Now, on a day, when I have nothing left to say, and everything that could be done has been done, I find peace. When every scenario has played out in my mind, and still, I find, myself at the end here. Or maybe now it’s just that the beginning is really clear.

The tunnel feels shorter and brighter and more filled with purpose and not really with more love but it’s lighter. Less weighty.

Stillness feels peaceful again. Like it’s meant to be or like, I don’t know, maybe all of this was meant for me. I’ve stopped asking questions that I already know the answer to. Those moments are like magic. I’ve found that my hair is finest when it’s frizzy. That dunking my head under the water and holding my breath feels like focus. That it might be me and you but that it is always me.
So I think of who I was, yesterday, and how nothing and everything has changed. How I still need coffee in the morning but I don’t need you. How I still want LA and my journal and lemon tea before bed but I don’t want you.

When I wake up to it, I feel something alive in my bones. The way it wasn’t before. Like all my cells are lining up. Forming a grand army. Saving this one life I’ve been given to live.

Everyone in my favorite books keeps telling me to sit in my still so i’m doing that. It’s hot, but at least now I can feel it.

so being alone has started to make me feel one of two ways:
1. Alone
2. Whole

And as for the world— now it literally puts me on planes, and trains, and screams at me to move, (forward this time). It forces me out my shell, to see the sun, to feel the salt of my wounds.

And so I think about a year ago, or five, and the ways I have broken for the better. The ways we all have, really— grown into ourselves. Planted our roots. And how all there’s left to do is keep our eyes open. Sit up straight. Stop dead in our tracks. Smell the musty air and the coffee beans and gasoline. And know that this world won’t promise us anything more than this. Just these things, just you, and whatever you choose to make from it.