not good enough for me. 

in my mom’s attempt to console me this foggy morning, she said some wise words, “yes, while they might not be living you know that they would do anything to be back on top of ground again. Jordan, Taylor, Taylor’s dad, Mike, Amanda, Dom, Nonnie, Aunt Nancy and now Austin aren’t having a blast like everyone says. They’re watching down on you and jealous of the fact that you get to eat that chocolate cake and actually taste it, you get to open presents in 20 days and feel the excitement in your blood while they just get to be a bystander.” 

if anything, these deaths have taught me to find the good in everything. and yes, that is really fucking hard at times but my new year’s resolution this year is to do just that. learn to live, learn to find a positive in the worst situation, learn to be happy despite what has happened in my life this last decade because all of those i have put six feet into the ground haven’t had the chance to do just that. 

Why not start now?

Why is it that if you have ovaries, xx chromosomes and significantly less facial hair than xy’s (well, hopefully atleast) you also have the gene for extreme bitchiness? Add on top of that, you automatically are condescending, critical and outright rude? This continues to boggle my mind. 

When has it ever been socially acceptable to rip a person’s heart out and stomp it on. The answer: never. So how come some feel entitled to do that. Now, fathom for a second having to live with this person in extremely close quarters. Can you feel the tension already because I sure as hell can. 

A person who constantly seeks out and presents the flaws of others just to improve their self image (whether to a group or internally) deserves and will receive absolutely no respect from me. And I will never, in my wildest dreams, consider them a friend. 

Unfortunately, I am the bitch and will burn that bridge with you no matter how long I’ve known you if I feel as though you are dissecting my every move. Needless to say, I will also form a posse behind me. I am loud, I am stubborn and I will give the respect I receive and you my friend, deserve NONE.

On another note, am I completely out of line or is it wrong to think that one goes to college in order to GET AWAY FROM A PARENTAL FIGURE and grow up? Because that’s exactly the impression I am under. Now, my family loves me but they also respect my space and trust me with my own wellbeing. I do not talk to my parents every day because I simply think they have better things to listen to than me complain about classes or tell them how much I did, or in many cases, did not do over the weekend. They have bigger and better things to process in one day than I do in a week so me calling them everyday is doing them an injustice.  With that enlightenment, I came to college leaving a home where I did not “report” in with my mom or dad unless I was coming home at the wee hours of the morning, or not at all. So when I enter the double, and frankly really heavy, doors of Campion, I do not expect to have to answer to anyone, at any time. I do not have a mom who lives in Campion 510, therefore I will not answer to anyone as to where I am at a given moment unless he or she is ready to file a Missing Person’s report because I have essentially, gone missing. (Missing entales that I have been out of the room exceeding 8 hours without contact, NOT 1 mere hour people!) So here is my rant for the day: get off my fucking back, you ARE NOT and NEVER WILL BE my mother so stop asking how my day was, if I slept well or did well on a test because frankly I could give a shit less how you slept, how your day was or if your test went well because, since we’re alllllllllll in college, you are 19 years old and not 9. 

To some people a birthday is just another ordinary day. But to me, a birthday is the most special day of the year, it’s YOUR day. Yeah sure you share it with hundreds of thousands of other people in the world but in those hundred thousands, you belong. It’s not a generalization of a ‘holiday’ like Christmas or Easter, which belongs to anyone who wants regardless if they believe in the true meaning behind it or not. For your birthday the only true meaning is the fact that you were born on this day. There is no religion, fasting, praying or song singing absolutely necessary. You don’t need to attend a church service or wake up early. All that is important is that you’re alive. More than that, you’re pure devotion to the day is to do whatever YOU want to do on this one day. Eat the cake, the brownie, the cookie and the pie if your heart so desires. For once, the calories don’t mean a damn thing as long as it tastes good. Honestly though, is it unreasonable to celebrate a deceased loved ones birthday? Every February I always take a moment of silence out for my Nonnie as a sign of sheer remembrance that she was born this day and that it was blessing even though she is gone. But today I wanted to take the time out to think about the day of Bianca. She’s been my rock the last year and means basically the world to me. Having a friend like her is like finding a soul mate in a way. She definitely ‘gets me’ if that were to make any sense. It’s so easy for us to laugh, cry, and just be ourselves when we’re around each other. It’s too cliche to call her my sister but too general to call her my best friend. She’s more like the cousin that you are really really close to but even then that doesn’t describe our relationship well enough. I’m thankful to have met her and I’m even more thankful to be able to spend her day with her. Happy Birthday B. I love ya smalls.