My heart is full. And it's not about crushes.
The excitement of crushes only really last a few days. Life is about humdrum, and it's good that way.
My feet are full of blisters from wearing impractical shoes.
I move into the sublet today. Directly above my work. Noise. But I suspect I will find a level of peace. Closed doors can be just as useful and freeing as open ones.
The sun is warm in the trees and in the park and on the beach.
Let's ride bikes and hold hands and drink lemonade.
I took this personality test once, and it told me I was an idealist. We get bummed when our ideals don't turn out like how we want them. Sometimes I worry that I am just setting myself for disappointment every time I daydream.
My dreams are not elaborate or unruly. They are simple and lovely. But they require companionship. It's not so much loneliness. It's alone-ness.
I am not always completely sure my piece fits into the puzzle. Tossed in the wrong box perhaps.
I don't want that to sound pitiful. Because it's not.
I am not sad about this.
I hold onto hope.
EDIT:
I have always believed that hope and disappointment are next door neighbors.
