-------------------------------i added more to you:

there is a notebook strewn in the backseat too. it is open to the page she reads everyday, the one she wrote a long time ago:

it's a something that my eyes look the prettiest when the tears are streaming down my face. that it is nearly impossible to photograph a spider web. that the memories will fade and that these feelings will be forgotten, that this just all a mess...a quiet kind of mess. That we made it from there to here. that you know exactly what i'm thinking but you've never seen really my eyes, and much less the tears in them. that the inconsistency is a comforting constant. (because here, change is a surprise.)

but THIS. this is content. this is being cold and wearing sweatshirts all wrapped in beautifully stitched blankets. waking up on my own, at eight, getting caf� con leche and pan tostado from the cuban place down the road, driving with the windows down staring at the sun. swimming in cold air, heated pool, walking the balance beam over and over at the park, fitting into my jeans from college RUNNING OUTSIDE ONTO THE DOCKS AND DIPPING MY FEET IN THE WATER AND LAYING ON THE HAMMOCK ALL BECAUSE I CAN.


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