In fifth grade, I found out that we were officially moving to Long Island. Part of me eagerly anticipated living in a house with a staircase and a grassy backyard. Yet, I was also overcome with worry about leaving the only place I’ve known. I was 10 years-old when I was diagnosed with chronic heartburn due to stress.
Legs are kind of sore. Poor legs.
Letting go may not be an easy process (I should know), but when we force ourselves to keep what does not serve us anymore, we start to feel stagnant and trapped. It falls on our shoulders like a heavy weight. Closure, which we often have to give to ourselves, is far out of reach.
I have all our memories for safekeeping
I preserve our moments in writing;
they will not wither away with age,
they will be immortal.
We were never meant to be a happy ending
We were fireworks on the Fourth of July,
always fated to beautifully explode.
You are a strong woman when you realize that in order to give to others, you need to first give to yourself.
to the friends I don’t see as much: we go in various directions; life picks at our threads, naturally. however, i still think of you all.
i never cared for march; for its dreary and blistery skies/for the way it teases our hearts just when spring is nearby/when spring is technically here, but not here.
While it’s human nature to crave approval, I know approval won’t always be granted. Try to swallow it down. Try not to chase it.
When I know that, still, my foundation is impenetrable and one that will not break.