I say a blessing every morning. I don’t know to whom I make this ask, and it doesn’t matter. The words matter. Their daily repetition reshaping this body that keeps me upright. Give me the courage and the grace to live this life. Words are softer in morning. As if it takes time to build
One of the things I crave the most in the presence of a lover are walks. Or rather the quiet collisions that occur as two humans bound by some degree of connectedness, of hearing and seeing the other, pull them together and apart again like a whimsical and slightly rogue pendulum, attempting to move from
Petit loves are one of my favorites. It’s like walking into the ocean. You haven’t dived. Your head isn’t wet. But you still feel the waves. You’ve still said yes to this magical thing washing over you. Petit heartbreaks are like that too. They don’t tear you open leaving you to pick up the pieces.
How do we know when we’ve grown? When all of the work we’ve done has reached a threshold and overflowed into some other state of being. Into some other state of knowing this complicated self patched together by history and by healing. We know in fracture. In shift. In moments that are traced in familiarity
Why is it that we think we’re alone That we are alone in this particular genre of doubt That we are alone in this unique breed of uncertainty That we are alone in this distinct unfamiliarity in our body That we are alone in this singular notion that we won’t fit with another human We
I’ve stopped trusting the verbiage of, “to fall” in relation to love. It makes me feel as though it is beyond me. That it is dependent on some other source but me. On clumsiness. On gravity. On void. It doesn’t make room for the mundanity of love. The everydayness. It requires that we are tipped
There’s an awkwardness to beginning. Especially now. Especially when we think we’ve lived enough to know better. To know ourselves better. Shouldn’t it be smooth. Seamless. Outlined by all these choices we’ve already made. As solid as the human we’ve chosen to become. And yet it isn’t. It never is. Nor should it be. What
I always imagined the shift into partnership would be graceful. That after all of this work of erasing and then tracing my own borders, existing alongside someone else’s would be smoother somehow. I’ve done all this work of, yes, and, no thank you, and, babe, you didn’t know that but now you do. This work