I took a break from guitar. Not a conscious decision, just days that were busy enough that I didn’t think of picking her up, which means I don’t even know how long I’d stopped. All I know is that it was long, cause I feel the strings vibrating through every piece of wood that touches my body now, one of those sensations you stop noticing after enough time.
I haven’t had much to say either. Nothing seems important. At the same time, I’m trying to move away from this social media overload, where so many people speak only cause the power to do makes them believe they should. It’s making the gaps between my entries longer and longer, and I wonder if I’ll eventually stop writing altogether.
All I have are memories of lives I lived so long ago that I feel like I’m watching them in 8mm. The friends and the lovers, the love and the hate, the cycles and the patterns. I’m only now sorting out the meaning of each one, maybe cause I’ve finally grown enough to understand myself and my relationship with the world at large. It’s comforting to see how far I’ve come when comparing the person I am now to each person I used to be.
But such progress came at the cost of my innocence; we aren’t always ready to learn the harder lessons, and surviving sometimes means we change in ways that prevent us from becoming the people we’re meant to be. I’m trying to take back that innocence now, cause I know my happiness is at stake.
Summer has been overcast, if not rainy. It’s great. I can keep every window open, and the whole day feels like it’s a dew-soaked morning on the verge of a sunrise. It’s enough to make me believe that the real summer is never coming.
These days I’m still recovering, still learning to treat myself with compassion. Sometimes it’s a blurry line between that and procrastination. I don’t know how I feel about parts of my life, parts I never questioned before, and it’s a strange uncertainty to be carrying.
That means I don’t know how to act around most people, something I haven’t had trouble with since I was a kid. I’ve been avoiding most social contact, while spending time with the few people who know me well enough to hurt me. Sometimes it’s like walking on a tightrope, waiting to fall off. Everything is an exercise in vulnerability. Luckily, they’re the right people to help me through as well, the right people to put my trust into. This is how I learn to love again.
I’m learning to be selfish too, especially at a time like this. I’ve realized how important it is to be obliged to myself, instead of constantly putting aside my feelings for the sake of others. That means understanding what I need out of my relationships, instead of trying to make them what I thought they should be. Sometimes that also means making sure I spend enough time alone.
Our reunion ended on a cliffhanger, where *Skins SPOILERS* Tony gets hit by a bus, Sid finds Cassie, and Angie breaks up with Chris. But finishing a season means we have the chance to start something new (or resume another show), and we tend to alternate between comedy and drama, sweet and savoury, while surrounded by kitties in the little nest we make for ourselves.
Cats warm their balls in your hair and make eye contact to show dominance.
I didn’t realize how hard it was to go a whole month without her until I saw her again. The time we’ve spent over the last few years has made me comfortable enough to let my guard down, and it’s good to be reminded that we’re capable of such things every now and then, especially when still dealing with trust issues and emotional trauma.
The things we share are often small and simple, as they’re mostly about pleasures and we’re easily pleased. Actually, it’s more like she’s easily pleased, while I’m pleased when others are happy. It’s a dynamic that works really well for both of us. I love myself when I’m with her cause she appreciates me in all the intricate ways I want to be appreciated, and that gives me a lot of the validation I need in my life right now.
Somewhere, I have notes on family and names, the infamy of Cuban fare, being alone together, breaking the seal, passing Damian on the way to Havana, salty hair from salty air, rum and brown, threaded fingers, not enough euchre, every life-guard trying to sell me lobster meals, patterns on palms, plus 20 minutes Cuba time, finding out how deep my scars run, blushing through my sunburn, sand everywhere and in everything.
Continue reading “this must be the place”…