To write, to love, to lose
I’ve never considered myself a writer because I’ve never published a book before. But then I realized that’s not the only avenue to write. My Notes app, my journal, random Post-Its, a book draft sitting in my Google Drive, love letters, and even long texts.. I am a writer!
Please enjoy these snippets of things I’ve written to myself and for another person. My closest friends may identify who I’ve addressed most of these to, but I’ve blurred indicators of his identity for our privacy. If the recipient of most of these finds himself here somehow, I hope you don’t mind that I shared our stories with the world. Well, “world” may be a little too grandeur. My readers, I guess. Beautiful things don’t need to stay in our own little bubble. There’s a whole world out there that can marvel at this beauty with us too.
Vulnerability is so daunting. I try to write like no one’s ever going to read it. This was hard for me to write. In fact, it actually sat in my drafts for a month before publishing. But it’s about time.
I’d like to thank my friend, Adrian, for this idea.
When I picked up the rest of my things from New York City to officially anchor myself in Honolulu.
I wanted to send a piece of New York to someone special.
When he took me by surprise.
Oh, my writer heart. As much as I love writing for myself and others, I love when people write for me too.
He commissioned a little girl in Seattle to draw a picture of us where I made a silly face.
When he turned a year older.
I wrote him a letter for his birthday.
Remember your first love when you both freely dreamt of the future? How many kids you’d have or where you’d move together? The possibilities were endless. I miss that naïveté. We age. We get hurt. We build our walls up.
When he told me he loves me for the first time.
I wish there was some way to recall every second of this conversation. All I remember is the feeling, but that’s good enough for me.
For what it’s worth, I love him too. I choose to remember us this way.
When I was lonely in a new place.
At the time of this journal entry, I had been in Honolulu for a little over two weeks. I came to the island to heal, and I just so badly wanted to get there. To be “fully healed”. Spoiler alert: there is no such thing.
I’ve found that healing is not a short-term process but a life-long practice.
When I started to question my entire being (quarter life crisis).
It’s like buying really expensive shoes that don’t fit right. You try to walk in them, accumulating all the cuts and blisters, because you’ve spent a fortune on them. But you know deep inside that it can’t and won’t ever be your favorite pair.
I own a pair of sexy Louboutins that I couldn’t even walk in for three blocks in New York. What a shame. Does anyone want to buy it from me? I’ll give a reader’s discount.
When life was very tough and I was looking for strength to carry on.
It’s a feeling. You’ll always have life and love in you for as long as you’re breathing.
When I lost him.
Everything shattered.
I’ll think of him from time to time. Wherever in the world I may be. If he’s ever feeling alone in this lifetime, I hope he realizes he’s not. I’ll say my little prayers and hope to God that He’s watching over him. Loving him was never about getting that love back.
Above all, I want him to be happy.
