Sometimes I look out the window and get this happy, jumpy little feeling in my heart. Something’s just so wonderful about knowing it’s going to be both the best and worst year of my life, and knowing I’m a strong person who’s able to take it all. I don’t want any of it to end–the beauty, the pain, the tears, the sunbeams that shine within. I’m a sketch, and it’s finally come time to add the details. Lightning is about to strike, and I’m on a rooftop with an umbrella. I know the rainclouds will roll in, and I’m here with an empty bucket.
I used to daydream about a year ago, when everything was so much better. I don’t anymore, because I wouldn’t trade who I’ve become for the world. I’m more independent. I’m wiser, more thoughtful, more experienced. My life is a big ball of hopes, wishes, negative thought processes, bright ideas, flowing tears. There’s nothing perfect about it, and I think that’s wonderful. What’s a life without anything to tackle or figure out? What’s a life without a few inner hurricanes?
This pain, this joy–it’s all such a sweet, pleasing feeling.