morning coffees.
beast of burden.
getting motivated.
loving something too much.
hide and go seek with your past.
dreams about your favorite literary characters.
watering eyes.
the sounds of settling.
a dinner and wine with old friends.
finding the most comfortable spot on your bed.
eating Peanut Butter straight from the jar.
red and white. red and white.
leaves of grass swaying under your feet.
the perfect summer breeze.
harry potter and how it makes me feel.
planning road trips with best friends.
sleeping in.
fever.

we're meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?

breathe. just breathe.

i've been a slight insomniac lately. every time i close my eyes, the blackness is bombarded with images that i'd rather forget and memories that i'd like to throw into a pensieve. sometimes your head becomes so jumbled. so full. that you feel like you have room for nothing else. your breath comes in such short close rasps that you start to feel nauseous. and you start to wish, all over again. that this life could start over. that you could go back, fix all those mistakes. write a letter to your future self, give them warnings.
dear me (age 27):
cling tight to what you love, for one day it will be lost and gone forever. much like alice, going through the looking glass.
remember to be like that soaring eagle. eager for that open sky.
never let anyone make you feel like you're not worth it.
and hug the ones you love everyday. for soon. you'll no longer get the chance.
remember that sometimes, its ok to be vulnerable.
that you don't always have to feel like the one who has to be tough and strong. but that its ok to feel like running and hiding.

i wrote this last year, almost to the day, right after i learned my dad had lost his fight, i think it still pertains:

trying to talk about my dad and all the love he left here for me is kind of like trying to dance about architecture.
i could tell you that he was the love of my life.
i could tell you he literally saved my life.
i could tell you that even though i was only two, i remember the first time i met him.
i could tell you how on that first time, i fell asleep in his lap on the car ride home and felt safe, and whenever i was around him from that point on. i felt safe.
i could tell you he was one of my soul mates.
i could tell you these things, but would it be possible for you being on the outside to understand me on the inside?
i could tell you that my "real" dad never really wanted anything to do with me.
i could tell you he always made me feel like i was less than wanted.
i could tell you that when Don appeared, i knew i would always be loved.
i could tell you about the countless times he would get on the floor with me and play barbies or my little pony.
i could tell you how to this day he's the only one i ever felt like i could say absolutely anything to.
i could tell you that he loved my friends as much as he loved me.
i could tell you about when my best friends dad passed he bought the ticket so i could be with her.
i could tell you about the fights we got in. about how we wouldn't speak for days. only to be fine without having to say a word.
i could tell you about the bond we had.
i could tell you how my mom always says he fell in love with me first.
i could tell you how i feel empty.
i could tell you how im not prepared.
i could tell you that i feel like throwing up everywhere.
i could tell you about how the very last time i saw him i leaned over to say goodbye and his sad bony hand reached up to my face and held me and told me he loved me so much and he was so proud of me.
i could tell you that his two favorite movies were titanic and west side story. and i love him for that.
i could tell you that the only time i saw him cry was the day he dropped me off at college.
i could tell you that i was lucky to have had him.
i could tell you these things, but it wouldn't give you any insight into the man he was.
but i could tell you that it helps me to say it, to think it. to remember it.
i could tell you that he left all of us a legacy. a legacy of love. of who we should aspire to be as people. of how a man should treat those around him.
i could tell you all these things. and i can only hope that you were or are as lucky as i have been.

i am, i said.

this is a week of anniversaries.

yes sir.

things to be thankful for:

bottomless mimosa's on a sunday afternoon.
cowboy boots.
friends who sing with you.
new gay boyfriends.
pushups.
"there is a picture of a butt in a thong in my email"
going organic.
wishing i wore glasses.
slipping at work in front of your boss. and still retaining your job.
puppy cuddles.
lots of coffee.
favorite people.
polaroids of peach blossoms.