Oh soul, 

you worry too much.

You have seen your own strength. 

You have seen your own beauty.

You have seen your golden wings. 

Of anything less, 

why do you worry?

You are in truth 

the soul, of the soul, of the soul.

You are the security, 

the shelter of the spirit of Lovers. 

Oh the sultan of sultans, 

of any other king, 

why do you worry?

Be silent, like a fish, 

and go into that pleasant sea.

You are in deep waters now,

of life's blazing fire.

Why do you worry?

about me

my name is sparrow.

(well, no it isn't, but this is the internet)

i will be 21 on december 6th, and my plans so far are very small, including dressing up and drinking champagne at a hotel bar downtown with my best friend alexandria.

i live in a little apartment in the sky, i drink copious amounts of tea, and i love to read.

i'm confused about life, but then who isn't? not sure what the point of me is.

someday i will do great things. i will dance and people will see the smallest bit of whatever their god is in my dancing. i will heal children's hearts. i will make things clear. but for now, i need to make things clear for myself first.

i fall in love too easily, trust at the same time too quickly and too slowly, and get my heart broken too much. 

i like good music and slow movies, quick wit and long words.

i work in retail, and sometimes i love it, but mostly i'm frustrated by its constant vapidity.

on growing up;

or, why i stop and start blogging

i've never been able to keep a journal. i've kept so many. from where i sit, on the floor of my small but desperately beloved apartment, my laptop resting on a pile of laundry, i face a small white bookcase filled with nothing but notebooks. a whole shelf of this bookcase contains nothing but diaries, all with five entries or less. there was a long period in high school where i was so constantly sad, so constantly in doubt and fear of myself that i filled half a journal with these rants about losing weight, losing boys, and losing faith. but the thing is, i never feel i'm the same for long enough to fill a whole journal. i feel that the moment you are different than what has been written before, you must change notebooks.

but the thing is that i'm still all of those people. or at the very least, i have been all of those people. and that needs to be ok. because people grow, people change, and that is a beautiful thing.

i found out recently that i was bipolar. i've been living with unmedicated, undiagnosed bipolar for years without knowing what was wrong with me. i knew something was wrong but it just felt like being sad and then getting it together and being productive, except 100x more so. this month i finally went to a psychiatrist, left school for a while, and am trying to get better. i need time to mourn, time to grow, and time to heal, so for a while i'm going to do nothing but work, dance, and read. and hopefully write. 

i hereby promise to try. or something.