Tiny Hand <font face="Vladimir Script">The Postcard Promise</font>

The Beauty of Love


Love Is beautiful.
Some times Love may cry,
But Love will tell you 
You are beautiful and mean it. 
Over and over again. 
You are beautiful. 
When you just wake up,
You are beautiful. 
When you’ve just been crying,
You are beautiful. 
When you don’t want to hear it,
You are beautiful.   
When you don’t believe it.
You are beautiful.   
When no body else will tell you,
You are beautiful.  
Love still thinks…..
Love will always think.
You are beautiful.

Extended Development: Unpredictable


Love isn’t always perfect and sometimes we forget
When you need to hear it most.
You are beautiful.
Do not forget this.
Love is not who you were expecting.
Love is not what you can predict….
Maybe Love is there for only a month.
Maybe Love is there for every firework
Every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe Love says,
Maybe Love can’t…..
Maybe Love shouldn’t….
Love arrives exactly when Love is suppose to
And Love leaves exactly when Love must.
When Love arrives say,
“Welcome make yourself comfortable.”
If love leaves, ask her
To leave the door open behind her.
Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet.
Whisper, “Thank you for stopping by.”

Extended Development

It didn’t always work like this
There was a time when you had to get your hands dirty
When you were in the dark for most of it
Fumbling was a given.
If you needed more contrast, more saturation;
Darker darks and brighter brights.
They called it Extended Development.
Meant you spent longer inhaling chemicals,
Longer up to your wrists.
It wasn’t always easy…

Grandpa was a navy photographer.
Young, red-faced, with the sleeves rolled up to his,
Fists of fingers like fat rolls of coins.
He looked like Popeye the sailor man come to life.
Crooked smile, toughed of chest hair,
He showed up to World War 2 with a smirk and a hobby.
When they asked him if he knew much about photography,
He lied…. learned to read Europe like a map.
Upside down, from the height of a fighter plane.
Camera snapping, eyelids flapping,
The darkest darks and the brightest brights,
He learned war like he could read his way home.

When other men returned,
They put their weapons out to rust,
But he brought the lenses and the cameras home with him.
Opened a shop, turned it into a family affair.
My father was born into this world of black and white.
His basketball hands learned the clicks and slides
Of lens into frame, film into camera, chemical into plastic bin.
His father knew the equipment, but not the art.
He knew the darks, but not the brights.
My father learned the magic;
Spent his time following light. 
Once, he traveled across the country to follow a forest fire.
Hunted it with his camera for a week.
“Follow the light,” he said. “Follow the light.”
There are parts of me I only recognize from photographs.

The loft on bakers street with creaky hallways,
The 12 foot ceilings, white walls and cold floors,
This was my mother’s home.
Before she was mother, before she was wife,
She was artist… and the only two rooms in the house
With walls that reached all the way up to the ceiling
And doors that opened and closed,
Were the bathroom and the darkroom.
The darkroom, she built herself,
With custom made stainless steel sinks,
An 8 by 10 bed enlarger 
That moved up and down by a giant hand crank,
A bank of color balanced lights, 
A white glass wall for viewing prints,
A drying rack that moved in and out from the wall…

My mother built herself a darkroom,
Made it her home, fell in love a man with basketball hands
With the way he looked at light.
They got married, had a baby, moved to a house near a park,
But they kept the loft on bakers street 
For birthday parties and treasure hunts…
They baby tipped the gray scale,
Filled her parent’s photo albums 
With red balloons and yellow icing.
The baby grew into a girl without freckles, with a crooked smile, 
Who didn’t understand why her friends 
Did not have darkrooms in their houses,
Who never saw her parents kiss,
Who never saw them hold hands.

But one day another baby showed up,
With perfect straight hair and bubble gum cheeks,
They named him sweet potato,
And when he laughed, he laughed so loudly
He scared the pigeons on the fire escape.
And the four of them lived in that house near the park,
The girl with no freckles, the sweet potato boy,
The basketball father and the darkroom mother,
And they lit their candles and said their prayers,
And the corners of their photographs curled.

One day, some towers fell,
And the house near the park
became a house under ash…so they escaped
In backpacks, on bicycles, to darkrooms.
But the loft on bakers street was built for an artist,
Not a family of pigeons and walls that do not reach the ceiling,
Do not hold in the yelling..
And the man with basketball hands put his weapons out to rust.
He could not fight this war… and no maps pointed home.
His hands no longer fit his camera.
No longer fit his wife’s, no longer fit his body.
The sweet potato boy mashed his fists into his mouth
Until he had nothing more to say… 
So the girl without freckles went treasure hunting on her own.

And on bakers street in the building with creaky hallways,
In a loft with the 12 foot ceilings,
And a darkroom with too many sinks
Under the color balanced lights, she found a note,
Tacked to the wall with a thumbtack,
Left over from a time before tower…
From a time before babies… 
And the note said..
“A guy sure loves a girl who works in the darkroom.”
It was a year before my father picked up a camera again.
His first time out he followed the Christmas lights,
Dotting their way through New York City’s trees,
Tiny dots of light blinking out at him 
From out of the darkest darks….
A year later he traveled across the country
To follow a forest fire, stayed for a week,
Hunting it with his camera.
It was ravaging the west coast,
Eating 18 wheeler trucks in its stride.
On the other side of  the country I went to class.
And wrote a poem in the margins of my notebook.
We have both learned the art of capture.
Maybe we are learning the art of embracing.
Maybe we are learning the art of letting go…. 

If you like this poem check out my new original blog :D extended-development which I named after this poem 


Being numb is easier than being hurt…. it’s not about happiness you’ll never see… you don’t have hope for that… It’s about the sadness that you can’t deal with. It’s about protecting yourself, not self destruction….

We can never learn….

We can never learn, cause love is never a lesson. Love is not a game, not a cycle, not an object. It’s a feeling.

We never learn love. But we learn relationships.

Sad Eyes

She gently removed the hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. Then, she looked at me through sad eyes and said, “It’s not your fault….”
The words stung so that I couldn’t look back at her. I could feel them beginning to penetrate the walls I had surrounding my heart and that cold heart began to melt.
“It’s not your fault….” she repeated.
I could feel tears slowly beginning to fall.
“It’s not your fault…..” she said once more before there was silence.
“If it’s not my fault. Then who is to blame?” I finally said as I met her gaze with sad eyes.

I am distressed by your pains and want to settle it for you
I’ll block the rumours and hold your hand tight and race forward
I believe love will prove everything

Enough sincerity will exceed time
There are more sacrifices but also more joy
Let happiness spread

Just never learn to be cleverer
Remember to protect myself and tell some lies when needed
Just never learn that true love has its reality side
It can’t be solved just because of anyone will

A quarrel, a knot in our heart accumulating changes
A distance in our heart is enough to kill, no matter how strong the surface is
Realized that love is not represent everything
Denial will still be received even there is sincerity
There are hidden bombs in this world each day
It can explode anytime

Still never learn to be less romantic
Even if we go all out in considering something, others may not feel touchy or thankful
Still never learn to explain that I am the most deeply hurt one
Most tired, unwilling to be hurt to death, who to blame

I will line each piece of love in front
Also feel that I won’t complain, just miss it

Just never learn to be cleverer
Remember to protect myself and tell some lies when needed
It’s not that I never learn, just feel love is too beautiful
Worth to be intoxicated in

Handmade Insanity: The landing


Whats worse? Being broken - being completely behond repair - being so far gone nothing matters. Nothing. Having friendships feel like a burden. Having loved ones feel like a curse, because they just watch you fail and get hurt. Being alone, and drowning, being for death to esacpe the reality of a…

(Source: handmade-insanity)

What is Love

  • Me: i've always felt this way and put my all into my relationships and felt that the words "i love you" carry a weight that shouldnt just be tossed around.
  • Friend: i'm with you. that's why i hardly ever say it i think giving your all is very important. and because of that, i feel like i'm going to have issues in whatever my next relationship will be. because after my last experience, i don't know if i can rely on someone to give their all as much as i will. is that being over-dramatic?
  • Me: no because people dont see love the way you me and emma see it. people dont see how much the words "i love you" mean and they dont understand that when you're in a relationship you should give your all. no instead there are divorces and people get hurt. and shit like that all because people dont see love the way it SHOULD be
  • Friend: WHY DO YOU ALWAYS MAKE SO MUCH SENSE. i mean, if you're in a relationship, shouldn't you WANT to give your all? isn't that the point? i mean while i appreciate a good makeout session as much as the next girl, that's not what i miss when i'm single: i miss that connection and reciprocation of caring.
  • Me: EXACTLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU UNDERSTAND!!!!!


Everyday I get more afraid

Of giving my heart away

Scared of what love will bring

Too nervous to hear the words you’ll say

I find myself lost in you

Not sure if I want to be

I see the looks that you give

And wonder what you see in me

I don’t want my heart broken

But I am so in love

I can’t seem to give up

Someone sent from above

So I’m gonna trust you

Please don’t let me down

For I am giving you a chance

To turn my life around

Don’t take it for granted

‘Cause it might not last long

I have weak thoughts

And my heart isn’t too strong

I’m putting my life in your hands

Now it’s all up to you

I look forward to the places we go

And the things we’ll be put through

But remember that I’m vulnerable

And I can’t stand to be hurt

I want to be at the top of your list

But I don’t have to be first

Believe me when I tell you

That I love you with all my heart

That I’m here for you forever and always

Just like I was at the start…


I feel lost without her. I hate when she’s mad at me. I hate that she’s mad because of me. I hate that I don’t care if I get hurt cause I know I should care. Why don’t I care. I mean I care sometimes. I want to care. I don’t want her to be angry. 

Sometimes I know something has the potential to hurt me and I’m not careful. I let myself get hurt. Why do I feel like this….

Why I love You

The sparkle in your eye,
The warmth of your skin.
Your breath on my neck,
That quivers within.

The touch of your hand,
The smell of your hair.
The kindness in your smile,
That strength in your stare.

Your kiss on my lips,
Your body near mine.
The stroke of your touch,
That feeling inside.

The sound of your voice,
Compassion in your embrace.
The serenity in your stride,
The power in your face.

The calming of your presence,
The beating of your heart.
The promise of tomorrow,
That we may never part.

The beauty of your kiss,
and that magic in your touch.
It is for all these reasons and more,
Why I love you so much.


Sleep does not favor me…. So I lay here with my thoughts. My only wish is that you were next to me. I am no longer in pain. No. But I am cold. I wish you were near. I wish I could hold you in my arms. I wish we could lay together for just one more night. I wish I were holding your hand in mine and I wish I could show you just how much you mean to me. I can hear the birds beginning to sing. Greeting the sun with their song. Everything else around me is silent. When you were here, I feel asleep and woke up to the your slow steady inhale and exhale. And the calming sound of your beating heart. Now I can see the sun as it creeps higher into the sky. It’s rays of light slowly spreading across the mountains. But of course it’s beauty is no match for yours :) I love you Corinne (even though you probably won’t even read this when you wake because there are so many words). But the words are all I can offer at this time. Along with the love I have in my heart. You have begun to break through my walls. You are one of the very few who have seen bits of the real me….. And I love you.

My Hearts Door

I had closed the door upon my heart
And wouldn’t let anyone in,
I had trusted and loved only to be hurt
But, that would never happen again.

I had locked the door and tossed the key
As hard, and as far as I could,
Love would never enter there again,
My heart was closed for good.

Then you came into my life
And made me change my mind,
Just when I thought that tiny key
was impossible to find.

That’s when you held out your hand
And proved to me I was wrong,
Inside your palm was the key to my heart…
You had it all along.

First Look

When first I looked into your eyes
each breath became a thousand sighs.
My heart drummed out a thunder beat
I glowed with joy from head to feet.
The hand of love had touched my soul,
as the bell of destiny began to toll.
The tide of love began to rise,
the world was filled with summer skies.
My sodden clouds of cold and grey
glowed with gold, then wisped away.
A brilliant rainbow arched across,
as waves of love began to toss.
The air was filled with lovebird cries,
when I first looked into your eyes.
When I first looked into your eyes,
all time and space were paralyzed
And in that instant, I was shown
a universe I had never known.
I dwell there still, in Paradise,
when I look into your eyes.