openhearts

I took Katie home with me last Sunday.  I drove her all around.  We sat in your driveway and we talked on his stools and I showed her the intersection of 100 East and Center Street.  

Because I wanted her to see where everything happened.  

I wanted her to see where we road bikes and looked at Christmas lights and milked goats in your back yard.  I wanted her to see the roof we wished on and the deck where we played cards.  I wanted her to see the G and hill park and my little, one-step porch.

I wanted her to see the places where my heart grew. 

*** 

One day, you'll trade your little basement bedroom for a window on the third floor, and you'll give up your early morning classes for late night runs.  And you'll see faces you don't recognize, and you'll learn stories you've never heard.   

But, you know, something funny happens when you come to college.

Sunday night dance parties and fires in the canyon change faces you didn't recognize into people you don't want to forget.  

And you'll stay up late telling stories, because no one really sleeps here, and you'll start to realize why she smiles that way.  And you'll hear about past love and happy days and all those times they went to In and Out at midnight.

And she'll listen to you too.  

And it's like, all of a sudden, you'll start to see all of the moments and people and love that made you.  And you'll kiss your thumb after every pinky promise, and fortune cookies will make you sentimental.  

And you'll go to sleep smiling because everything usually works out.  

***

I fell in love with the mountains on rainy mornings, and the way the stars shine brighter when it's warm outside.  

And we all see things a little differently, and nobody's love is exactly the same.

My heart needed that street lamp and hers got that that pretty wooden bench.

And we all see things a little differently, but I guess that's just because hearts don't grow the same.

-Linds

Sentimental Hearts

I've been thinking about the mountains lately.  I've been thinking about all the nights I've spent there.  

That's something that I remembered a lot when I first came to school.  Hiking the G at midnight.  We didn't really want to, but somehow we found ourselves together there.

I remember the whispers as we walked, and I remember the lights we saw once we got there.  I remember the leaves and the dark the warm air.

Mostly, though, I remember that we didn't have any words.  Mostly because we didn't need them.  That night was about the clouds and the sky and realizing that this really was our home-- at least for a little while.  

And I remember saying thank you, with every part of my heart.  And I remember wondering if, quietly, you were saying thank you too.

*     *     *

I have this dream that one day, long after I've gone, you'll come back to this place just to see if it really was as beautiful as I always promised.

And when you do, I hope you'll open your eyes and find all of the love and thanks and life here that we did.


-Linds

the view from upstairs

Did I mention there’s a window here?
There’s a window and a tree.  

And it really is the most wonderful thing.  

Sometimes I lie with an open window late into the night.  I turn out the lights, and I look up at the sky.  It’s dark, and it’s wonderful, and it even feels like home sometimes.  Mostly because God’s there.  

Sometimes I talk to Him too.  I ask Him to say all of the things that I can’t right now.  I ask Him to listen.  Mostly I try and say thank you, though, and that’s mostly because He loves me.  And I’m thankful for that.

Sometimes I look up through my tree just to find the moon.  I always do, and I always smile.  Mostly because life really is the most wonderful thing, and the moon has always reminded me of that.

-Linds

my place on the hill

Honestly, I don't remember a lot.

I don't remember what it smelt like or how the air tasted or even really what I was doing there.  I don't know if I was overwhelmed or happy.  I'm not sure why I was alone.

I remember the mountains, though.
I remember my leaky truck.  
I remember the lights and the lake and rolling down the hill in the summer.

And I'm not sure what I thought there, or why I always tried to make that hill my favorite place.

All I know is, I would give up a lot of days and grilled cheese sandwiches to sit up on my hill again. 

I'd walk to my car and roll down the window, even though it's winter and it's cold.  And I'd drive, and I'd drive, and I'd drive... just to sit on my hill, just to see the lights, just to be home... 

Just to drive right back.

And maybe it doesn't really matter what happened there.  Maybe it doesn't really matter if it smelt like rain or if it smelt like cut grass.  

Maybe the only thing that matters is that it took me when I was overwhelmed, and it took me when I was happy.  Maybe the only thing that matters is, it was the home that gave me the stars. 


-Linds 

Counting Stars

How about we talk about heaven or the people we want to be. 

How we want to be brave and we want to be kind and how we're not quite ready to grow old yet.  

Let's drive through the stoplights and say silent prayers.  Let's listen to Drops of Jupiter in the rain. Let's sit on my porch and look at the stars and laugh about all the things we thought we knew once.

Let's talk about our dreams and our fears, and I'll smile because we're young and it's easy to forget we're supposed to be afraid sometimes.   

Let's walk through the trees and look at the moon.  Let's drive through the canyon and talk about the way real life feels so far away sometimes.  
Tell me your favorite words, and I'll give you some of mine.  
And maybe once we're through talking we'll remember how it feels to be alive again.

I'll lie in the grass, and you'll look at the stars, and I'll smile because this moment will live forever.

And when it's done, and when we're through, I'll come back to this little home I've made.  And I'll close my eyes, and I'll bite my tongue, and I'll try to say thanks for all of the beautiful things I remembered tonight with you.  


-Linds

( For You )

 If I were to write a book, I'd write about that tree outside my window.  I'd write about watching the snow fall and reading in the leaves.  I'd write about playing basketball that day and how it was so beautiful that I still go there in my head sometimes.  

I'd write about that day we went sledding and midnight hikes and that time they asked me about the perfect day and I just smiled because I've already lived so many perfect ones with you.

I'd write about the leaves that fell last fall and waiting for the snow to melt.  I'd write about the new things and the old things and the way I was happy then... the way I'm happy now.

I'd tell you to say thank you more often and to write more things down.  I'd tell you to remember the important things and to have faith in the small ones.

If I were to write a book, I'd call it Prayers from the Bathroom Floor, because to me that's what life is.  It's winter days and summer nights and hiding behind a wooden fence just to look up at the stars and say thank you.   

And I love that.  

If I were to write a book, I'd dedicate it to you, with your sarcastic jokes and overwhelming faith.  I'd dedicate it to the days that go to quick and the nights that will last forever.  I'd dedicate it to the smiles and the insecurities and the happy struggles I'll never forget.

And I'm not there yet, but one day I'll write a book.  Because God has given me so many beautiful days, and your eyes are too bright to forget.  

-Linds