Progression.

You’re looking for a soldier

Who’ll stay and fight.

Hold that gun high and proud.

But I’m the one who’d pull the trigger

On myself.

You’re looking for safe ground

A place to rest your tired feet.

But every where I step

A crack in the pavement is made.

My feet is battle scarred by the bits of brokenness I’ve walked on.

You can train me up for battle

As hard as you want.

Put me through all the courses

Run all the laps needed

Make me to be the ideal fighting machine.

But as hard as I try

To stand my ground,

Someone always has the upper hand.

A  bigger gun

More bullets.

And *bang*

I’m left for dead.

April22,2013

151pm

-Lani Foronda

But we’ve grown out of tune.

A simple melody we were

Basic notes strung together

In hope to be something beautiful.

But notes turned long

And the tempo changed

As we crescendoed toward the final measure.

I’d write you a story

Except the ending’s already here.

We were never a blank page from the start-

Already ink stained from the constant rewriting of our chapter.

We wrote and we wrote

Until

Our pens gave out mid sentence one night

From all the

Scrawled out words

Crossed out mistakes

And unwritten secrets.

I’d paint you a picture

But the colors have run dry.

My palette of reds and blues and greens

Have mixed to a murky gray.

The paint brush has grown stiff in hand

As I stare at the mess I’ve made.

What used to be something wonderful

Has become a blur of

Bad timing

Indecisiveness

And “oh wells.”

Where there used to be a picture

Is now just an abstract version of

What could have been

But

Never will be.

April11-12,2013

-Lani Foronda

(P.s. These feelings need to go away. Curse you, female high school hormones. Curse youuuuuu.)

April13,2013

1137pm

Even though you’re a mere an inch away.

But I guess that’s where we’ll always stand.

We’re just two puzzles pieces to the same picture

But not the right match.

You were a chest to be unlocked,

But I couldn’t be your key.

I opened my door to let you in,

But I don’t think you were so certain

On what to do.

Would it have been such a crime

To stay the night.

Whisper secrets while under 3am’s spell.

Tell the things we kept inside our guarded hearts.

Would it have been such an unthinkable thought

To think

That second chances were possible

(Then it again it felt more like three).

It could have been different-

It would have been.

But, sweet pea, like they say

Not everything’s meant to be.

& one of those things apparently

Included you and me.

-Lani Foronda

I first talked to Miss Rachel about this topic. She responded with the same principles that I had thought of. Non-believers can experience love, but it is a twisted love. They cannot know true love, because they do not know God. She told me to check out I Corinthians 13:4-8. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.Love never fails…” I personally have always known and loved this passage. I dream of it being said in my wedding one day. But something happened when I read it that day. Something changed. It was like some gears in my head started cranking and got myself thinking. What exactly was love?

I had always attributed love as that feeling you get when you are with that special someone. You know when you are love when you get that butterfly feeling every time he looks at you. You know that it is love when you feel safe in his presence. You know when it is love because he is your other half, and you have no idea what you would do without him! (Insert internal gag here). I based love on my own experiences and the experiences of others around me. The media helped shaped my view of it as well. YouTube opened doors to hundreds of songs that reflected my feelings. Romantic comedies brought my hopes up for the perfect guy. Magazines and books said that it was completely fine to be single but showed that having a significant other made life a whole lot better.

Then it finally hit me. I had no idea what it meant to love someone. If I just took apart the passage in I Corinthians 13, I could already see it. “Love is patient.” I have no patience. I can only take so much from someone before I blow up. “Love is kind.” I have grown heartless after getting hurt so many times. I did not want to open up to anyone anymore. I needed to protect myself. “It does not envy.” I am a jealous person. “It does not boast.” I have my pride, and I do not like to bring it down some days. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking.” I am a very selfish person. I put my happiness before others because I cherish being happy. After all who doesn’t? “It is not easily angered.” I can be ticking time bomb if one pushes my buttons too much. “It keeps no record of wrongs.” Well, there is something that is hard to do. It is like the old saying. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” I do not want to forget what others have done to me. It just gives them another opportunity to screw me over. To sum it all up, I had grown bitter towards the idea of love. To me it was just another way to get hurt.

Months went by as I grew conflicted over this area. I had so many questions yet no one to talk to. The only people I was open to about this stuff were in Utah. I did not think that anyone my age would understand what I was mulling over. I was not leaning towards talking to another adult because I felt like I was in some way or form be judged. Eventually I became open to talking to a few of my peers. I especially started talking to God more. I did not know what to do anymore. I was feeling helpless. How is it possible to love unconditionally when we as humans are so flawed? How could I when I was already so messed up in both the head and heart? I needed answers and started searching. I read Crazy Love by Francis Chan. I started listening more in church and school. I grew heavy with the burden of wanting to know the truth.

I used to write about you

Like you were the back of my hand.

Didn’t have to think twice

Or wonder about what words to use.

But now I can’t even put two and two together.

-Lani Foronda