on self


If I could tell you anything, I’d talk about streetlights in California and the first time I saw myself in need. I’d drink stale red wine all afternoon just to get good at the waiting for nothing. I met a man at the park recently who told me I’d learn more from traveling into the canyons of my own beaten heart than I would anywhere else on this earth. It isn’t broken, just cut open, and all the new ways I’ve learned to use it have left me exposed and in wonder of things like cups of coffee and kissing. I am twice the person I have been before. Like I’ve been rewired. I am all nerve endings and bit lips, and bare feet and long drives. I’ve got knee caps and am learning the art of living without expectation. In the evenings we drink tequila in sage brush crusted hills and say things like, aren’t we lucky– because it is more true than anything has ever sounded to me. Because we could be anywhere,  but we are here, and young and lovely and all tangled while we sleep. And I cannot imagine ever being able to properly tell anyone about this. 

true thoughts and self portrait. Polaris, MT. early August, a week shy of twenty nine.

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