They say we’re supposed to be grown, but why do I feel like a child? Looking out the window, searching for something exciting, something new. All the while apathetic to the gorgeous present moment, standing at the edge of a moutain waiting for the wind to blow.
You say I’m supposed to be healed, but the pain is still there. Festering until the valve gets opened again. And still, the sun shines, hand-in-hand we spin in its late-day glow, interlocked, even if in a dream.
I say I’m supposed to be more like you. Like an open book with no cover, no shield, and free for all to see. Yet when the quiet comes and the urge to move nudges, I sit still and feel it all, inviting the thunderstorms with open arms, because only after can the sun shine.
Hey, I’m Myles. We may know each other, or this may be your first time stumbling upon me in the leafy abundance of the online forest. I’m here writing to you from my apartment in Ridgewood, Queens in New York City. I’m a 29 year-old writer, realtor and model. My mission for this blog is to offer original, inspirational content to help people feel better everyday.
I remember the moment this photo was taken, the click of the camera. I dropped my head down and finger-combed my hair forward, then flung myself up for the I-don’t-know-how-many-th time, then BAM. Not to sound like a narcissistic nightmare who makes you wanna choke on your own vomit, but it was a hard shot to pull off all things considered: chin had to stay down, shoulders up, find the lens and make eye contact in a millisecond, hand ever so slightly tugging my shirt, then hope my hair was still up and not whooshed back out of sight.