Aspiring writer. Born storyteller.
“I like the stars. It is the illusion of permanence, I think. They’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend – I can pretend things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don’t last, and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend…”
“He taught me how to love, but he didn’t teach me how to stop.”
I spent my New Year’s morning backing up all of my old files on my laptop. Not the most thrilling way to ring in 2017, but it helps me with that whole “clean slate” feeling. I then went to back up my iMessages. And that’s when I started scrolling through our entire history. I’ve been truly on my own for months now, and I’ve been reflecting on the past and who I was and currently am.
It has been said that most of us, in fact, are wild. There’s a part of us that still sits unmined. There’s a piece of our soul that still commands stardust, is still locked in the heavens, that part of us that has been described as fire. As hurricanes. Warm and disastrous. We have both the power to weave and the power to unravel.
It’s been over a year and a half since the last time we held hands. It’s not even the handholding that I miss most though. It’s not the interrupted conversation kisses, the lovemaking, or even the Thanksgivings up in Oregon with your family. It’s the fact that I lost my best friend. That’s not me idealizing anything – that’s just the truth.
