Thursday, December 20, 2012


I want to disappear into the Christmas season with you.

With you bundled up in my arms, your nose cold from the rain, your feet tired from all the wrong turns we took to get to all the right places.
And you, wrapped around us, the perfect distraction, talking about all the ways to make marshmallows explode when we get home to our hot chocolates.

I want to disappear into the Christmas season with you, I say. Into glowing lights, the taste of peppermint and cinnamon, and the smell of happiness warm with the promise of tomorrows.

But it's not just Christmas, I realize.
I want to go home.
I want to go home with you.

Sent from my iPhone

Thursday, December 13, 2012

On rainy days you've saved for

Conversations like tonight's, or snippets of it anyway, always catapult me into fretting about my future.
What this might mean for me, how I will juggle rent and bills on a Freelancer's ever-so-consistent pay, whether I'll be able to afford to feed Buttons, let alone myself and whether or not simple necessities like sending my leather jacket to the drycleaners' will even be an option.
And I have officially been left in full-freak out mode.

Never mind that I spent yesterday journalling about how I would just appreciate what I've got now, move along at an even pace and not be alarmed by people hurtling pass me in both directions.

I am afraid.
I'm afraid because the more time I spend here, the more I realize it's about time for me to leave. And I'm not saying it's impossible, I'd just very much prefer a whole lot more stability. Suddenly everything seems so expensive, so difficult and it doesn't feel like one's paycheck, whether two and a half grand or twice that, will ever be enough for anything.

But we all need to get started somewhere eventually I guess.
I don't want to write about it anymore, simply because writing about it makes me more afraid than I need to be. Whoever said I still had time, maybe wasn't counting right.
I thought I did too, but it's starting to feel like no matter how fast or how high I climb, I'm still falling short in some way or other.

I want to go crawl into a hole for a little bit.

Sunday, December 2, 2012


I couldn't walk away,
Even if I tried.

Sent from my iPhone

Saturday, December 1, 2012

The things you don't see coming

I suppose I did love you quite a bit.
And I'd never quite known or seen what you'd left me with-
This constant fear of tipping balances. Of messing it up.
Of getting it all wrong. All over again.

Sent from my iPhone