Think the thoughts, feel the feels...write it down

Today marks two weeks (and one day) of being 30. Going into it I was hesitant (as if I could slow down time) because the past few months have been tough and I was scared the shitty trend would continue. BUT so far thirty has been great! I feel the healthiest I've felt in a over a year, probably closer to two years. I feel loved and vibrant. I feel fulfilled and whole. I feel attractive and optimistic. I feel like I'm important in my own life . I am terribly good at enveloping my existence in someone else's; in devoting my life to someone else's happiness, needs, wants. But I've been working to untangle myself from that disposition. Self care is most efficient when consistent. I believe in setting intentions and manifesting. I believe that we speak, project the trajectory of our lives. So I was nervous about how to speak life into my life, partially because I had forgotten how. I had had this internal conflict of speaking/writing about my life because I didn...

Years back I read a then popular book, The Paris Wife . The book affected me because I just felt so heart broken and such a connection with the main character, Hadley Hemingway. Hadley was Ernest Hemingways' first wife. The wife he met at home and moved to Paris with and became famous with. When my ex and I ended, this book immediately popped in my head. I began drawing parallels between Hadley Hemingway's relationship with her (ex-)husband and my relationship with my (ex-)wife. Then I scolded myself for 'being so dramatic;' I mean my ex didn't fuck their mistress while I was in the bed with them, but they were secretly "talking/texting" another woman while we were still together. But my ex didn't get infuriated when I became pregnant, but they did scroll through their phone sitting just feet away while I put my puppy down. But my ex didn't say they couldn't trust me anymore, but they did call me fat and lazy to my and others' face...

Today I visited one of our love landmarks. I went there with a friend because it’s beautiful and I wanted to share the beauty with her. I was fine at first even though every plant I touched sent a tiny shock of melancholy through my being. Then I wasn’t fine. I became exhausted from outrunning these memories. So I sat on a bench, surrounded by plants and memories, and cried. It was annoyingly picturesque. This black femme, surrounded by nature’s beauty, crying about a lost love. I couldn’t outrun the memories. Every leaf, every flower, every rock, every bench had been covered by our proclamation of love. How many rains does it take to wash all that away? I find myself encountering sweet memories as I go about my day, minding my own business.  The love landmark where you first called me “my love”… The love landmark where you first announced that you loved me… The love landmarks where we’d revel in cheap tacos or good sushi… The love landmarks where my heart burste...