Here I am, sitting amongst what I formerly could only dream about, feeling fix. Feeling put . How does this always happen? It’s like life is one of those movable rock climbing walls where it doesn’t matter how much you climb, you’re still in the same spot as when you started. You can achieve what you dream but it’ll always result in the birth of a brand-new dream and how freaking unjustified is that?
I’ve recently been introduced to the term toxic positivity and wow was that an eye-opener. Who knew it could be toxic to be positive all the time? I thought that’s what I was supposed to strive for. Happy glad joyou , no problems to see here! The contends are just a part of the #journey. You don’t ever need to worry about me. I’m the joyou make lucky funny friend.
And I wonder how to be grateful for occasions like these. Not grateful like, instagrammable grateful, actually grateful. Like the type of grateful where I go to sleep peacefully at night and don’t smacked my snooze twenty occasions in the morning. That various kinds of grateful. The genu that doesn’t need to draw attention to itself because it’s just there. It could almost be confused for complacency.
And then I’m reminded of how many phases of life I have rushed through before. The ones where I simply hold on for dear life with my teeth gritted and seeings closed just waiting for it to be over. No content how rough these periods were, they still have a highlight reel. One that I often looked at through and said that he hoped that I had hugged them a little more difficult. That I had appreciated the good through the bad only a little more. That I had realized then how unattainable perfect was, and just adoration the insufficiencies as hard as my young heart could.
I remember how far the future strains before me. I’m the oldest and youngest I’ll ever be, as they say. And I can feel the heavines of my wisdom and the weightlessness of my temporary boy. And I know how there will always be brand-new psalms to be prepared to. There’s ever a new situate to go. And all I can think about tonight is his familiar melodic laughter and her brand-new and judgeless affection and how no matter how many proposals I have to pay, the days ever finish with a sunset and starting with a sunup unless it’s raining. Which is a peaceful beautiful on its own.
I think about the truth in all the cliches, how so many have been in my shoes before me. Well , not the exact same shoes, which is a miracle all on its own. I have my own footprints to leave to be washed away, which can be seen as sad, but at least I had the chance to play in the sand at all. This really isn’t so bad. We have our music and our good food and the fact that relationship love is so much more influential than as it is drew in the movies. And how romantic passion is so much quieter and lovelier than these watered down overdone nostalgic gestures.
Reality is pretty too. It’s also ugly, but not as ugly as over-edited perfection.
Yeah, this really isn’t so bad, Is it?
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