Twenty-Seven
I turn 27 in two hours. *Sigh.*
I stayed in tonight and watched a film on the Sundance Channel called Wristcutters: A Love Story. I don't really have any plans for tomorrow either. In years past, I would have celebrated, but now, it feels like an ordinary Monday.
I haven't been doing a good job of making friends in Fairfax, and I haven't been doing a good job of staying in touch. It seems the tide has slowly been pulling me away from what matters to me. There is a great weight of words on my chest -- almost every night now I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait before I have my chance to say them again.
Another cousin and another friend have found love since last I wrote. It's crazy how much that pierces me. I keep reminding myself how happy I am for them (and I am happy for them), but my thoughts keep drifting back to how empty my couch feels, my room feels, my home feels . . . .
I am happy for them, but I'm not happy for me.
This year, I want to be happy for me.
I stayed in tonight and watched a film on the Sundance Channel called Wristcutters: A Love Story. I don't really have any plans for tomorrow either. In years past, I would have celebrated, but now, it feels like an ordinary Monday.
I haven't been doing a good job of making friends in Fairfax, and I haven't been doing a good job of staying in touch. It seems the tide has slowly been pulling me away from what matters to me. There is a great weight of words on my chest -- almost every night now I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait before I have my chance to say them again.
Another cousin and another friend have found love since last I wrote. It's crazy how much that pierces me. I keep reminding myself how happy I am for them (and I am happy for them), but my thoughts keep drifting back to how empty my couch feels, my room feels, my home feels . . . .
I am happy for them, but I'm not happy for me.
This year, I want to be happy for me.