For the Sleepless Ones

This post is not about exchange, or anything in particular really. I'm having one of those days that goes by slow; the kind that consumes you until you lose track of time and can't even register where you are anymore. Maybe it's because I still feel a little lost; not really knowing what I'm meant to be doing all the time. Or maybe it's because thoughts of familiar and unfamiliar places stir up my mind until I can no longer think. Whatever it is, it's got me in the mood to write. It's got me in the mood to share the deepest corners of my mind. Hunger of what I do not have: it's a powerful thing. It's got me up at all hours, reading, writing poetry, watching old films about places I've never even heard of. Maybe you'd enjoy a poem I've written, maybe not. But at least it'll be here; seen. You can drink up my words if you wish, let it settle. Decode it's meaning; for there are thousands of possibilities of what it could be. Even I do not know the real cause.. Like so many things in life it is unknown, not shown, but there, somewhere.


Coffee

you were black,
soulless;
round
around the edges,
coffee stained
pages

I cradle you
in my hands,
bring you up
to my lips
contemplate.
breathe you in,
only for a second

but you scold my tongue,
keep me wordless
burnt,
bottomless
like the coffee
you drink

day after day
I wake you

make you
crave me
yearn
for just another sip

a sip of what?
the unknown,
endless mystery

you stir me up
but just a bit
you drink me in,
then I'm gone

like your
morning coffee.


- Mariana Marvel, 2014

inspired by coffee shops in London & those rainy days that aren't really weather related at all

For the Love & the Loss

The last time I opened up my blog was in May. Not to say that I haven't thought about it. I will get random thoughts that I ache to write somewhere; maybe here. I feel like this is a lost art; something I used to love so much but got tired of.  I've even tried writing posts about the countries I traveled to this summer. I'll get about a half a page into it and then all inspiration leaves me. I have about 4 drafts saved, none published. What does that tell you about me? Lots. Let me explain:


I have been home for 1 month and 5 days. I stepped off that plane and almost turned right back around. There is so much to say, so much I want someone, anyone, to know. How do you truly ever leave a place? I feel clouded, foggy even. I've been in school for less than 2 weeks and I'm already driving myself into the depths of insanity wishing I could get out. I came home to a loving family and a few good friends who were full of questions. But as the days dwindled on, so did the memory of Denmark. People don't ask. They figure since I have been home so long that maybe I have forgotten too. But I haven't. It's all I am these days: stories mixed with the extreme desire to get back to what I feel I have lost.

I am a ghost. Stuck between two places: here and Denmark. I think back to the person I was. I see her clothes in  my closet, all of her favorite hobbies and past times. I live in her bedroom, I surround myself with her peers. That is still me, yet in some way it is not. The challenges I have faced changed the way I view things. I am no longer scared of the unknown, but rather so desperate to plunge into its' depths. I cannot pretend that I am completely happy in this town that lives and dwells between the mountains. I am slightly content in the simplest of terms; and so grateful for my friends and family. But when I am alone, my mind explodes with wonder. With hope; hope that someday I will once again be able to see colored houses resting upon rolling hills, the Danish countryside forever etched in the corners of my mind. Those of you who know me know how much I have been struggling lately. Thank you for checking up on me, dealing with my intense longing for a place you have never seen. Thank you for holding me as I cry for people who you have never met. For showing up at all hours of the day to watch my favorite movies and listen to my ramblings. I could tell the same story 20 times and it would still be alright for those of you closest to me. You have made me realize how precious time is, yet how evil it is also. We as human beings are made up of time. An internal clock that ticks each time we take a breath, each time we whisper, move even an inch. Thank you a thousand times over for sharing your time with me; tiding me over until the day my time comes to return to my beautiful, sought-after Denmark.

this one's for you, gaga x2

keep wandering.