mangojuulpod

I was making chitchat with the woman who works at the plant nursery and I mentioned that two baby trees I bought the other day aren't doing too well, their leaves are yellowing, maybe I'm watering them too much? what could be behind this phenomenon? and she looked like she was trying to find a gentle way to phrase it but then gave up and just said plainly, "Autumn."

I thought I had been surviving, and yet, what I was really doing was hanging by a string, loosely holding myself from collapsing. I was always on the verge, and I could feel that friction in my soul.

"And this is what I learned: that the world’s otherness is antidote to confusion, that standing within this otherness—the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books—can re-dignify the worst-stung heart."