Hugs for everyone. Dream sweet things and drink plenty of water.
Today was a good day, but all I can seem to focus on right now is how sometimes You can be so cruel. It’s my tired mind picking at these rare moments until they have sharp, jagged edges that tear at all the good things around them, and I am left questioning my actions, your motives, where we are. I know that I am being foolish. I’m letting insecurity get the best of me. So before I go to bed I will remember all the good things. The way I caught and fixed my mistakes at work; the warmth of ramen and good friends on a cold day; samples of milk tea delivered in the rain; the satisfying metallic reverberations of guitar strings and my friends’ voices; a song made of my name laughingly repeated over and over again.
March 1. Found myself in a new bar throwing darts against my better judgment and whispering silly secrets with a new friend. Legs and arms crossed over another, bodies leaning in, wicked smiles and laughter bouncing in my ears. Already so sure of my white lies, red ink drawings across my skin. Votes about taxis or buses, running through the rain to sit in a warm car. Making up lyrics to songs and marveling at the look of the park at 2am. There’s something intoxicating about a place so dark and forbidden that stirs a hidden part of me. Continued conversations as I lay in bed, a reprieve for my aching heart. Awoke to unread messages and for a spontaneous reunion with an old friend. Shared food and declined the sweet offerings of children as they climbed stools and clamored for our attention. Sticky candy fingers and hugs, and I felt for a brief moment what it must be to be a mother duck. Walking to the Ferry Building reminded of how San Francisco must look to the eyes of an outsider. I received a sprig of daffodils that I played with as we sat outside. I was mesmerized by the undulating rise and fall of the bay—it was jade green and blue today—and I spotted a rainbow right before fat drops of water began to splash upon our heads. Sitting in an isolated corner of a coffee shop listening to my friend and feeling my heart contract and expand with pride and such a myriad of emotions. My life lately seems to revolve around wanting to pull my friends closer; the heart wrenching desire to never have to say goodbye. Reunions such as these have such a way of hurting and healing me.
Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words.
I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations brought on by mortality of aging family members” connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants” as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.”
I’ve never had the right words to describe my life."
— Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex (via dustbowldance)
I’m on the cusp of something new. I think things have been progressing so quickly that my I haven’t had time to register the emotional impact of all that I’m about to embark on. Things are exciting and new and wonderful, but I’m only just realizing how difficult it might all be. I suppose I’ve always been slow to react, to process how deeply something can resonate within me. I suppose I’ve always been a little fearful of change. Tonight I packed a box with all my things and led a train of some of my closest friends from work out the building. I sat in the dark upper story of a restaurant and toasted sangria and just stared at the beautiful faces of all the people I miss and will miss so dearly. Now there is a stuffed cardboard box on my bedroom floor that I can’t bear to unpack. I do so hate goodbyes.