we can't be friends.

& i'm always thinking summertime with the bikes out.

Life is better than it has been in so many years. I sometimes feel like I don't know what to do with it. it scares me and gives me anxiety and I almost feel like I don't deserve it. a normalcy. a respect. a love that is LOVE. true and real and raw. the idea that my opinion matters. I am heard. understood. valued.

I am responsible. growing. being recognized. being challenged. reaching higher and higher. slowly rebuilding myself into a good, no, great person. not defined. not limited. not embarrassed and ashamed.

I bet you dream of what you could do.

I still cry over spilt milk. rarely. but still.

it's time to show you're worth it child.

not sure what else to say. an incense is lifting my spirits and Dermot kennedy is everything I have ever needed to listen to. I am sitting in my new apartment. so peaceful. so dark and dim. so me. life is good.

27.

I have been having the most nostalgic mornings. I feel happier and safer than I have in a very long time. But it will forever blow my mind the many lives I have lived in 27 short years. Long years. Tired years and hard years. Wonderful years. I will rant forever about the chapters in our books and how hard they are to read and how interesting they are to highlight. How one chapter or maybe three can feel so relevant - almost a decade later. How much I used to love the border of Georgia and how I will forever be in lust with it. I can still SMELL it. I re read old message threads and flashback to what seems like yesterday. It’s been almost ten years. Oof.

I feel like the same little girl. And I also feel like a completely new woman. Growing up is just that, I guess. But I wonder if I will always feel the things that I feel. So deeply and truly. If I will always remember the relationships and the times and the moments even subtle. It’s just the way I’m wired. I live to feel and ache and wish - always have. I am a constantly moving piece of art that has splashed my colors on so many chapters of so many books. And I smile. And nod. And remember. And continue.

Here’s to more writing.