See, there are breeds of women out there that I have met who have shaken parts of me. Women who have cared, nurtured, and loved people who they knew couldn’t love them back. Women who have written songs about men who leave and come back and somehow always leave again. The ones who stay up all night listening to instrumentals, writing a song that will not penetrate his soul but rather hers. And these are the women that lose their art - trading in full hearts for the shriveled up hearts of others.
These are the women that do not care how their hair always looks. The ones who feel beautiful because they know their minds are. The women who read for more than pleasure. They read to know, to really really know the perception of life from a writer’s mind. They read to care - to place pieces of their huge hearts into the lives of made-up characters whom they’ll never meet. They read so that they can have stories that will someday light up a stranger’s eyes with wonders of a reader’s world. They save all their books in hopes that one day their children will pick one up and fall asleep hugging it. These women read so that they cannot be read.
These are the women that paint to envision their lives in the layers of their craft and in the imperfections of art. Women who pick up paint brushes faster than they pick up their hearts. They are the women that cannot sleep because the realms of imagination are far more important than beauty sleep. The ones who cannot care but to care for anything and everything around them. The ones who day dream of skies in different countries and what it must be like to swim in the ocean with a man who knows everything but their name. These are the women who disregard the stores, the jewelry the material…because life, to these women, is not about having things that define you but defining yourself through the art that you love.
But sometimes the music never stops the hurting…and words never bring him back. so these women forget how to love, the love that they love..and they forget how to laugh…how to feel..how to paint..how to be.
These are the women who solely admire flowers from gardens instead of picking them because flowers too, die when they are materialized.
Happy are they who take life day by day, complain very little, and are thankful for the little things in life.
There’s one part of me that’s like:
You should do your work, and then you wouldn’t be so stressed, and you would feel a great sense of accomplishment, and you’d have free time when you’re finished.
But then there’s this other part of me that’s like:
They both make such good arguments.
“We’re up all night til the sun. We’re up all night to get some. We’re up all night for good fun. We’re up all night to get lucky.”
Song is too addicting. Too catchy. >:T