she used to tell stories

I used to tell stories. there was always something to tell. the guy I’d met at the grocery story or how someone dropped their keys and I’d chase after them. or when a barista would create a coffee art heart on top of my cappuccino. I would mention it. it wouldn’t just be something that happened to me during the day. it would become a story. with details and carefully constructed reflection of reality.

I used to do that. and I still do. but nowhere near as often as I used to. the last few days have been a boring stream of working hours, endless emails and applications to different directions in hopes that something would stick. I accused the boy of sleeping and waiting all the time, but somewhere deep down I keep thinking, maybe I was talking about myself. maybe.

I am almost forcing myself to write every day. at least a paragraph. anything. in hopes something will stick.

the first of twenty thirteen

as I’m beginning to type this, I have no clear idea what I’m going to end up writing. I am glad that twenty twelve is behind me. the boy and I promised to each other that we will do things differently this year. I will honestly do my best. I meant to write the last post of 2012, but somehow it doesn’t seem as relevant as it used to be. I’m jealous of him sometimes. the way he doesn’t have the need to live his life in some symbolic, bohemian way. one day at a time. every day is the same, but every day is new. forget yesterday. for me it’s different. I feel like I’m always trying to move on from something. move on, move on. learn to live with. it’s exhausting. I wanted to reflect on the past twelve months but there’s nothing I wish to say. I came back from my European trip too soon and that was a mistake. I had no idea he would still be here, let alone be waiting for me to come back. I keep forgetting the beginnings. how far we’ve come. when I remember it gives me hope. perhaps things will not always stay the same. it’s a wishful thinking.

I wrote a lot at the beginning of last year. reading those words now, life was passing me by. I had no idea what I had until I lost it. mid-march I made a horrible choice that still comes back to haunt me sometimes. but I’m finding my way back. everything else was just the aftermath of previous events. I had no idea how hard it would be to deal with them on a daily basis. semi-paralysis.

january 16. already. I am not sure how that happened. there was the time to write last year’s bilantaine and then it passed. three weeks into the new year and I am feeling only remorse and disappointment. it wasn’t supposed to be like that. my plan, to spend at least an hour writing every day, has become wishful thinking. not to mention photography projects, which I’d planned. the photo book. magazine submissions. guest posts. the list is endless. none of that is happening at the moment.

I am finding myself stuck in the working class routine where going to bed at one am and waking up six hours later is less than ideal. I am trying so hard to find positives anywhere I can; it is increasingly harder and harder every day. sometimes I feel as if I will lose myself. or maybe I already have. rhetorics. the boy and I are steady. everything is easy, no pressure. no fights or hung up phones. nobody is perfect, but we found a little perfection in being together. I wrote a letter; the first one out of many weekly ones, which will come. the pen felt stiff in my hand, the words made sense. it is probably the only piece of writing I’ve done this year. it makes me cringe and panic silently. I am hoping this period will not have to last much longer. I’ll keep writing in the background, somewhere where you can’t see me. once in a while, some of the thoughts might appear here, too. those other hundred and forty characters will have to suffice in the meantime.

I am searching for an opportunity, anything, that will bring me closer to what I am missing. if we don’t have it today, tomorrow we will. he knows how to calm me down. fifteen extra beats. even though nothing is certain at the moment. we match the soft beating sound of hearts with music of our own. picturing the long road before us, we know it’s the right one. I keep thinking of the old african proverb; if you want to go fast, go alone. if you want to go far, go together. I never knew what it truly meant until he taught me. maybe I am wrong. maybe I am not.