I never thought this would happen to me.
He lies asleep next to me, sometimes rolling over or fluffing his pillow in that fragile state between asleep and awake. He reaches for my hand, my arm, my thigh; something to simply grab ahold of and return to his world of dreams, taking me with him.
When really, I must be the one who is dreaming.
I used to be sad and alone and lost in the middle of some kind of medium between reality and fantasy. I used to have the need to write—it was my only escape from the corners of my soul where nobody else spoke my language or was on my side. Not because I didn’t have anybody who cared, but because they were fighting their own wars, and whose side could they be on but their own? I couldn’t blame them.
i don’t write as much, these days.
My head remains my retreat, but less of a trap, somehow. I’ve been granted the ability to come and go as I please. I’m not a prisoner, anymore.
Which must mean: I am free.
Crazy Monster confused about love.
I am going to try to do some drawing requests today, to celebrate my new book coming out.
Six months ago today I think I went on my last first date ever. And that fills me with just as much excitement as anxiety, sometimes. The strangest part, though, is that I didn’t even know it was a so-called “date” until well into the night. It’s funny how things like that can sneak up on you.
Here’s the thing: I know six months is by no means a significant amount of time in the scheme of it all. I know I’ve only experienced a mere fraction of my “adult” life so far. I know I’ve got years and miles to go before I am who I ultimately will be. I know things and people change like the winds and the tides. But the way I see it—the way I’ve always seen it—is that you have to find the constant in life, and if you can’t find one, make one. And so with my dad walking out on us when I was eight years old and living in uncertainty of both the abstract and the concrete ever since, I’ve been looking for a constant for more than half my life.
Six months ago today, I found one, and while time will pass and seasons will change, I found the one thing I won’t let go of, the thing I won’t give up on, the thing that may change, but will also adapt. I found the one I have made mine, and he has made me his. He is just enough like me and just enough the opposite. For the first time in my life—in all actuality—I am completely and absolutely satisfied—fulfilled, even—with the one I am with. And that’s all anybody ever wanted, right?
That’s all I ever wanted.
Typewriter Series #564 by Tyler Knott Gregson
And so I said goodbye. I am nobody’s ghost.
It changes you. It changes the way you think and the way you act and the way you see yourself and everything else.
But it’s a good kind of change, I think. A really good one.
Everybody needs a little change now and then; everybody needs a little love.
Chicken Society by Bettina Gál
Why did the chicken cross the road? Because maybe it can be defined outside the parameters of a tired old cliched idiom and actually has something to say if you’d just really listen.
I’m sorry that it’s partially my fault that you came back to this “hell hole” and are stuck here being miserable for another year.
I’m sorry that, for reasons I don’t really understand, I can’t even help make it less miserable for you, because there was nothing I wanted more, because I honestly thought this was the right choice for you, even if it was going to suck.
I’m sorry that for a few weeks I lost complete control of my life because I almost lost the one person you know is good for me and I was trying desperately to avoid that. I’m sorry that I couldn’t even talk to you about it because I didn’t really know what to say.
I’m sorry that I’m insensitive and distant and not the person you signed up for. And I’m sorry that you don’t need me as much as I need you.
But to tell you the truth, I’m really just afraid. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t really know what to do. I don’t actually know how to do anything without you.
You were never just a friend. And now I don’t really know what you are.
Come back into my life. We belong together.
Because apparently I’m the newest shipmate.
I often wondered how it would feel when it finally happened—that thing that I was endlessly searching for—if it would ever even happen at all. I wondered if it would be more like sawing through a bone with a blunt kitchen knife—long and agonizing; or ripping off a bandaid—painful just at first, then revealing a new and very permanent scar; or maybe more like a paralyzed numbness or a blackout blow to the head—erasing all feeling altogether.
But what it actually was—because it did, in fact, happen—was much different. It was swift and light. It happened without much notice at all. Life carried on and the sun shone brighter and warmer and a more beautiful golden hue than any I’d ever seen. I think about it now, months later, and I see a bird, taking her first flight after a broken wing was finally healed. Saying goodbye to you was never the pain; it was the healing.
I always told myself—and if you know me, you know this just as well—that I would marry the first person who made me forget, who helped me move on. For six and a half years I half-committed to relationships I knew would never last because they were never enough. He was still there, reeling me in once again, no matter how fast I swam away from the bait. I always knew from the start they weren’t the one that would save me. Until there was the one that could, and would.
And suddenly he slipped away through the cracks, taking six and a half years of pain and longing and circumstance with him. And I barely even blinked an eye. It may stand true that “there has never been anything false about hope,” but there may be fault in the eyes of the hopeful. And that there was, I just didn’t know it yet. As time went on and I started to see who he was and who I was becoming, I started to see that all that I had imagined him to be was an intricately laced creation of childhood romanticism—nothing but an impossible dream.
The real dream is now. The real dream is unraveling right before my eyes. He is patient, he is forgiving, he loves like Papa loved. He says “she motivates me,” and he does the same for me. I can’t get close enough, even when I’m so close I can’t breathe. The thing of it is, it doesn’t scare me, anymore. It’s just right. The right time, the right person, the right way.
For the first time ever, I’m ready to follow through.
"Quoth the raven, ‘nevermore’."
A cowboy hat hangs upside-down from the end of a curtain rod, holding countless, unparalleled memories of the teenage adventure of a lifetime.
The outline of a vintage picture frame draped in pearls houses a string of moments frozen in time.