That as many times as I shelf my plans, I'll always take them down to look at again.
I've been sad.
Because I do this all the time-
dream, and hope, and think up pictures that are much too pretty for my own good, only to pack them away. We always want this next time to be different, and it doesn't always promise to be.
Sometimes it feels like I've spent my life wanting so much for everyone around me to be happy. Doing things that will make it easier to get on with their lives, that won't disrupt it, that will never risk them feeling like they're being forced into something they don't want.
Then I look at myself and I...
I'm not unhappy. I'm not dissatisfied. And I know, believe me I do, that I have it good for me here and there's no reason for me not to stay. And I'm happy and grateful and content in a I-am-settled- sorta way.
And parts of me, they already started wandering far, far away before I understood fully what it meant to be the child who could and who would switch accents in a given setting just to blend in.
I'm afraid and sad, all at the same time because of all the things I feel myself reaching for but am unwilling to say out loud.
Or I do say it out loud, in a hey-here's-a-crazy-idea- kinda way that's met with a response not a fraction as crazy and infinitely more practical.
I just want to be where you are.
And I want you to be happy.
also want that for me.