hello tumblr, it’s been just a long enough of a while for me to return here with near full confidence of, functionally, virtual privacy - those who know me irl are no longer tumblr frequenters, or simply lurk, and those anon remain anon - so I feel free to diary, as I once did instinctively in times of distress. time passes so quickly and ‘distress’ changes meaning, and then reverts, then changes again, just as quickly as each consonance tumbles over the next. I’ve been happy, then sad, then calm, and anxious in all the interstices, yet I still feel overflowing with something not yet claimed or named. I wanted simple and happy, only because I came out of the womb suckling simple and happy. I learned to crawl then walk then feed then feel with simple and happy, and even now as I’ve dreamt of a million ways in the world to be happy, and to simply be, I turn around only to find that my hand still vice-gripped to simple and happy, splintering the illusion of self-efficacy that only I really needed. I think despite all of this talk of 3 or 5 or 10 years I can’t even conceptualize these frames, not really, not in reality. like counting the grains of sand on the beach, or dividing a number by 0. you can’t really wrap your mind around infinity - not in the forever sense, but in the irreducible - and at a certain point it becomes so cumbersome that your mind naturally adapts to the uncertainty - placeholders for something too enormous to bear, convenient narratives in the place of lived experiences, rational expression in place of unreal numbers. it’s what I’ve consistently tried to avoid throughout my life - being easily distilled - yet it constitutes the backbone of my unceasingly rigorous life prophesying. I keep feeling the urge to rewrite this story in a way that makes him or I the villain, the martyr, the devoted lover, but it never ends up sounding right. I - we? - feel too young to be this caught up with where we will be, but this, too, is a convenient way of saying I feel guilty for not being like other young people, real or imagined. and a steadfast commitment to where we are feels suffocating. so I - we? we - remain suspended in the unwritten, sacred and sealed from prying eyes, ad infinitum.
