You spent your summers at Jones or Tobay beach, and you’re still not entirely sure of the purpose of that pencil-looking building you have to drive around to get there.
Some smart ass comebacks.
Everyone was over-involved to the point of not being able to effectively get anything done, and it was some strange source of pride for people.
Maybe the effort is in letting it be effortless. Maybe it’s just worth one more morning of uncertainty before we become certain. And maybe it’s learning to love Sundays whether or not there’s someone in those sheets with you.
“Artists use lies to tell the truth. Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.”
Learn to work through things as they come, not let them drift off to collect and build into a mounting heap that seems impossible to get over– because many couples often don’t.
What instilled in us the notion that we all have to agree, and that our points and opinions and self-identities are only as valid as we can make others believe they are?
You’re both introverted and extroverted at the same time. You have notebooks filled with writing and napkins that you scribbled ideas on and walls plastered with art– however you define that. You don’t root yourself without spreading your vines and blossoming. You appreciated that metaphor.
A way to have fun again.
Your whole life will be nothing more than doing things for the sake of how they appear. You’ll get cynical. You’ll get off every one of those websites. You’ll find your way back. People won’t think you exist without them.