Roll wit it.

Riding home from the Christmas celebration with my immediate family this wintery night, I stared out the car window. The drifting snow looked like smoke moving slowly along the roads; the music that was playing was both eery and ethereal. The woman sang about how someone who had passed on was their angel. Being the person I am, I started to think about all those who I have loved, who have passed on. Staring at the drifting snow was the only thing holding back my tears. I heavily thought about my one remaining grandfather, and how I know his time here is limited. He is fading away, faster everyday. I've always tried to move as far away from death as possible. I remind myself each person is in a better place, out of their pain, resting in the arms of someone who can comfort them better than anyone else ever could. Yet, I've come to realize how I fear death. Not necessarily my own, but of those I love.
Yes, losing those you love hurts. It cuts deeper than any blade ever could. Anyone who has lost someone knows that.
But I've always held onto my beliefs.
Now, the questions creep in..."What if the things I believe aren't right? What next?"
This, this is what I need to shake.

I lack the words.

A sudden gust of inspiration has washed over me.
Inspiration that makes me feel like I can do anything.
I hold onto this inspiration, and the person who doesn't know they are behind it.
I hold onto it like it's my fleeting breath right now; like it's all that I have.
I'm trying to convey this inspiration into something...anything.
No writing works, to capture what it's giving me.
The canvas and layers of paint that have now stained my hands do it no justice.
It's too beautiful for words.
I want to capture it in a moment, for I know someday, it will be gone. Possibly someday soon.
It saddens me to think that, but it's envitable. Perhaps the inspiration will leave a permanent imprint inside of me.
Maybe if I fight hard enough, it'll stay.
I don't want to let this go; I don't want this out of my grasp, ever.
The elation that has come with it is overwhelming, but what I need. It's JOY. Pure, unadulterated JOY.

Stubborness. (move)

I told my heart it was time for a change, but it stubbornly refused to change its ways. I walked around with the wretched stone inside of me, slowly dropping inch by inch, hardening by the minute. It momentarily softened up when joy decided to brush up against it, trying to give some life, maybe some hope, to that pathetic, damned thing. The moments fled by quickly, and the stone remained. I tried chiseling away at it. The thought crossed my mind that maybe the rock was a layer of protection over my true heart. Not at all. I chiseled the rock down into a little pebble, trying to find out if it was, indeed, protection. I then used the chisel to try and shape what was left into my dreams, my desires, what I wanted my heart to look like. Those have all changed.
I've stared out my window at the snow for too long, wondering how I became like it.

I believe that there's hope, buried beneath it all.

So, yes...I have let my guard down too many times, and let the enemy in too many times. Fighting was always an option, but not something I was doing. Why? Let's see...that's what I always do. I got in the danger zone, as I'll call it, the point of breaking with possible no return. I decided then that's when it's gotta change.
It's interesting how you can be pushed to what feels like the absolute end of your being, and that's when you break out your arsenal and decide to fight off the lies and deception of the enemy.
Now, to rebuild.
To let that hope rise up to the surface, and be one of the things to carry me through, but not the only thing.
To have JOY, and to the fullest extent.
To always be on the guard for the fowler's snare, and if I get caught, to not let it trip me up.
To fight.