Matter…

Do I matter?

 

I want to matter. I want to be desired. I want to feel special. I want to be missed and thought of often. I want a simple scent or place to bring a smile to someone’s face and for them to think of me. I want to be yearned for and to give someone butterflies. I want to be supported. I want to be protected. I want to be encouraged. I want to make someone laugh and feel better about themselves when I’m around. I want to be a partner in the biggest philosophical pilgrimage that could bring ultimate joy to a person’s life. I want my life to matter. I want my last breath to matter. I want my passing to break someone’s heart and yet give them strength to keep moving forward. I want my actions to swaddle and caress, not burn and torment. I want someone to care. I want to not settle on not becoming the most important person in someone’s life. I want to feel safe. I want to matter.

 

So, why do I matter?

 

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Lithia

So I was very sad when one of my RP’s on the side from wifey (she calls them side bitches) faded. It was going really well.  A bit lewd and colorful but very descriptive and the story had potential. Oh well. However I will post a piece of what I wrote for it just because I like it. Enjoy!

The rule was simple: No direct contact with anything outside of the Keijukainen realm. One could observe and that was all. Lithia Inestra, a primitive Keiju, followed that rule without question for over a century. She spent most of her time occupied with the transgressions of man against the wildlife within the dense forests of her domain. A protector, as many saw it fitting, neither ‘good or evil’; those titles quite subjective. Lithia was a mischievous sprite, finding pleasure and beauty in all things broken, occasionally twisting the fate of those that crossed her path. It wasn’t exactly frowned upon, as long as she followed the cardinal rule and stayed out of sight. There were severe consequences for any that breached that verbal contract, but it had been thousands of years since anyone of her species dared broach the subject, thus it had been all but been forgotten.

 

Lithia had two forms.

Her most common was that of a seven inch porcelain figure, resembling much of a lesser scale to the impressive statues that scattered Imperio. Silver, transparent wings endowed the full length of her tiny form, changing colors with her mood emitting a curious glow that could only be seen by those who lingered between the planes of existence. Life and death was also subjective, and humans tended to only believe in what was right in front of them, never seeing past that thin veil that lingered like a shadowy fog in which she thrived within. Thus, she was invisible to most. If one were lucky enough to bestow upon her beauty in said form, violet eyes shimmered like a threatening storm, thick raven locks cascading down between her delicate wings, clothing her naked hourglass form. Wisps of hair would cling beneath her voluptuous breasts as if to cup and support the supple flesh, defining her hairless peach that blushed like a rose between her thighs.

 

Lithia’s less frequent form wasn’t too much different than the normal except she could manipulate herself to blend in with her surroundings, giving the facade she were human. Her wings would be concealed beneath the ‘veil’, her curves lucid, embellishing a hunter green, tight knit corset that barely covered past her nipples. Her belly would be bare, a disheveled skirt ruffled and seemingly torn at all angles like crumbling leaves brittle to the touch. Most times her feet were unclad, her skin impermeable to the harsh climates and rocky terrain.

 

Lithia was growing tiresome of the redundant repose of her mere existence, so more and more she would travel into the cities in her minuscule form, perching along the shoulders of those marble sculptures, seeking out to learn and understand the mundane existence of man. On occasion she would whisper into their ears inspiration or corruptive impressions, finding amusement in how things played out in turn. Lithia had only felt remorse for her fellow creatures she watched over beneath the pale moonlight and never had she regretted her playful objectives; that is until one night.

 

For reasons obscured from reality, eyes befell upon an impeccable subject of a man, his scent being what caught her attention in the first place. There was something animalistic about his essence that lured her interest beneath his ethnological  anatomy, only heightened through his perspiration, overwhelming her carnal senses.  Lithia found herself stalking him for days, watching from the shadows, whether it be in dark corners or nestled within his long blond hair as he slept. She became obsessive, forgetting all else as she yearned to understand what compelled him to follow his brethren and then suddenly stray. His muffled curses and starset eyes tugged on her heart strings, finding his reason for questioning all that he knew, harrowing her own reflective purpose. And so, she found herself whispering into his dreams, her voice harboring an angelic sting as she sang to him with a siren’s call….Until he was excommunicated from his home.
Lithia pursued him through the forests, a place she could meander in her sleep by smell and sound alone. His cologne magnified and now changed somehow, sending her focus into a daze, the pixie under some perception of hypnosis. She wondered now if his soul had awakened, the strength he displayed clearly beyond any mortal she had ever seen as not many had dared to trespass the boundaries as he had. As she roosted along a small stone by the side of the cave’s entrance, she barely noticed the raven until it was already flying off into the midnight fog. Lithia worried if he had noticed, thus subconsciously breaking the cardinal rule when she called out to him, her voice carried in on the back of the winds of her beating wings with a haunting peculiarity, remaining in the open to be seen in her tiny form by any who knew where to look.

Divorce

I don’t hate you…
I just hate they way you gave up on us and the way you gave up on yourself.
I hate how I was ignored and underappreciated and how even now, it really is no different except I don’t live with you.
I hate that you need to be intoxicated to feel or express yourself.

I hate that you’re a zombie.
I hate that you clearly saw the effect you had over me; the toxicity claiming me and did nothing.
I hate that my soul had died, and I felt like I was withering away and you still did nothing.
I hate that you lied to me and yourself.
I hate that I wasn’t enough.
I hate the fact I am broken because of you and I have to relearn how to live.

I hate the fact that there wasn’t even another woman involved because then at least I could have understood.
I hate how worthless I felt with you.
I hate how now friends and family are fading from my life because I chose to leave you to better myself.
I hate that in choosing to live, everything around me dies.
I hate the fact I don’t miss you anymore but resent you.

I don’t hate you…I just hate the piece of me you destroyed and I can never get back.

Pursuit of Happiness…

Today, like most days when I’m procrastinating from the world, I was lurking through my facebook feed. This feed, besides posts from friends, consists of shared articles of real world struggles from human to animal. I keep connected to rock bands I favor, share music that speaks to me each day, find and share quotes that remind me of my own life or a fictional character’s that can sometimes inspire, and anything and everything that can put a smile on my face. I’m not up for publishing what I ate for breakfast or whine like a little bitch to people who don’t give a fuck about my menstrual pains or why I hated school as a child. I don’t force my thoughts on people, but choose to share it with either those who matter, like Wifey and few other close friends, and my husband when he’s not mesmerized by his PS4. Here, people choose to read about my random bouts of insanity and perhaps laugh and judge me to the harshest level imaginable or perhaps release a sigh of relief in knowing they are not alone. If some are lucky they may even find something entertaining here.

But, I’m off track now. So…scrolling through facebook feed. I came across Kevin Smith’s and it wasn’t anything I expected. It wasn’t an actor/director/writer pushing his next movie or even sharing an article that hit close to home like Ashton Kutcher does. I can’t help it, I love that guy. He is involved in some wonderful things in the fight to keep our humanity, people don’t even realize. Such as human trafficking and slavery, which is more aggressive and prominent now than it was in the USA back before the Civil War. Here, is a group who Mr. Kutcher is apart of, doing his in the fight against something many probably ignore in order to keep going on in their 9-5 lives in order to make money and pay for the home they barely have time to enjoy because they work 6 days a week. Again, getting off track.

Kevin Smith. Posted this:

I’M NOT HAPPY…

I’ve been around 44 years now, and I’ve been a round boy for most of those years as well. I always imagined thinner people were happier than me – but after losing 80 pounds, I can’t say that I’m any happier than I was as a fat-ass. I’m not complaining, mind you: I just imagined I’d feel differently. I imagined I’d know a different kind of happiness than I’d never known before. Instead, I wound up learning what I consider to be the Secret of Happiness.

As an American, I was raised to believe I was entitled to 100% happiness, all day every day, until I died. But in our Declaration of Independence, we’re granted only the PURSUIT of happiness –
not actual happiness. The founders of this country were smart not to promise the tired, the poor and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free too much of a good thing.

The good news is that the pursuit of happiness is way better than being happy any day. The irony is that actual happiness blasts us across our faces, necks and chests all the time – but we’re so busy chasing the elusive notion of what happiness is to us at that moment, we tend to overlook the authentic bliss we create for ourselves and others in the process of simply trying to be happy. And by the time we realize these were, in fact, moments of happiness, it’s too late: those moments are now memories.

Happiness can’t be bottled. It can’t be smoked, swallowed, shot or ejaculated. And there is no end game: you never cross the finish line and are suddenly happy. Even when all your wildest dreams come true, you still pursue happiness.

Thankfully, human beings are at their happiest when they feel they’re at their most productive. So the only real happiness is the pursuit of happiness. When we chase happy, we feel our best. Life is about the journey, not the destination – so while the idea of happiness sounds great, it’s actually the pursuit of happiness that provides the most contentment. And in that pursuit, we are ultimately at our happiest.

Forgive my stoner ramblings and sorry for stating the obvious. But sometimes, you just wanna remind people they’ve already won.

I just like this adorable version of this song and it so happened to come up in my playlist as I was rereading Kevin’s above rant. Maybe it’s just me, but I found it fitting.

Original Version by Ten Years is Here.

*CHEERS FOR KEVIN*

So very true, Kevin. This hit very close to home for me and I needed to share.

People ARE happiest when pursuing their goal and maybe for a time they are happy when meeting that goal. More often than not, then they grow board and need something else to go after in order to ‘feel happy.’  Examples of this can be found in careers, life and love especially. How many times have we heard that story of the man or woman who pursued a significant other and found it tantalizing because of the ‘thrill of the chase’ and once ‘conquered’ they moved on to their next challenge? Perhaps it’s not happiness but adrenaline or the endorphins they are addicted to?

Utopian societies just don’t exist and will never. Human emotions and instincts are too complicated and intertwined. Human’s are animals after all and where there is generosity there are those ready to exploit it. Many could argue overpopulation contributes to this increase of negativity and violence and many studies exist out there in regards to how overpopulation contributes to a significant increase in the existence of serial killers. I’ve read the books where studies with mice show that smaller numbers are ideal. They care for each other, protect and nourish but that is until too many are introduced into the mix. Then the mice resort to rape, cannibalism, and murder.  It’s not even that they were fighting over food or their lady mice. It wasn’t making sense, except that when we go back to humans as the main focus and not mice, the same thing occurs. And why? People find twisted forms of happiness at harming others. It’s control. It’s beneficial to the predator in some creepy inner workings of their mind. Increase of media and public access to sex and violence gives people more windows to fulfill their fantasies with the “Idiot’s Guide to Getting Away With Murder.”

So, never at some point will it be possible to make the entire world happy. It can be argued that it is due to selfish desires of power and then we fall into a discussion of war and what it is good for. (Absolutely nothing.) Am I the only one who broke out into song? Ehem.

But realistically, not everyone wants the same thing. They may say they do, such as to have money, a career, a loving family, and to never have to worry about being murdered in the street because they looked at someone the wrong way.

Sometimes one’s goals are a fantasy to happiness that leads them astray. All that we need..is often too close to be seen.