Had this at 10PM because my sister looked like she could use a matcha. I think my matcha is one of her favorites, even if she’ll probably not mention it outright. Tonight I made one for myself too, just so I could hand her the other and say that I made an extra one

These consumed media are loved by me because they required sacrifice. I mean that literally. I don’t know when I’ll have enough in me to do this again, but I hope this isn’t the last time. I really missed dedicating time for art.

It has been years since I greeted my dad a happy father’s day and meant it. I cannot tell you when I last did. Today is still June, and I miss my dad. I wish I had one. Sarah Kinsley’s Lonely Touch - Piano Version is playing, and I am in my room, and it is dim, and my body is about to turn on itself like it does every month, and all I keep hearing is where you are and where you’ve been just to know you without talking I want to feel it all the edges of your soul one body in the dark where do I put my heart. I think of the anger I have for my father. I have also made peace with the knowing that it is love that wears another face. I have already written about this in __Things I Hate About__. I am one body in the dark that does not know where to put her heart. This is another fucking writing about belonging. In another universe—only for this universe, and only for a day—I am my father. I know his footsteps. I know where he stood, and what it cost him to stand there. We talk—in this universe. We talk and laugh a lot. And I know what it is to be a father whose daughter is longing for love, for belonging, for somewhere to put her heart, and I give it to her. I give it all. Not because I remember being the daughter, or a daughter. But because in this universe—I am a father. And there is not one universe where I allow my blood, my love, an extension of my body, of my being, to not know where to put her heart. From one absent figure to another, Happy Father’s Day.