I don’t feel a connection to writing these days though I think of it daily, as I always have. It is a stranger, as so much of my life feels like currently. Even writing this feels like sitting with an old friend who I haven’t spoke to in a while. We are both blowing on our coffee hoping for things to cool down, hoping for the moment to swirl up beautifully like the steam from our cups.
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I want to write about trusting that my feet will find the ground if I take a step. About the shear importance of something so simple as a song that I can relate to. Of feeling utterly out of touch with news and friends and yet compelled to touch it all the time in an effort to keep up. I want to write about growing older and wanting to keep up because I’m not old enough not to keep up. I want to write about how angry it makes me that our society is a hotbed for competition and why, even as friends, our hearts feel threatened and devalued because another being is experiencing something wonderful.
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I want to write about the strange bridge that having a child creates in my relationships. I have never been the middleman but it’s so fun to link my daughter with my mother and place her in the position of grandmother. To make my sister an aunt and to give my child the joy of my sister friend. It’s so strange to fall in step with the path mankind treads through centuries; strange to become a link rather than an end.
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I want to write about how I know this is a moment in my existence. How some days I am embarrassed by how ungracefully I have lived through it and how some days I am so thankful this is how it is unfolding. How some days I feel so derailed and I worry it will never end. Other days, I worry that when it does end, I won’t have learned the lesson.
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The coffee is cold. Dark circles line the table and lipstick kisses line our cups. We are left with the promise of next time...
And just like that, it's June.