Tedi says a common theme in my writing is longing. And she's right. I long for a lot of things. Once a girl in one of my courses said my writing was good but I was asking a lot of questions. She was right too. I long for the answers to things. I long to be understood. I long to understand. Today on my evening walk through the meadow with my parents, I longed to bring along a cup of tea. So I did. On our way home we stood still, looking up, watching about 7 swallows dip and dive and swirl and probably catch some bugs. I longed to be a bird. Be capable of flight. I particularly longed to be a swallow; they seemed like they were having the most fun.
This month I've been longing for my friends. Yesterday I sat in the garden after work and after my shower and thought of everyone in my life who I loved and there were so many and I saw what they all looked like smiling and giggling and they filled me with such a deep real warmth. I longed to have a great big dinner party with all of them. Enough to fill a large square. And have the whole night to surround myself with all of them. I longed to forgive them for things they've said or convince them of my big disasters and why they should forgive me. Or maybe I just longed to play card games with some of them. I longed for three in particular. Longed for the last week in July which I have planned to the hilt with plans of laughter and adventures and ultimately time with them.I longed for that dream I had the other morning of me lounging around and cuddling with my friends with barely a top on. Just warm tan skin, and big smiles cutting out across faces and plans to make tea and coffee and maybe go down to the beach later. We didn't know. We'd figure it out. I longed for work to start earlier tomorrow so I didn't have to sleep in because let's face it I won't be able to with my bed right under the window like it is. I longed for my new bedroom that I've yet to see in Toronto.
I longed for a space that was mine and that I cultivated and helped flourish and filled with all my little things and flowers and candles. I longed for petty arguments Kriz and I would get into while living together. I longed for nights before going out, nights after going out, mornings after parties, and afternoons on couches after long days. I longed for the lettering of whatever movie would be playing outside our apartment and the late-night screenings we might be able to catch. The dining room we'd create and the vibe we'd embue into our new home. one that we'd reminisce about far past the days after we've moved out.
I long to stop longing so much and enjoy what I have here in my hands or right in front of my eyes because it's more than enough and if I'm seriously considering Buddhism I'd have to get that straight. I long for another audible credit so I can listen to another romance novel at work. I long to walk straight over to Tedi's house but remember we've never lived in the same place other than 3 years ago for 4 weeks. I long for her and her opinions and her warmth and smarts and kindness and knowledge of me and her seemingly endless supply of love and advice that comes in my direction, for some reason unbeknownst to me.
I long for a top from omighty dot com and a big safe man to buy it for me and say he likes to spoil me because I work so hard. I long for someone to hold me tight and tell me to take my time and be okay with waiting till I unravel and not be tapping their shoe on the concrete, checking their watch for the time. I long to not long so much. Again. I long to not have to fill my days with meaning and intentions. I long for spontaneity and a clear understanding of myself. I long for past traumas to be filled like gaps under a newly planted fern, and not slip away from my fingers when I happen upon a memory I'd forgotten and only now realized how painful it strikes me as. I long for meaning. I long for 1000 dollars. I long for berries to be ripe. I long for this weekend's plan of seeing people. I long for someone to be interested in me. I long to have enough patience to learn an instrument.
I long in a way that feels hollow. That feels unfillable. That feels like im chasing a fleeting butterfly, always out of grasp. Always quick on its feet and never quite there and always something I want so passionately but never find the time to study deeply. Never still for long enough. I long for stillness and passion and creativity and when I get it I long for more. Maybe I'll never stop longing. Maybe it's my base desire to always be lusting after something, looking for more. Maybe I'll run out of steam and be happy with what I've got. Maybe ill find it to be a superpower. maybe I'll realize it's what makes me fun and imaginative and able to create good recipes and good date ideas and weird endings to jokes. Maybe I'll stop freaking out and give myself a break over every little bit of my mind/heart/thoughts/behaviors. Maybe I'll learn to love instead of long. Maybe i'll stop asking these questions and start answering some of them. Maybe i'll stop doubting everything. Maybe I'll stop giving so much of a fuck. maybe I'll just...
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