Changes
The days have been nice. Hot still, but the small breezes help and at least it is no longer 105 degrees and physically/mentally draining to walk outside. We’ve been leaving the house to my parents and driving throughout town, playing Scrabble at our favorite coffee house or getting a few drinks at The Belmont. Running in sprinklers at the golf course at 10:30 at night. He shouts as the water falls down on us, “We’re acting like little kids again!” And we are.
Spontaneity has been seizing us at odd moments throughout the days. We spent Sunday night kissing, just kissing, in bed like lustful teenagers. We kissed the way we used to back then, passionately and not wanting to get caught by my watchful parents (who are still very much the same; it feels odd to live under their roof again). It felt amazing to kiss him in that way again…and for the longest, I thought it was something we had lost, something we could never get back. Meanwhile, I’m starting to feel beautiful again. I bought a gorgeous red dress, the first dress I’ve bought in a long time, and I plan to wear it on Saturday - hopefully on a date to eat fondue, and maybe ending with a hotel room?
I write so little when I am happy. It’s almost as if my mind and body cannot comprehend being happy and so I begin to focus more on the inside, on what is hidden, on what needs to be buried. But what about the moments of magic? Why should they go unwritten? I have had so little to say, and haven't felt the need to bring up a blank word document or even take out my faithful Moleskine to record it all. I need to reprogram my mind and my hand, train myself to etch it into memory and paper, so that I can have something to fall back on during my bouts of sadness.
Spontaneity has been seizing us at odd moments throughout the days. We spent Sunday night kissing, just kissing, in bed like lustful teenagers. We kissed the way we used to back then, passionately and not wanting to get caught by my watchful parents (who are still very much the same; it feels odd to live under their roof again). It felt amazing to kiss him in that way again…and for the longest, I thought it was something we had lost, something we could never get back. Meanwhile, I’m starting to feel beautiful again. I bought a gorgeous red dress, the first dress I’ve bought in a long time, and I plan to wear it on Saturday - hopefully on a date to eat fondue, and maybe ending with a hotel room?
I write so little when I am happy. It’s almost as if my mind and body cannot comprehend being happy and so I begin to focus more on the inside, on what is hidden, on what needs to be buried. But what about the moments of magic? Why should they go unwritten? I have had so little to say, and haven't felt the need to bring up a blank word document or even take out my faithful Moleskine to record it all. I need to reprogram my mind and my hand, train myself to etch it into memory and paper, so that I can have something to fall back on during my bouts of sadness.