college real life

March 23, 2013

"It's late again, and we've been talking all night.  

And this exact moment is why I love this little room here on the third floor.  It's the times you're so tired that you can't do anything but dream.  And you close your eyes, but you can't sleep because you find too many pretty thoughts there.  

And it's just another night.

We talk about books and we talk about faith and we try and figure out what we're supposed to do with forever.  

And we'll stay up some nights just because we're excited for tomorrow, and we'll stay up other nights just because we're scared.

And you know, late night talks have always been the best ones."

college is a good place, you guys.  

-Linds

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

New Love

6-24-12

Every summer, I seem to find myself sitting here on this front porch.  It’s little, but there’s just enough space for two people to squeeze on, and I’ve found that that’s all I’ve ever really asked of it anyway.  I look out to the dark weeds growing through the sidewalk and the blue shutters hanging from the house across the street. There are bumble bees next to me, and my feet feel warm on the pavement. 

And I say thank you because I can breathe here.   

Your heart changes sometimes, and so does your love.   

Sometimes you need to remember what it feels like to be alone.  Not because there aren’t plenty of people to be with or because there isn’t plenty of love to be found, but because sometimes you need to remember all the reasons you love yourself.  You are creative and happy and beautiful, and sometimes remembering that is the most important thing.

And sometimes you need to remember those things that make you happy, and sometimes the things that make you happy change.   


Today

It's hard to grow up sometimes.  Mostly because you're not sure what you love anymore.  Noah and the Whale might not always make your heart beat slower and one day you'll run out of late nights spent on the roof.  

Then again, you'll wake up one morning and realize that February is beautiful.  It's nice to see the sun again.  And there are trees everywhere you go, and people smile while they walk.  

And maybe you'll realize late nights spent in a dorm room can make you happy too, and waking up to the snow falling out your window is something to look forward to.  You'll have dance parties every Sunday, and letters come on Fridays now.

Your heart changes sometimes, and so does your love.

But all that means is there's more room. There's room for midnight drives and late night calls and time spent looking out your window.

There's room for vanilla scented candles and Boy Meets World marathons and nights spent dancing to 'Stolen' by Dashboard.  There's even room for the moon. 

And there's room for 18, and 19, and 20... and you can save some of 17 too.

It's hard to grow up sometimes, but it gets easier when you remember you can save your favorite parts.  You can save all the bike rides and concerts and quesadillas you made senior year. You can save 'Buffet Singles Ward Sundays' and that time you roller bladed to Macey's last summer.

You keep your courage and I'll keep my eyes and we can sit on this little porch all night.




-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 

( 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

Learning To Love Again.

If there’s one thing I am for sure, other than starry-eyed and a bit too apprehensive, it’s sentimental.  

I love pictures, and letters, and I save old ticket stubs-- even the ones from terrible movies.  I keep old fortunes, and I guard every note.  I could tell you where I was a year ago.  I could tell you how it felt to live that day. 

Maybe it’s my sentimental heart, or maybe it’s my eyes that can’t seem to forget all the love they’ve seen.  The truth is, I’m not sure where the idea comes from, but I used to think that in order to love someone it took a lot of time, it took a lot of days, it took a lot of ticket stubs.

I still believe that sometimes.    

I’ve been thinking, though, and maybe love isn’t just about how long you’ve known someone or how many BLT sandwiches you’ve shared.  Maybe, sometimes, love is simpler than that.  

Maybe it’s not about the words you’ve said or the tears you’ve shared.  Maybe it’s not about the days.  Maybe it’s not about the time.  Maybe love is just a choice.

***

Sometimes I find myself looking at old pictures that hang on my wall, and I wonder how I’ll ever find people like you again.  

You’ve blessed me, and you’ve changed me, and you’ve been the subject of many thankful prayers.  

Sometimes I find myself looking at old letters, and I wonder how I’ve already collected so much love.  

There are other days, though, when I hear your laughter down the hallway or I see you walking with your eyes toward the sky, that it’s easy.  

Sometimes I don’t need pretty words or a day full of trampolines and “christmas in a cup” to love you.  


-Linds