Sunset Soon Forgotten

I don't know what it is.

This utter need to be loved. This desperation for reciprocated feelings that I've been working towards for most of my life. And I don't know why.

I mean.
For as long as I can remember, all I've wanted is love. And who doesn't, really? Everyone wants to feel love in their lives. It's what drives people.
But for me, it's been this thing that's been slightly out of reach, making me want it even more.

I'm a huge romantic.
Stuff I write and think and do would probably make most men shudder with fear.
I'm always down for commitment.

You like me?
Well I like you.
Let's date for years.
Let's talk about stuff. Who needs the whole, "Well...I'm just gonna hide my true feelings and maybe you'll eventually get the hint" crap?
Eff that. Just talk to me. Wade through all of the bullshit that you want to shovel my way and just say it.

And that scares people. Being real and honestly talking about stuff scares the hell out of people, and I've never understood it. Why would you want to start confusion? Why would you want to send mixed signals? Cause it's easier than hurting someone? I would rather be told it wasn't working out than to continue to put time and effort into a lost cause.

I'm a big boy.
I'll get over it.

And all of this.
All of this risk in taking chances and actually going for it but instead sitting by the sidelines trying not to get hurt is ridiculous. I realize people have had tough experiences in the past and they're afraid of getting hurt again, but come on. You're never gonna get passed that fear if you're letting it make your choices for you.

I don't know.
Love is exciting.
It's dangerous and uncertain and thrilling and unrealistic and something that I probably look forward to way too much.
Real, honest, "let's sit around and do nothing but still have the best time" love.

And it's sappy.
I'm sappy.
But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Rereading this, I'm realizing how jumbled it all is. No real order, and I'll be honest, this is mostly word vomit because it's the only real way I know how to cope.

Your Hand in Mine

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what inspires people.



Last night I had the privilege to see Olafur Arnalds in LA.
It was beyond phenomenal.
What is it with Icelandic people and their ridiculous talent?
Jonsi and Olafur should just combine forces and rule the world with their amazingness.

But anyways.
What gives Olafur, or any musician for that matter, the inspiration to write these crazy ballads that blow people away? What makes a writer rush to their computer to write something that's been building for days?

I could go on and on with all different types of artists, but I think you get the point.

Is it the big ideas?
Like the vastness of the universe.
Or creation.
Or love.

I like to think that the small moments are the ones that are memorable and inspirational.

The look on their face when you see them for the first time in weeks.
The clouds swirling around during a sunset .
 Finishing the last page of a book.

This is the stuff that matters. Of course creation, and the universe, and love, they all matter tremendously.
But the small things.
The details.
Those are what's gonna matter to you in the end. When you fall in love you don't just remember that you fell in love, you remember how you fell in love. The small moments that made you glad you asked them out in the first place.

And maybe this is all crap.
Maybe it's just me wanting to see the romantic side of life.
But it's how I like to live.
I look at the details. Maybe sometimes too much because I'm constantly over-thinking and over-analyzing everything, which can get me into trouble, but that's just what I do. I can't really change that, and I don't even know if I would, given the chance.

Inspiration can come in so many forms.

It happens when you discover that this song is your new favorite.
Or when the ending of the movie blows your mind.
It's when you hold their hand for the first time.
It's in the shy glances.
It's surprising.

I like it.