the need to transcribe, to write down the things he said to me in the car, the smoke filled backyard at her party, paddling in the middle of a lake on new years. all these tangible things. images you can hold on, put yourself into. i was there, i was living and feeling and breathing and making mistakes but LIVING.

it's too easy to avoid sadness and avoid pain and miss the living. sometimes i really just want to black out backwards because i miss things too much and why am i crying at 1:42am over things that happened 15 lifetimes ago.

all those times i lived within 10 minutes of all the people i loved in life? and took it for so fucking granted. i wish you could call me in the middle of the night and we could talk like we used to and i don't want anyone new, i just want me seeing you and you seeing me and talking about everything and everyone and every book and movie and plan.

right now it feels devastating that there is only forwards, when most of the time it feels so necessary. sometimes all it takes is a new recipe and a new book and some new songs, a long sleep and a long walk. sunshine. or something. some silver living out of the devastation that we can never be those people; that f. scott. fitzgerald is a fucking liar or a fucking genius because i'll never be the person i was then and i'll always be.


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