all else is grandiose romanticism or politics

“I used to hate summer. The free time promising hours and days and months of aches, of wounds that had been patched with bandaids to be ripped open, of memories being dug up that I thought I had buried deep, yet was right below the surface when I had a moment of time to look below. I would rot, my mind infecting the best of me, my favorite books, my favorite tv shows, my room, my bed, I would rot until I couldn’t stand myself and would question what I was hurting for, what it was all for, and when it would end. But I have learned how to love summer again. I have found those wounds that had never healed and I spent time putting salve on them, stitching them up one day at a time until I could bear to look at them and being shocked when it wasn’t bleeding anymore, when it had finally turned into a scar I could talk about. I learned how to prevent the rotting; I woke up early to walk and watch the sunrise, I found a purpose to wake up everyday, a summer class, a summer job, I found people to relearn, to rememorize because in my infection, I had forgotten how to love others and I became regretful and motivated to appreciate the people in my life, I read books that allowed me to lose time in another little life, I pet my cats that reminded me it was easy to love and let others love you, that love and closeness didn’t have to be abrupt, it didn’t have to hurt, it didn’t have to be obvious, I called my long distance friends and family, not disappointing them and not disappearing when I didn’t want to be seen, I watched the sunset most nights while I walked my dog and letting the sun tie together the day, letting the sun color my life. I used to love the summer, as a child. I don’t know when I began to fear the freedom instead of longing for it, when I began to lose myself in old memories instead of finding myself in new memories.”

“Every time you are tempted to react in the same old way, ask yourself if you want to be a prisoner of the past or a pioneer of the future.”

“I am finding my way back to myself again. slowly, patiently, intricately. I am finding roads in between my heart and my mind that connect. I am finding melodies that taste good on my soul. I stray and i take detours occasionally, but I am finding my way back to myself again.”

I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.