I Can’t Lose

Yesterday I realized two very important things. The first is that I keep making the same mistake over and over, which leads me to commit the same sin over and over. I already knew this much, but yesterday I discovered the root of the problem. The world terrifies me and pisses me off, and I’ve been absolutely terrified of making the same mistake, so I make it, and in making that mistake, I’m afraid I’ll lose Jesus. The second thing I realized is that as long as I believe, I won’t lose him. He knew ahead of time that most of his followers, including his closest friends, were going to get scared and abandon him at the worst possible time. He doesn’t abandon sinners, though. He forgave friends and enemies, and many went on to spread his message of mercy.

Last night I thought of the incident when a crowd brought the woman caught in adultery to Jesus. He told them that if there was someone present who had not sinned, they should be the one to throw the first stone. Eventually everyone left. He asked the woman if no one had accused her. She said that no one had. He said that he didn’t accuse her either and told her to sin no more. He tells his disciples to forgive seventy times seven times. To him that meant infinite.

The fact of the matter is, the world is scary, and sin sucks, but the fact of the matter is that God is scarier, more powerful, and infinitely loving. I’m not perfect, but I am loved, and I can change.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

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Cake

Everyone, firstly, I want to thank you all for following my blog. I don’t say that enough. I really do appreciate it. As a writer, it’s really wonderful to know someone sees and knows about what I do.

Secondly, I want to announce some very exciting news. I’ve reached my goal of twenty stories. Of course my book isn’t even close to finished, but twenty stories has always been a goal of mine. I’ve come this far through small bouts of epilepsy, generally being a scatter brain, family vacations, road trips, self discovery, sin, love, faith, learning, and certainly with the help of my God, so this post is meant to say “thank you” to him, too.

I’m quite excited because my friend agreed that when I wrote twenty stories she would make me cake. She makes darn good cake. I would like to celebrate with you all, too by sharing, in a way, a metaphoric piece of the cake. When I wrote my Creation story, I didn’t even know this would turn into a book. Now the first draft of the book is about half finished. So without further ado, I would like to share story number twenty.

Feorolf

As one might expect, Ferolf’s mere name struck unease at the very least, into the hearts of even the bravest souls. He was not a creature to be taken lightly. He was stronger than any man, and smarter and faster than any wolf. Yet, he was neither and both. He fought without weapons, in fact, he hardly fought at all unless absolutely necessary. He simply hunted. He hunted fear. According to legend, he did not always live in the Forest, but once terrorized the towns of an infant Kingdom. Finally, after many eternities, however, he was driven away by the earliest hunters of Kich. Some of these hunters were rumored to be descendents of the King and Queen themselves. Many were nearly mortally wounded in the effort to track him down even, because in those times there were many strange and dangerous wonders, fully alive, and without thought for human life. Luckily, it was during those times, however, that humans were mysteriously protected from death by the Barrier created by the Exile at the moment of Creation. This was, of course, before the Change.

Still, there were scattered stories of Feorolf’s mercy, and even regret about certain things. He would not hunt very young children, and would not leave them orphaned far from civilization. That is not to say he would not leave them orphaned at all, for he could be cruel. Feorolf was not a simple brute like any average predator. Though his mind was certainly not human, he was intelligent. He was strangely trusting of humans who generally wanted to hunt him down, and creatures that no one else would trust; even making the mistake on several occasions of trusting the Faceless. This never turned out well for him, but he was a forgiving creature.

Oddly, it seemed that, in a way, Feorolf’s nature was like that of the Transient spirits. It was not that he often changed without explanation, but simply that he was unreadable. It was assumed that he had his reasons for acting the way he did, and he did not share them. The truth was he was alone, and he knew it, and regretted it for it was of his own doing. We know this because he shared it with the Wisdom who always shares her knowledge with us, especially knowledge of the Creatures of the Outer Realm.

The story goes that Feorolf was the second Creature to awaken in the Outer Realm, after the Falcon of Destiny. The world was young and fearless in that first eternity, before Reome and Fritam were made by the spirit Time, and Feorolf reveled in this fearlessness. When Time faded, and fear entered the minds of the first humans, it gripped Feorolf’s heart, and all he wanted to do was kill it. In that first eternity the Falcon of Destiny gave the first humans fire. They loved it, and it filled them with joy, but they became dependent on it. Without their fire, the fear returned, and all he wanted to do was kill it, so he attacked. He ripped to shreds some of the first made humans, but to his utter dismay, he realized that this only increased his hatred of fear and the human fear of him. He wanted to help them, but he had to stay away. Any time he came close to a human, two things happened. They panicked, and he almost always went into a frenzy; compelled to destroy the fear in their hearts. He knew how to bite, and tear, and rip, and shred with claws and teeth, and he knew only contempt from humans and Creatures alike. He was eventually forced into Thorn Forest, where he lived in solitude, and slowly even grew to hate himself because he could do nothing to destroy the thing he hated most.

In time he grew darker, seeking the company of Creatures like the Faceless and the Night Bearer. It is unknown whether he ever found the Night Bearer, and in fact, its existence is entirely unverifiable. However, It is believed that it was the Night Bearer that brought fear into human hearts to begin with and that it was a creation of Chaos. It is rumored that Feorolf found it, but could not kill it, but another story says that he defeated it, and it became his slave. Still, there were occasions on which Feorolf interacted peacefully with humans. He even helped those who passed too close to Thorn Forest find safety from darker beings, and he certainly had a sense of his own responsibility for their fear. He always felt it was his duty to protect them. Still, this was rarely possible due to the fact that their level of fear was usually too overpowering for him to handle.

Feorolf treasured brave souls. He had no true friends, but the memories of bravery kept him strong. He hoped for a day when someone would come who truly did not fear him, but he doubted that day would come. Sometimes, if travelers happened to be passing through or very close to parts of the Forest, and he could find them asleep and therefore unafraid, he would try to find and steal books. He needed food, yes, but he was fully capable of getting plenty on his own. He was not a normal animal, and could survive on nearly anything and almost nothing. What he really hungered for was the truth. He needed to know where fear came from. Through eternities, he had come to believe what many humans do: to defeat one’s enemy, one had to know that enemy.

Though he spent much time sneaking and thieving and learning, it seemed that he could not come to a satisfying answer. Then it occurred to him that the answer was simple. He did not need to know where fear came from. He simply needed to usurp its power, and he knew immediately just how he would do this. People were afraid of him, largely because of stories they had heard. He needed to change the story. Among the things he had taken in his time were notebooks, many of them filled with things he had written on his quest to discover the root of fear, but some, empty. He began writing his story, and this is how he told it.

“My name is Feorolf. I am neither man nor wolf. I am no beast that is known to humans. Some of what has been said of me is true. I have killed, but it is not for the reason people think. I do not need humans for food, nor do I hate them. In some sense, I fear them as much as they fear me. I was one of the first Creatures to awaken in this world. When this Realm was formed, there was no fear, but somehow, fear entered, and I hated it. I have always hated it. I sought to destroy it, but in doing so, I made a terrible mistake. I thought killing the first humans to fear would kill the fear itself, but it only made it stronger. I have been banished because of what I have done, and rightly so. I want to right the wrongs I have done. I want to change, if I can, but if I cannot change myself, if I cannot destroy my hate for fear, I must destroy it in a peaceful way. This is my gift to all who have been affected by the fear of me, and the fear of anything else. I shall take it away, as best I can, though I do not think it will ever be possible for there to be a true bond of friendship between humans and myself. We are strangers to each other, and our natures too different. I am not an animal, but I am a beast. I freely admit this.”

He then left this, attached to a tree with a sharpened tooth he had lost. Feorolf was accustomed to using tools, though not tools one might easily recognize. Then he left that place and went far away, so someone could find it, and he would not feel the fear in them. He then wondered if he could detect other feelings in humans since he could feel fear so strongly. He decided he would try, from a safe distance. He began practicing, and after a while, he realized that he could. The trouble was that, in the Forest, fear was generally the strongest feeling. Under the safety of night, he finally decided to venture into a town rather close to the edge of the Forest. It was late, but there were still people out. He stayed in the shadows, listened to conversations and tried to feel what people were feeling. The array was like a beautiful symphony to him. He felt everything from sorrow to joy, and hope. Very late that night, he heard a man and a woman talking to each other in an upper room of a house. He could tell from their emotions that they were the only two there. He was able to catch snatches of what they were saying. They were talking about “makers,” whatever those were, and of leaving and going to Kich. He heard one of them say the name “Lydia,” though that meant nothing to him, and he heard a mention of the Falcon. He felt for the first time what he later learned was love between them, and there was joy again, too, and he felt hope so strongly coming particularly from the man, that it brought him to his knees, and he wept.

He loved hope as much as he hated fear, and he began to hunt it. He followed people cautiously, but more closely, to catch pieces of their conversations, and when he learned that they had lost something, he would seek it out, find it, and leave it somewhere with a note that read “From Feorolf.” Other times, if he learned that someone was hoping for something to happen, he tried to find ways to make it happen, and he would leave them messages, explaining what he had done. People still feared him, but slowly, outright terror morphed into cautious curiosity or perplexed wonder. The bravest souls wandered deeper into the Forest, and people in general seemed to travel with a bit more ease in their hearts. True to his nature, he still made mistakes. He still caused damage. In the worst cases, he still took lives, but he did his best to repent, and he always left notes; in many cases, leaving long letters lamenting his failure and begging the forgiveness of those he had hurt. Once, he received a letter back.

It read, “Feorolf, I’d be willing to bet you weren’t expecting a reply. I want to let you know that I forgive you, and I hope other people do, too, because I know you don’t mean to do the bad things you do, but I’m not sure other people do.” He didn’t know what he had done to whoever this was, but he was overwhelmed with gratitude. After much thought, he finally decided to leave another note for them to find. Again, he was not expecting a reply, and again, he received one. A strange correspondence grew between them, though he never learned who he was writing to. After the Change, he worried about them, but was very happy to learn that they were made young. When they grew old, he left things out for people to find, with notes explaining that the person he was writing to needed help. Eventually he received a note that read, “Feorolf, my name is Kyle. I recently learned that you were friends with my father who died several months ago. I am sorry if this is the first news you have received of his passing. His name was Andrew. I just wanted to say that you have helped us, and thank you.”

Not What She Deserved (Spoiler Alert)

My friend Julia and I have been watching a series called Once Upon a Time for a while now. I watched it for the first time with my friend Nick, and it was totally necessary to share. Eventually it becomes evident that the series follows a pretty basic good versus evil scenario, typical of any fantasy series, and rather apt, considering all the characters are, in fact, from fairy tales or Disney movies. Over and over again, the heroes are faced with a villain or several villains, and several problems that have to be solved. What’s great about the series is that it sometimes changes the nature of characters, so, for example, characters that were heroes in the original telling of the story, are villains in the “real world,” and characters that were once villains become heroes.

One might think that a series that follows a basic good versus evil plot like this where the situations simply get more and more difficult to handle might get boring. It doesn’t. Just when you think the heroes have won and it could never possibly be worse, it gets worse. From a writer’s perspective, it’s fantastic to see just how creative these writers are.

There is one part in the series where the heroes actually get sent into the Underworld–where the Greek god Hades lives. The afterlife system in this series is actually pretty interesting. Basically, one goes to the Underworld if one has unfinished business, and one has to stay there until one has taken care of whatever that may be. Once it’s finished, one moves on, either to a better place or a worse place; in other words, Heaven or Hell. There is one character in particular who definitely does not get what she deserves. She plays a significant part in the series, and she is utterly detestable, but because of something she does for her two daughters while she is in the underworld, she moves on to the better place.

I mention this because Julia and I had very different reactions to the scene. I found it rather satisfying, while Julia was thoroughly displeased. I don’t know all of Julia’s reasons for her reactions, but I could likely guess a few. I do know my reasons. To be sure, there is nothing redeemable about this character. However, she has a brief moment when she realizes how awful she is, and she freely and honestly chooses to help her daughters. I like it when people are given the gift of redemption. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done. This character didn’t have a long, drawn out redemption story. She simply saw reality for what it was, acknowledged that she deserved the worse place, and was given the better place because of it.

In real life that’s called Grace.

Blue Diamond

About a week ago, I went out for breakfast with my mom. The sky was bright blue, the sun was shining, and it was warm. There were some wispy white clouds in the sky that, as I was getting into the car to go home, reminded me of a blue diamond. I didn’t know if blue diamonds were real, and neither did my mom, so we both assumed they were something I made up. I make a lot of things up. The next day, though I looked them up, and it turns out they are real. They can be made from normal diamonds and chemically altered to look blue, but they can also be found naturally with the blue tint. Either way, they are extremely rare, and extremely precious.

On Saturday, my dad and I went wandering around in the woods to look at the foliage. Ironically, there is an amazing red maple tree across the road from our house, but there wasn’t much color to be seen where we went. Still, it was very nice out, and once again, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue. There were a lot of interesting things to be seen where we went. I found the remainder of a tree stump that only had half of it’s outside left, and to me, it looked like a crown. I also found a dead fruit tree of some sort that had a branch and a shoot curving up towards each other like hands. I also hugged a fern because it was exactly the right height, and because I felt like it.

After seeing the blue diamond in the sky, I’ve been referring to happy, blue sky days as blue diamond days. When I was looking at the red maple outside our house, I thought, “I wonder what God was thinking when he made that.” Then it occurred to me that I might know. He was probably thinking something along the lines of, “That’s good.” Then it occurred to me that when he was making me, he was probably thinking, “She’s really good, and she’s going to like this tree.” I was really amazed by that thought. God made that red maple to stick out among all the other trees against a vivid blue sky, and he cares infinitely more about me.

Of course not every day is a blue diamond day. Maybe today the sun is shining, and the sky is blue, and your favorite tree still has all its amazing foliage on it, but you can’t see it past the broken glass in the window of your heart. Or maybe the window is just fine, but the sky is gray, and the leaves are gone and it’s cold outside. The truth is that we have blue diamond days to remind us how precious we are to God. You are God’s blue diamond. You are good. You are loved.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

This One Thing

I haven’t been sleeping well this week. It happens from time to time. Sometimes it’s for no particular reason, and sometimes I’m just thinking or worrying too much about something. I just keep waking up ludicrously early and something pops into my head, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Two or three days ago a really disturbing question popped into my head. Helping the poor, the sick, and the needy is a big deal to Jesus. I don’t even drive a car. I have to ask for assistance to get basically anywhere unless I’m going to one of my friends’ houses or church, and even then, getting to church by rolling there takes time.

I feel bad about inconveniencing my parents, and I don’t make any of my own money right now, so I can’t even donate to charity. I teach three CCD classes, and I pray for people who need help, and I write stuff here, but is that enough? If I’m not actually there in person to help out, in other words, If I’m not doing what Jesus said to do (according to how my mind works), am I actually Christian? I have no idea how this popped into my head. It was dumb, but I had to get an answer. So, like usual, at 6:00 in the morning (which is WAY earlier than I like to be awake), I was researching on my phone.

Before even looking, though, I prayed, and I tried to find a concrete answer somewhere in scripture. I wasn’t sure where to look, so I ended up searching for what made someone a Christian somewhere else on the internet. I found an answer pretty quickly that really seemed to make sense. To be a Christian, someone has to believe in Jesus, and try to do what he did. Jesus doesn’t expect us to do more than we’re able. This is so simple, really, but I think the simplicity of it makes it easy to forget.

I’ve talked about my hero complex before, and I’ve realized something more. Sometimes I wonder why God made me the way he did. Sometimes I wonder why he made me so I can’t drive myself around or fully control my epilepsy, and therefore, can’t get a normal job. I think part of the reason is so I can’t feed my ego. If I was able to do things the way I want to do them, I might not be so interested in helping. The fact of the matter is, I don’t like being dependent, and if I were totally independent, I probably wouldn’t be so empathetic towards people who are also dependent on others.

I realized something else through that whole experience, though. When I woke up with that horrible question in my head, it terrified me. I realized that my entire identity rests on the fact that I am Christian. I could write a substantial list of qualities that contribute in some way to who I am, but they’re just not important to me. I never fully realized this until my identity in Christ came into question. It was like questioning whether I exist or not.

Realizing this has actually made me feel pretty good. I know who I am. I’m not sure how many people can confidently say that. For many, I think it’s hard to track down one’s true identity. I used to think the fact that I was a fantasy writer was my true identity. The problem with identifying myself so much with that was that there were so many questions and variable factors. Am I actually any good? Is anyone going to like my book? Am I ever going to get published once I finish this thing? Is this thing just totally crazy? Is it only ever going to make sense to me? How long is it going to take to finish this? Am I always going to be writing fantasy? Even if this does go well, what do I write next? This is so complicated, and I have so many ideas! Some days this is so fun, and some days it’s such a drag! Luckily, none of that really matters. All that matters is that I believe and I’m trying.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Beautiful Now

Salvation is a hard thing to understand, let alone, explain. This morning I couldn’t sleep, so I read an article about how God just wants us to be ourselves. God loves us just the way we are. He created us, he knows who we are, and he doesn’t expect us to be anything other than who we really are. Whether we know it or not, we have a tendency to put on a facade a lot of the time. Even around our best friends, we emphasize certain things about ourselves, and hide others. God loves even the worst parts of us.

Our family recently bought a house in Naples Maine. My mom has loved this house for five years, and at first, I had no idea why. It looks like it’s about to fall down. We officially owned it last Friday. It’s not exactly wheelchair accessible yet, but I can get into three of the rooms on the first floor as it stands. Last Friday, I went into the house for the first time. It smelled. Everything was covered in dirt, dust and mouse crap, and it was filled with trash that had been left there by the previous owner.

The house hadn’t been lived in for twelve years. The guy who lived in it before was an alcoholic, and just let everything fall apart before eventually leaving. While he was there he had said he wanted to fix the place up, but had only really managed to pull some things off the walls. His drinking habit was evidently so bad that he had literally lost track of where he had stored away some of his beer.

We stayed there for a couple of hours on Friday and began cleaning some things up. I had brought my rosary with me, so I hung out in the kitchen and went through the Divine Mercy chaplet, which is part of a devotion that was first introduced in the 1930’s. In one of the rooms I couldn’t get into, my mom found a broken piece of something that had a piece of one of the psalms written on it. It read something like, “He who puts his faith in God is safe.”

This past weekend, my dad went up and camped in the house to start cleaning it up some more. On Tuesday, my mom and I went up to see how things were going. We had hired a clean-up crew to just get everything out of there, and they spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon there. My dad had kept the windows open, so the place already looked and smelled significantly better by the time my mom and I got there. On Wednesday someone came to see if the septic system was going to work for the house, and he said it would. Later, the architect came to see if the house itself could be “saved” and remodeled for what we need. He said it can. He’s already started working on plans, and my mom has enlisted her cousin, who is a builder, to take care of a lot of the work.

When my mom first saw this house she loved it. She wanted to save it. She wanted to make it her own. I didn’t get it for the longest time. A while ago I wrote a post about how we were debating about buying a house in a town closer to our family, or in Portland. My mom kept coming back to this house. When we finally decided on this one, and we were coming closer to buying it, I realized I wanted it, too. I was getting excited, but I still didn’t really know why. Now that we do own it, I can truthfully say that I love it now. I obviously don’t want it to stay the way it is, but I love this house, and I can’t wait to see how awesome the finished product is going to be.

This house to me is what salvation looks like. It was broken and empty before, but now it’s got people who love it living in it, and we’re going to fix it. Obviously it’s not a perfect analogy because we’re not there all the time, but I think now the house has hope in it. I recently wrote a post about what home is. Home isn’t just where a person’s primary residence is. Home is found in people and memories and various places all at once. I’ve barely known this house, and quite frankly, it’s still disgusting, but on Wednesday I sat on the porch in the sun, listening to music, and I definitely felt at home.

God asks us if we will let him into our souls, even if we’re really messy; even if we’ve said “no” to him time and time again. God loves us just the way we are. He always wants us to be better; Jesus said, “Be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” but he knows it’s a process, and I expect he loves the process, just as my family is already loving the process of fixing up our house. It’s easy to feel like we’re not good enough, and therefore, wonder how we can let God in, and even if we do, how we’re going to hide the ugly things from him. The fact of the matter is, we don’t have to. The ugly stuff is what makes the finished product so beautiful, and the fact of the matter is, God made us. He thinks we’re beautiful now.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Broken Heart

On Thursday I went to Adoration like I usually do, and I went to confession like I often have to. I confessed that I’ve been struggling with a certain temptation, and I sometimes give into it, but I don’t think I’ve given in lately. I also confessed that a very long time ago, when I first came back to God, I didn’t understand the sacraments and that I felt like I sort of misused them because of that, but that this was something that I just hadn’t confessed because I keep forgetting to. I also confessed that sometimes, after I know God has forgiven me for something, I have trouble forgiving myself. The priest absolved me, and told me that I’m a holy woman.

A lot of people have been telling me that lately. My best friend has told me that several times. I sort of wrote it off because she’s agnostic. Then another friend who I don’t really see very often told me the same thing at her aunt’s wake. My mom has told me that I’m a holy person, but I kind of thought she was joking. My godfather has implied it. Now my priest is saying it. I don’t think I’m a holy person. I’m working at it.

I recently read a horribly depressing article. It was about what crucifixion actually does to the human body, and how people who were crucified actually died from asphyxiation after horribly long periods of time. It said that Jesus most likely did not die in this way because Biblical and scientific evidence suggest that he most likely died from heart failure. The really horrible part came next. It explained that heart failure can be the result of deep longing, loss, and/or rejection. This is especially common among elderly people who have lost a partner they have loved and been with for a very long time. In other words, people can die of a broken heart. In other words, Jesus died of a broken heart.

Jesus died for sins I haven’t even committed yet. When he was on the cross, he knew I was going to leave him. He knew I wasn’t going to care for several years. I don’t care that I was seventeen. My instinct is to say that I’m sorry. The thing is, I’ve said I’m sorry more times than I know, and I know he’s forgiven me. Peter rejected him three times; pretended he didn’t know him, and Jesus made him the first Pope. Last night I had a thought. “I’ve said I’m sorry, and he’s forgiven me. What do you say when someone’s forgiven you?” Then it hit me. It was stupid, really. “You say, ‘Thank you.'”

Agape

Earlier today a question occurred to me. Why, or how do humans love? What is love, anyway? I thought of this question because I keep coming back to the question of why God loves us. Ultimately, that’s an insanely difficult question to answer, so I decided to try and dumb it down for myself. The obvious next step was to “Google” this because I wanted to know what experts, whether they be spiritual or scientific, had to say. First I got scientific answers that really didn’t seem very helpful. They only really touched on romantic love, which wasn’t what I had in mind.

Then I rephrased my question and got the answer I somehow knew I was looking for all along. There are four different types of love according to Greek philosophy: Eros, or a love that is deeply related to the body and the senses; Phileo, or affection towards people and sometimes things; Storge, which is a loyal love, generally towards one’s family, friends, a cause one believes in, one’s country, etc; Agape, or an active, sacrificial love that is chosen simply for the good of others for no reason. Agape love cannot be understood in a passive sense. Agape is always a verb. Agape is to will the good of the other.

Agape is perfect love, and it is the kind of love that God showed us when he died for us on the cross. God is love. This is why he is a Trinity. He is a lover, beloved, and loving. The Father and the Son love each other, and the Holy Spirit is the love that they share. A human relationship is shared between two people, but if there is no love between them, there is no relationship. People need other people because we need to experience love, and we can’t fill our need purely on our own. God doesn’t need, nor did he ever need humanity to exist because the Trinity was already experiencing perfect love.

God created us knowing that we would betray him. He saved us even though he didn’t have to, and even though it would mean experiencing the worst we had to offer. The crazy thing is that even though God doesn’t need us to love him, he wants us to. This is revealed over and over in the Scriptures, and also through the writings of the saints. In fact, Jesus says that the greatest commandment is simply to love God. Loving God means a great number of things, and can be anything from enjoying and appreciating nature, to imitating Jesus and doing good for others, to stopping to pray or participate in some form of worship.

Jesus said that to find one’s life, one had to lose it. He also said there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. To lose one’s life does not need to be understood in a literal sense. It is meant that one is to give one’s self away freely, and in doing so, one finds out who they really are. Similarly, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends means to sacrifice for people without expecting anything in return. To make sacrifices for God’s Kingdom is Agape love. It is the kind of love that God wants from us.

So Will I

God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. I read this tiny little thing last night, and for some reason, I just started balling my eyes out. There’s just something infinitely beautiful about it in its simplicity.

I recently discovered this song, and now I’m completely obsessed with it. I think maybe it gets at what I mean.