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Gratitude? Love? Connection? These are the moments I make a shrine to in my journal tonight anyhow:
After a breakup I need space while I heal, before I reset. I've healed from this city, I can come back to it now with familiarity but without the old pain of rejection. It's so familiar. I learned to look like a human here, and here I'm good at it.
Wandering around downtown with Angus in the grey with occasional rain felt like a limb being unamputated. I didn't even know that was a feeling. He knows exactly when to laugh at me. He hadn't heard my stories: we've only really talked once in the last ten years. For so long my heart was ground glass and maybe it was even absent for awhile but now it's Atwood's flayed biceps in its own ocean of no light. It's an alive wet thing. I was neither living nor dead and I knew nothing. Which is to say, I carefully never looked into his eyes more than twice and then never even for a full second because I was afraid. We walked for six hours. They say you can never go back but sometimes forward is enough. We've both grown up so much. I like him as a grown-up.
Vancouver food makes me so happy. Oysters, sushi, chinese bakeries: this is the sensory-seeking I love. Fresh veggies that are actually crisp. Probably even fruit.
If I cut the neck and sleeves off a t-shirt right along a seam it immediately becomes a hundred times more comfortable. Stellar life-hack actually, and I got it from an autistic podcast.
Tucker and I talked yesterday. I'm still sad but it's more comfortable. It didn't get left till last minute. He's taking good care of me while I'm here. When we're in person it's easier and it's easier in his space than mine. I feel I can be honest with him here.
Tomorrow I don't need to go anywhere if I don't want to, though the plan is to go to Guu for dinner. My feet are sore from city shoes (I couldn't find my other city shoes before I left, something about tidying the whole house) and the idea of laying around and doing sex and food and maybe watching shows all day is very appealing.
Warm rain through sticky air and everyone scatters except the two of us sitting on benches. It's good.
Shoulder rubs.
Home being kept safe for me while I'm gone.
The way Tucker makes his home look the same every time, even though the spaces are very different. It feels familiar.
I've been happy the last two days? It's like an old scent I almost recognise and I turn my head side to side to try to catch it, to recognise it, and there it is. Happy. My people make me happy. Skill in my acclimatized element makes me happy. Some sort of consistency in the world makes me happy. I wasn't sure I'd be able to be happy again, and here we go.
My friend posted about how it used to be so effortlessly out-loud in how it lived, how effortlessly self-advocating, and then went through a patch where it couldn't do that for itself and now was coming out of it. This friend, my shared pronoun-person, is so like me in so many ways. If it can come out of a time like tat maybe I can too? Maybe I can reclaim myself, living in the open as myself, without it being a thing? It could. This gift of a shared story that brings hope, I'm grateful for it.
When I get home I'll plant apple trees.
My self. None of this can happen without me.
After a breakup I need space while I heal, before I reset. I've healed from this city, I can come back to it now with familiarity but without the old pain of rejection. It's so familiar. I learned to look like a human here, and here I'm good at it.
Wandering around downtown with Angus in the grey with occasional rain felt like a limb being unamputated. I didn't even know that was a feeling. He knows exactly when to laugh at me. He hadn't heard my stories: we've only really talked once in the last ten years. For so long my heart was ground glass and maybe it was even absent for awhile but now it's Atwood's flayed biceps in its own ocean of no light. It's an alive wet thing. I was neither living nor dead and I knew nothing. Which is to say, I carefully never looked into his eyes more than twice and then never even for a full second because I was afraid. We walked for six hours. They say you can never go back but sometimes forward is enough. We've both grown up so much. I like him as a grown-up.
Vancouver food makes me so happy. Oysters, sushi, chinese bakeries: this is the sensory-seeking I love. Fresh veggies that are actually crisp. Probably even fruit.
If I cut the neck and sleeves off a t-shirt right along a seam it immediately becomes a hundred times more comfortable. Stellar life-hack actually, and I got it from an autistic podcast.
Tucker and I talked yesterday. I'm still sad but it's more comfortable. It didn't get left till last minute. He's taking good care of me while I'm here. When we're in person it's easier and it's easier in his space than mine. I feel I can be honest with him here.
Tomorrow I don't need to go anywhere if I don't want to, though the plan is to go to Guu for dinner. My feet are sore from city shoes (I couldn't find my other city shoes before I left, something about tidying the whole house) and the idea of laying around and doing sex and food and maybe watching shows all day is very appealing.
Warm rain through sticky air and everyone scatters except the two of us sitting on benches. It's good.
Shoulder rubs.
Home being kept safe for me while I'm gone.
The way Tucker makes his home look the same every time, even though the spaces are very different. It feels familiar.
I've been happy the last two days? It's like an old scent I almost recognise and I turn my head side to side to try to catch it, to recognise it, and there it is. Happy. My people make me happy. Skill in my acclimatized element makes me happy. Some sort of consistency in the world makes me happy. I wasn't sure I'd be able to be happy again, and here we go.
My friend posted about how it used to be so effortlessly out-loud in how it lived, how effortlessly self-advocating, and then went through a patch where it couldn't do that for itself and now was coming out of it. This friend, my shared pronoun-person, is so like me in so many ways. If it can come out of a time like tat maybe I can too? Maybe I can reclaim myself, living in the open as myself, without it being a thing? It could. This gift of a shared story that brings hope, I'm grateful for it.
When I get home I'll plant apple trees.
My self. None of this can happen without me.
