A New Beginning
I wanted to know what it would feel like to start over from that quiet place
Earlier essays, written in an earlier voice — kept here because they still hold up, even if I'd say it differently today.
I wanted to know what it would feel like to start over from that quiet place
I chose being alone over being with you, and I'm still not sure it was the right trade.
I keep showing you the version of me I've polished, and I don't know how to stop.
I watched a stranger on the train and built an entire life for her in my head before she ever looked up.
I keep colliding with strangers and moments I never saw coming, and somehow that's the whole point.
I had to choose between chasing an old memory, dreaming of a future and staying here.
I keep staring at the same glass, unable to decide which version of us I actually believe.
The choices I once regretted look completely different depending on which day I examine them.
I finally looked past my own reflection and saw something I'd been avoiding.
I still remember the exact moment you stopped being someone I didn't know.
Knowing how small our planet really is somehow made the love I have here feel bigger, not smaller.
I keep hearing what my dreams used to sound like before life got louder.
I stopped needing applause to believe my life meant something.
I've started to believe love and loss were never really separate from each other.
I built an entire relationship in my head from one glance at a stranger, and I'm not even a little sorry.
Every morning I try, badly and repeatedly, to put yesterday's regrets down before I pick them back up.
I went looking through history for an answer to what life is actually for, and came back with more questions.
Reading Dawkins made me argue with my own beliefs more honestly than I have in years.
Thinking about how small we are in the universe somehow makes me care more about the people in front of me, not less.
I started thinking of the pandemic as a dangerous lover none of us asked to fall for.
A stranger's glance on a crowded train pulled something out of me I wasn't expecting.
I keep believing in love stories that, so far, have mostly ended in me being alone.
Every day the river renews itself, and I keep wondering if I'm capable of
Standing in front of a monument built for love, I couldn't help wondering what I'd build for mine.
A dog chasing attention at the pool reminded me how simple wanting to be
I'm holding onto hope even when everything in me feels exhausted by waiting for it.
I keep letting the loudest feeling in the room win, and I'm trying to understand why.
I've stopped expecting certainty from this relationship and started trying
I wasn't looking for anything more than friendship, and then, somehow, I
I let go of wanting things, and something quieter finally had room to show up.
I still get haunted, some nights, by someone who isn't here anymore.
I keep making the same list of things I'm trying to let go of, and I keep needing to make it again.
This ended, and I still haven't figured out how to stop feeling the tilt of it.
I keep going back, in my head, to a version of love that was simpler than I knew at the time.
There's a presence that shows up in my quietest moments and somehow makes them feel less alone.
I watched someone who once seemed unstoppable slowly become someone age could reach.
I'm watching someone I love struggle to recognize the life she's standing in.
I keep wondering who's actually holding the reins of the life I think I'm steering.
I went looking for one clean definition of life and, unsurprisingly, never found it.
I've been keeping a companion no one else can see, and it never quite leaves.
I keep collecting the tiny moments that, without me noticing, ended up defining everything.
I'm standing at a fork between the quiet path and the crowded one, and I still haven't picked.
Behind all that visible wealth, I noticed something quietly falling apart that no one else seemed to see.
I just want someone to actually hear me, not just listen.
I lost myself completely in one dance, one moment, with you.
We didn't need words on that walk, and I still think about the silence.
The shock of jumping in was nothing compared to how good it felt once I stopped resisting it.
I watched the rain and the strangers around me and lost track of which thoughts
I keep finding new moments in the day to remind you how much you mean to me.
Stepping into the unknown terrified me right up until it didn't.
I found more comfort under one tree on a hot day than I expected from anything else that week.
Grief showed up the same week as a stack of mundane errands, and she had to hold both at once.
I keep circling back to a love that once felt promising and never quite resolved.
I miss the version of us that had nowhere better to be than a rooftop.
She was standing right at the edge of something new, and yet she was not sure if she was ready.
The diagnosis came, and so did an anger I didn't know I was capable of.
I keep wondering what mark I'm actually leaving behind, and whether anyone will notice it.
I'm tired of chasing a version of hope that keeps turning out to be false.
I can feel us drifting further apart, even sitting in the same room.
There's one moment I keep replaying that never quite resolves itself.
My toddler's mischief today reminded me how much joy there is in not taking any of this too seriously.
Watching the sunset, I could have sworn I felt you standing right beside me again.
One embrace was enough to convince me the passion hadn't actually gone anywhere.
We're still going through the motions of something that stopped meaning what it used to.
I wrote about a lonely elephant looking for a friend in the city, and I'm not sure who I was really writing about.
We're bound together by circumstance, and somehow that's not the same as being close.
She looked in the mirror and had to make peace with everything the lines on here face were keeping score of.
I woke up to a relationship I almost didn't recognize anymore.
I sat still long enough to actually notice the rain, the wind, and the light changing.
I can feel two very different versions of myself fighting for the same seat.
The anticipation leading up to that trip turned out to be its own kind of magic.
I watched my parents' marriage end as a kid, and I'm still sorting through what that left behind.
Everyone else could see it before I let myself admit how far gone I actually was.
I can trace the exact moment our priorities stopped lining up.
I keep chasing the next stage of life instead of actually living the one
I'm raising a child while time keeps moving in a direction I can't reverse, and I feel every bit of that.
I'm angry at the world, at other people, and honestly, mostly at myself.
I was more nervous than my kid was on their first day of school, and I'm still not over it.
I can't shake what happened to a child who never should have had to endure it.
I found the one place I can fully exhale, and it's whenever I'm with you.
I still set two cups of coffee out of habit, long after only needing one.
At nine months old, apparently, I already had opinions about everything.
The whole world keeps changing around us, and somehow we're the one constant I can count on.
One careless sentence from someone I loved is still living rent-free in my head.
We were supposed to fit, and I'm still trying to understand why we never
Loneliness has become such a familiar companion that I'm not sure I know
I've started to think of death less as an ending to fear and more as a destination
One unplanned encounter and, before I knew it, we were sharing a kiss neithern of us expected.
I never told you how I felt, and now I just carry the "what if.
I keep getting pulled back into people and places I thought I'd already left
