God, my heart hurts. And I’m not even sure what it’s hurting for.
Blasting through the country has led to some strange and possibly displaced emotions. Simultaneously I am soaking up the landscape, history, stories and existence of our country on a level that was incomprehensible before (and in many ways is still hard to truly understand) while a little piece of my head is bummed I have missed art show openings and birthdays of friends. I’m having a platonic love affair with Megan that has taught me more about relationships than fifteen years of short-term dating and long-term boyfriends, while managing to miss something I have yet to have and missing some type of love I have yet to experience. And then there’s reconciling the past me — the younger me who went around the country with my family and longed to not be alone and turned to books to cure a lonely feeling — with the present me who, while not lonely or alone, has turned to writing to sew up any tears in the personal fabric.
It’s been a strange day.