There’s a tremendous bond between mother and daughter, something unmatched by fathers and sons, or even mixed-sex parental relationships. You can see it just from the way they interact.
As a male, I’ll probably never be able to fully understand, but being able to recognize it and knowing that such a wonderful thing still exists is enough to make me feel as if the world is in the right place.
A couple more pictures behind the cut.
Twice in one day? What?
Five years ago, I wrote that hope was the mindkiller. It can be a euphoric feeling, but as the result of several bad experiences, the potential for disappointment outweighed the gain.
My way of dealing with disappointment was to assume the worst. It made me comfortable. There was certainty, and I could move on.
So I had learned never to hope. This is how I changed. This is how I adapted. A defence mechanism I used to protect myself from being hurt. I had been fine with this, until today.
Perhaps it was having Julie tell me that I’m better than the attitude I have, or the life I lead1, but I’m filled with hope again. For once, I dare to dream of something greater.
I want it and hate it at the same time. It gives me courage, but throws my world into uncertainty, like I’m setting myself up to be hurt again.
But Julie’s strong enough to believe in me and stubborn enough not to give up, because I’m not capable of believing in myself.
And maybe that’s enough to break the cycle.
Three pictures.
Patience is the greatest advantage. Time brings all answers. Knowing that the sun will rise again tomorrow puts the mind at ease.
Sometimes you just need to wait.
I’m at the point now where I don’t need to carry around a notebook to keep track of the subjects and ideas I want to write about later. There are so many things to say that I only end up remembering the important ones anyway. It’s like a subconscious way of filtering out the things that aren’t worth mentioning.
A good feeling. As if life never ceases to be interesting, and there’s always something to experience, to learn, and to tell.
The city begins to melt as the sun warms soil and pavement alike. Trickles of water run everywhere while the ice dissolves, a prescient sign of the streams soon to be come from lawn sprinklers and car wash hoses, as excess finds its way to sewer grates. By night, the temperature drops below freezing again and the small urban currents turn solid. Pedestrians practice their waddles in the morning as they maneuver across the slippery patches. The only remains of ice are the paths left compressed by the trampling of feet through the winter.
Every day I wake up it’s a little brighter, in my room, and in my mind.
