The Sun Will Rise and So Will We

by Jennae Cecelia

It is as if I want my worst fears to come true so I can say, “See I told you that would happen. I told you that could happen.” It is something I want so badly to be wrong about, but also want to be right about to prove that I wasn't wrong in thinking that way.

I want to be the golden hour girl. Beams of happiness coming from me.

The goodbyes weren’t said. The I’ll miss you hugs weren’t given. Because things stopped without my permission. So here I am, saying it in a whisper from afar, but it is screaming in my head. I love you. I’ll miss you. This isn’t goodbye though. It is a new beginning. Not an end.

The past is behind you. If you want new beginnings, then stop looking back. Stop reliving the past. Shift your focus to the future you can have.

We have parted ways unexpectedly. Grieving from afar of all the things we didn’t know could be taken away. Memories lost. Photos that won’t be captured. Moments in time we can’t replace. But just remember for every memory lost, there are always new ones to make.

Its like the Kindle Gods know exactly what I need to read and when

You are there for me, whether sunrays or raindrops linger on my face. Into your arms as I rise or fall. You are my safe place.

Anxiety has a way of robbing me from living in the present. I worry about what the future holds. Children? Illnesses? Debt? I dwell on things I did in the past. Waving hi to the wrong person. Saying, "you too" to the waitress who definitely wasn't about to enjoy her meal. Anxiety has a way of making me feel like I am moving forwards and backwards but neither one lasts.

I know you are afraid to take that next step. But you have to move either way, so make it towards the direction you want to get.

I want to feel fearless. Moving easy with the wind. Fine with any direction I go. I want to be an adventurous soul, but I find safety at home.

Today is here to tell you that it is proud you made it this far. With all the setbacks in life, it is glad you chose to press forward even when it was hard.

I am messy. Like unmade bed sheets in the morning. Red wine spilt on the white carpet at your mother's house. Hair thrown in a bun. But oh how I create in the mess. Messy spaces lead to beautiful creations.

They aren’t the author of your book, the painter of your canvas, or the speaker at your talk. So why are you letting other people choose if you do those things or not?