I'm shivering in 80 degrees.
I don't want to any more.
There's something beautiful about the make believe. There's something beautiful in knowing you hold the answers in your hand. But I don't. And I never will. Can accepting defeat be just as liberating?
I told the doctor there was too much life in me. She didn't seem to understand. But maybe you've felt it- those days when you feel the enormity of the world around you, when you remember something long forgotten and realize how much time has passed, when you want to stop and watch for a bit... but you have to keep walking. So I walk. And I walk. And I watch the world passing. And I'm a part of it... but I'm not. I'm separate too.
She didn't seem to understand.
Maybe some of us have less life to live, so we pack it into all the big moments that take our breath away. Maybe we grew up too early. Maybe we grew up too late. Sometimes, I can't find the distinction.
It's overwhelming, but it's beautiful. And I think that's what it's supposed to be.
It's a new month and a new era and a new sort of independence. I've fought a different battle than my Fathers, but I've been fighting.
And I still make eyelash wishes, but I think it's getting better.
And you know what?
I am happy.
I am happy and maybe, just maybe, that is all that matters.
