and it’s good.

it’s been good.

i’ve come to understand joy better by memorizing where it likes to sit when it comes to visit. it’s a different spot each time; always some place unexpected and unthinkable. and, no matter what, joy always has a space for me even when i don’t think i could fit.

but, once, in one of our conversations over hot chocolate, over warmth and a mutual love for questioning, joy reminded me that it’s the other way around: it’s i who make space for it—in my own home, even between the cracks in the walls, with everything i got.

and then, at times when it leaves, all i could think of is the next time i’ll be sitting across it. what things i’ll tell it about, what stories, what questions. like a little kid just waiting for her chance to tell tale.

because, finally, joy is a friend that knows me well.

(via ivc-spilledink)

hi, how’s everyone here? 🤍

it’s been so long but i just wanted to post a little life update! 6 months ago i moved to the US to get married to my now-husband. we had been waiting for about 2 years before it finally happened. 😊 i miss home but i’m doing great with adjusting to a new environment and i’m happy here!!

i hope everyone’s doing well, too!

oh but there was a time when i knew what i was doing.

even while my bones were going through the worst storms, it was easy to anticipate the aftermath. accept them as they are. cracks to me were just cracks and they were powerless. i didn’t get lost in the dark because i patiently watched. what trees do when the whispers start spreading through the night. how lovely it is to have stories that you can carry with you.

if only you were patient, too.

wherever you are in the world i hope i taught you a little something about love.

i hope you took with you my grit when i had to brave whatever that came our way all by myself. i hope you remember every word i said, even the ones that had hints of regret. i hope you learned the lesson of not walking away when things are good.

i hope you see the good.

and know that i’ll always remember the better.

sometimes i’d have it in me

to actually believe

that i’ve gotten you out of

my system;

raise a toast to forgetting

and to everything

i had to do to start over

someplace where i didn’t

know you at all.

but then i’d see your

face in one of the

buskers on the side of the

street and i’d freeze

like it’s day one all over

again. i’d even swear

it was our song playing,

and think,

“so you haven’t forgotten

at all?”

and in the midst of recognizing,

i remember:

of course you have.

i have.

and yet some things

still remain.

caught in a riptide of greys, you with your changing depths, all of my hollow grounds. yet when i look at the sea all i could think of is the once-in-a-lifetime. the pull in my gut that tells me i would be missing something if i just stand by the shore. and ignore the hums of the waves. will i ever learn? how lovely and unsettling it all is to think that you’re just passing by.

what was your one confession? late at night when you were down on your knees, for the first time in years, weak at the gravity of it - what was it that you mumbled into thin air, coupled with a held-back hiss?

were you heard? given the space to finish naming all your regrets, stopping mid-sentence trying to act like you forgot, sounding like a fool?

were the bridges you burned worth the smoke that occupied the entirety of you?

what was your one confession?

late at night when you were down on your knees, i hope it finally felt freeing to crumble like that.

you owed me that.