this entry was brought to you by the letter s
Yesterday I woke up after eight hours in bed, only three and a half of which were spent in actual slumber. It was too late for breakfast, so for lunch I ate the strawberries my mom had carefully picked out for me on a road trip with my dad; I stood sleepily over the kitchen sink, sticky red liquid dribbling slowly down my chin and onto my chest, where there was an ache that swelled and subsided and then swelled again. Sadness, still, yet there was sweetness too, and faith that there was someone somewhere who would be Someone, someday. Soon, or maybe not soon—does anyone ever really know how these things work? At that moment, only kindness, patience, courage, navigating the seas of circumstance, a love that was safe, sound, and silent because that was what I chose to make of it. There was something I could do, and it wasn't much but it was something, and it was done the best way I knew how. It would have to suffice.