I only have a moment for writing to you today, but every so often the writer can grow a world with only a moment. Today, I don't believe I am that kind of writer, so I'll just let the keyboard spill like snow on the valley until sentences come out. Here I am, writing to you like I have always done but instead of being twenty two, I am twenty three. It was my birthday on Sunday and I feel no more different than the day before.
I still long for every day to be spent in the company of wild flowers and the soft glow of my loved ones. I still cry at the flip of a quarter and the sight of a bird with broken wings. I still search for flights and dream of being a traveler. I still tremble when I am cold and laugh when I am bothered, but if I look through the window where the pine shakes off snow, I can believe there are new dreams and new disappointments just waiting for a new day. I will be found. I will be hurt. I will be loved and I will be listened to. After it all, I am still breathing.
It only takes a moment for the writer to grow a world, and if we allow the body to outrun the pen, we can grow a world off of paper and into the hills that surround us. I vow to let this next year be whatever it wants to be, maybe with a little nudge here and a little softness there, I will paint my masterpiece.
Or not, because that's okay too.
outfit details: value village jacket & blouse, free people shoes, crown and glory floral crown, yoins dungarees c/o