you and me

Yes, I Know It Hurts: a Universe Full of Turbulent Hearts.

 

The sound of death and taxes and illness and heartbreak. The sound of tears aching to pool in your eyes and drench your cheeks. Yes, I know it hurts.

And that each time things seem to line up, you end up finding faulty wiring and a big Boom! erupts from your heart. And you want to give up because Fuck this is easier to fling from your teeth than Okay, I’ll try again, but if you press a quick Pause and regroup, mend your tired limbs and dust yourself off, trying again will eventually become inevitable and your diligence will be rewarded.

You’ll be rewarded with delicious food and films that make you feel. In books that turn your insides on fire. In the simple way your head doesn’t fit anywhere better than it does the crook of your grandmother’s shoulder. In those blue eyes; in knowing that he’s the kind of man who walks into the room and makes your walls collapse.

You’ll be rewarded in good, hungry sex, and sunrises on airplanes, and those honest hugs that come after missing someone for so long.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But the shine atop your eyelids tells me that you are true and ripe and ready. So, lean in and count your stars. Paint the galaxy in colors that don’t exist yet. Say the words that this language hasn’t caught up with, the ones that roar from your heart and come out sounding steady and ripe, foreign to your tongue but comfortable there. Be the stars, be the galaxy. Be uncompromising in your integrity.

Know that in your very own chest, your heart contains the universe.

Yes, I know it hurts.

Because right now your heart is turbulent. But just like when in the sky, turbulence doesn’t mean you’re going down. So as soon as you start thinking that things could’ve been better, please remember the mountains, the valleys, the tragedies, and the triumphs that got you to the spot your feet now hover over. This. Here. Now. None of it was accidental, nor was it in vain. You are stretching, growing, breathing, evolving.

You are not to be wrapped in yesterday, no matter how comfortable its cloth may be.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But you must continue. If nothing else, continue. Keep going, keep moving, keep loving. Keep failing. Continue until you can’t, and then continue some more. Stay raw, stay soft, stay yearning and fierce and ready to love. Always love. Love when you can’t find the actions or the words or the time or the money. Just love and see what comes. Love and see what goes.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But important things do not knock sheepishly at your door or whisper into your ear. They bellow and shriek, and they pierce your sky with their significance.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But a massive amount of fear is good for you. Feel it through your body. The tiny trembles that have taken root in your fingertips. The dry patch taking up space in your throat. The significance that will come bursting through this space of fear — swallow it whole. No need to break it up into digestible chunks, it can’t hurt you the way you think it can. It’ll be salty to your skin, acrid to your gums, but it will pass.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But you are ready to revive and redo. To rearrange the ancient rules placed inside your tired bones. Rewrite them in bold, and italicize the parts that make your insides feel on fire.

Yes, I know it hurts.

But I want to tell you that I will be the button you press when life is falling over you and you just need to press an emergency button to release the thick of it. And I will be the exact shade of green that the tree leaves turn when Spring is rising and we can taste its rebirth through the grass.

I will make sure that you feel my touch long after my fingers have left your skin. That my lips have indented themselves across your collarbone for the rest of time and that you will never feel a square inch of yourself that hasn’t already been covered in me.

I will settle into you and breathe the breath of redemption, strength and vulnerability. We will be buoyant and powerful. We will be effervescent and fearless. We will be passion and necessity. We will be fever and unstoppable desire. We will be marinated in significance.

And I will remind you that what’s left of you now is the same as what was left of you before: everything.

***

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Julie Faulkner

Julie Faulkner

Julie Faulkner is raw, unfiltered kindness. She is a soft culmination of mermaid hair, dark eyes, floral dresses, and a lack of hand-eye coordination. She prefers hugs to handshakes, and she makes the best sad song playlists. She loves breakfast food all day, and will always prefer pancakes at dingy diners to five-star fanciness. She believes that there is nothing more attractive than good conversation, vulnerability, and bright-eyed wonder (and boys with really good teeth, don’t judge). She also probably loves you already. Connect with her via Facebook or purchase her book via Amazon.
Julie Faulkner

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