Out of the Woods

This song is about the fragility and kind of breakable nature of some relationships. This was a relationship where it was kind of living day-to-day, wondering where it was going, if it was gonna go anywhere, if it was gonna end the next day. It was a relationship where you never feel like you’re standing on solid ground.
And that kind of a feeling brings on excitement, but also extreme anxiety, and kind of a frantic feeling of wondering. Endless questions. And this song sounds exactly like that frantic feeling of anxiety and questioning, but it stresses that, even if a relationship is breakable and fragile and full of anxiety, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t worthwhile, exciting, beautiful and all the things that we look for.
– Taylor Swift on “Out of the Woods”


It’s no longer a societal norm to refuse the idea of people bearing their emotions like it’s open heart surgery. There are those whom feel 10x over because it’s unlike anything else, and those that feel for so many hearts, that at times you question how a person dives that many times into open waters. 

You must think that I look for that great love story, so that it becomes my art. So I can have content. But I used to think it was all fiction, until someone told me it’s not. Because everything that I was creating was almost like rock-climbing with no harness on, and you’re both anxious and excited to get the top knowing that you could slip at any moment.

But if you look closely in empty streets, and pay attention to two souls unaware of what the universe has prepared for them.  To think that the universe sometimes fights more than the individuals/lovers themselves. That people want to be held to the point where there are claw marks left on them, and once they fade you can no longer tell where a person let go.

Maybe we look for love in temporary narrators. How does the romantic writer avoid the glorification of a happy ending? Simple she asks how long a person plans on staying. But last night, I fast-forwarded to 60 years later, in a house made up of different textiles, and prints scattered around with no frames.

She’s 82, always waking on air, and teaching me the importance of independance without saying a word about it. She says she has a sensitive heart, and that it gets scared easily. 20 years old, and I came to the conclusion that a person’s true self is ageless. That maybe I run to the keyboard too fast and then question if I said the right thing. But now I have these lines, and documents, that show me where I was in that moment, and where I went from there. And I didn’t have the same heart I did when I was 12, or 16. 

Because at 82, I’ll look over to someone, knowing that it all happened so I could be here. Maybe we’re too young to think about a house in 60 years, with wooden floors, and the creaky doors we choose to exit when we wish to venture off into the real world, and it’s a crime to not be spontaneous, but spontaneity isn’t measured by how many “spontaneous” cab rides we take at 3am. Spontaneity is half of what I’ve written, half of what you’ve read throughout these last two years, being the unexpected. Spontaneity is someone letting go of the harness, and choosing to get back up and climb again. 

And it’s rained for the last two weeks, heavily here in Portugal. The wind is petrifying, and keeps me up at night to which those 3am thoughts creep up from under the bed. Much scarier than that certain “boogeyman” and I learned that January isn’t like the last one, and it rained for the last 12 months too, but there were many calms. Like Jackson Pollock and his paintbrush, I choose to let my art follow my heart. 

Until I touch down in Toronto (safely)


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