Always.

It is entirely likely that I think too much. I've been told that 3 times in the last week alone. Someone explained it to me once like this "It's because you have a beautiful mind that just thinks too much." and she said it giggling. Still though, I can't make it stop. It's like the "wheels on the bus" song... it just keeps going and going and going...and going. Sometimes it's almost painful.
I want to know why the word "always" is so romantic.
And why the rain makes such a pretty song on tin roofs.
I want to know how it is that horses can vibe off you and read your emotions.
Or what about the sky, how does it change all of those colors?
And love, how does that work?
That you just find one person that drives you insane and decide that they are the one you want to wake up next to; the person you want to hold you when you cry.
I don't understand it.
Destiny, fate, or divine intervention?
Why do joints hurt in the morning?
What is it that makes adrenalin so addicting and danger so compelling?
Say what you feel, tell me, what do you want?
Why, why is that so hard for you to say?
I want to know why words can give you chills.
And why it is that one person can make you feel completely terrified and another can calm every nerve in your body.
Why is pain gratifying? Like why does that give a sense of accomplishment?
And why, someone tell me why the word "always" is so romantic?!

Xoxo, Gussie

The story.

I want to be the story instead of the ending.
I love those chilled, high collar jacket mornings when your fingers don't quite work right.
Be honest now, you crave it. How your bones feel old and your spirit young.
Your chattering teethed smiles glinting at a vacant sky.
In a world so open, so blue and green, why don't we feel free?
I guess that's why we stow ourselves away in back country.
Places where our breathe shows gray in the morning and our horses have a hump in their back.
Sage covered hills, cliff rock and aspens all pumping into our veins.
There's a feeling out there, it's something special.
Almost an addiction.
Once you've felt it and the chills that slither down your spine, there is no going back.
Something about it changes what you see in everything else.
Every other aspect of the world is a little bit different now.
It gives weight to the little things.
Like cold air in tight lungs, hot coffee and sweaters covered in horse hair.
We are sunrises and sunsets.
Nothing more.
We are vibrant and gold, amazing and jaw dropping.
But in the end we are just temporary.
Beauty is not hard to find.
Maybe it's just hard to recognize.
Or maybe the word "beauty" is simply overused.
But it's there, look for it.

Xoxo, Gussie 

You got this. Really.

I guess I couldn't do it. It must have been too hard.
I couldn't do it, not even for a thousand diamond rings.
Cause being what I'm not is the hardest damn thing.

You can suppress whatever it is that haunts you but it will do just that; haunt you.
So grab it by it's throat and tear its insides out.
That's the only way you'll get it forever from your here and now.

Then swing a leg over the not so quiet horses and see where they run you off to.
I mean that.
I mean it as much metaphorically as I do literally.

No plan is probably the best plan.
Because what's going to go down isn't your plan anyhow but God's.
So I don't assume there's much use in getting riled up with a schedule in hand.

I'm not telling you what to do.
It's written down as much for myself as anyone else.
I need to read and reread this too.

You don't need to be any one thing.
Be mess of passionate emotions.
The kind that coarse through the pores of everything you touch.

Be achy muscles and cold mornings.
Be someone's hot cup of coffee.
Or a rebel heart, a bohemian soul, a godforsaken gypsy.

Let your hair be wild, let it mirror your spirit.
Be the eyes that are both easy and hard to look into.
Always staring but piercing to meet with.

Don't be scared.
Scratch that.
Be terrified.
And let that shit drive you.
To be strong.
And courageous.

You're good enough; the blood that pulses beneath your skin is red hot and wired.
Spit on the doubts you have in yourself.
Tell them to go straight to hell.

And just roll with it.
Bounce from place to place.
Know when your heart is telling you that you've stayed long enough.

And dammit, love.
Love people and love animals.
And for those who have your back, have theirs too.

Hike till your lungs hurt.
Push your body till its weary and then let it grow stronger.
Be bold in your beliefs.

Speak loud.
Laugh louder.
Be the cackle in the crowd.

The critics are bastards anyway.
So stand with your shoulders square.
Stand with your heart centered.

You got this.
Really.

Xoxo, Gussie

Blisters

Last night as I was whispering in a raspy voice I told somebody to write down how they feel about everything once a week for the rest of the year. He started laughing and told me that it was weird and he couldn't do it. He said that he had a hard enough time telling someone his feelings much less writing them on paper.

I forget that emotions don't bleed out of people the way they do with me. I forget that others are better at suppressing and dealing with things than I am.

But here's the deal. I know what it's like to read something and think "Thank God someone else has felt like this." I know how it feels when you can't express what is tormenting you. 

So I'm doing this for you. I hope you can feel me. I hope your hearts burn when you read these words the same way mine does when I write them. If you can't say it, if it just hurts too much then I want to say it for you.

We're all really broken. And I know that doesn't sound comforting but it's true. And sometimes we'll feel more broken. And that's alright. Some mornings you'll wake up with a lump in your throat and teardrops on the rim of your eyelids. It's just how it goes. Your hands might be quivering but they are still strong. Your voice might be unsteady but it still makes sound. Some days the demons you've hidden away may come back to haunt you. They might sneak into your mind from nothing. From little things; like dark truck cabs and old pictures. But you're tougher than hell and you've made it this far. Keep your head up and dig your heels in cause these ugly hours will pass. Sometimes fear will take control and it'll be terrifying with our weaknesses splayed out in front of us on a silver platter. But you put yourself there and how strong you must be to have allowed yourself to open your eyes this wide. It's easy to stay safe, to stay blind. It's hard to grow and get tough. But calluses come after blisters. And if you can still be your sensitive self with calluses on your hands, then you're a badass. Cling to that.

Xoxo, Gussie

Breathe in. Breathe out. Quiet your frantic mind.

The sun is setting later and the morning is getting a little chillier.
I love it.
Nothing is so scary as it seems.
It's going to work out even though it might be hard to see.
And yes, I whisper this to myself every night.
My eyes drift shut and I play everything out it my head.
The perfect endings with mane between my fingers and a middle of nowhere sunset in my eyes.

It's just time, I'm figuring it out.
And I guess sometimes I just crave things that cannot come together.
Then I find myself looking out the window at midnight having an ultimatum.
Fighting my own head.
And that's the worst because there is no escape.
You're stuck with your own toxins and no way to shut them down.
So you let the darkness creep through the cracks and terrify you.

But it's going to work out.
At least that what the gypsies always say.
They smile as they braid daisies in their hair and whisper how time is of the essence and that plans are absurd.
So let wanderlust overtake you and drag your heart with it.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Quiet your frantic mind.

This is just a stage.
A time where I feel a little lost and that's okay.
Because right now I'm like the moon in the daylight.
I'm a little out of place but I'll find where I need to be.

And yes, I whisper this to myself every night until I fall asleep.

Xoxo, Gussie