Quelqu'un m'a dit

This is the type of song you listen to on repeat on a long car ride to California while you're reading a sad, honest book. It's the type of song you listen to while you're falling in love. It's the type of song that starts to play as you walk away from him in blissful, utter disbelief of what just occurred. It's the type of song that you put on as you twist restlessly in your sheets, remembering the way his lips felt on yours. It's the type of song you listen to as your heart is breaking, and everything beautiful seems to unravel slowly. It's the type of song you listen to when your heart is broken-- for a moment, you are physically paralyzed; for a lifetime, you become emotionally numb and immovable. It's the type of song that lets your senses drink in all the sweet beauty and pain the world has to offer. It's the type of song that plays as you careen off a smooth, slippery cliff, and you don't mind. Because this song is playing, you are suspended in air, and that is enough.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

I love my father.

I love my father because he introduced me to music with texture.
I love my father because he values ice cream and movies.
I love my father because he's creative.
I love my father because he's a problem-solver.
I love my father because when he gets in a fit of laughter, it's contagious.
I love my father because he gave me a job during high school.
I love my father because he would insist we share 3 things about our day during dinner, and waking up, going to seminary, and going to school didn't cut it as our contributions.
I love my father because he helped me with math, but refused to give me the answers easily; I had to put forth significant effort to learn.
I love my father because he took me on Date with Dads.
I love my father because sometimes he makes hysterical unexpected jokes that catch you off-guard.
I love my father because he loves board games. And he is hilariously competitive at Uno and Yahtzee.
I love my father because he still pursues cool new music to add to his collection; most adults don't do that.
I love my father because he seeks joy in life.
I love my father because he's a good story-teller.
I love my father because he doesn't dwell on misfortune.
I love my father because he magnifies his church callings.
I love my father because he was patient during my adolescent years.
I love my father because he taught me the value of hard work.
I love my father because he has given me tough love.
I love my father because he has given me tender love.
I love my father because he taught me the thrill of serving others.
I love my father because he genuinely cares about making our family feel like a family.

Happy Birthday, Dad.
I love you!

-Kristina

Midnight thoughts at eleven

-The world is hanging-- a thin, fine balance.
  Note how you treat every living thing;
  You have no idea what dark secrets hang behind any carefully crafted smile.
  Someone's world could be on the verge of falling apart, or coming together,
    and the simplest thing you do or say could unravel it all.

-It's painful. It's emotionally draining.
 Knowing how many different sides to a story there are
 Knowing that each pair of eyes sees a completely different world
 Knowing how, as each side of the story is kept to itself, hidden,
   suppressed, silenced, stifled,
   just how much more ugly that makes the reality.
 The reality of the thing changes as time passes,
   while individual interpretations mold each person's thoughts, perceptions,
   actions.
 And those actions affect everyone else in an individual way,
   while their own realities remain suppressed, stifled.
 How it all ripples and ripples and ripples.
 The reality of the thing takes on an ugly shape, a fearsome thing to behold,
   and hope is just a tiny flickering light, far.