Hold on, there's a hole in my heart.

I am sorting my books into different bags... novels, non-fiction, the journals of others, the journals of my own... and some of your letters fell out into my lap. As I read through sentences from the beginning, nearing on two years now, I feel your sadness too much. I feel you too much. I just wish this were easier.

Two years ago, though, from today, I didn't know what I was doing. Andy and I broke up. I was falling in love with Ryan. I was falling in love with myself. I was Zorbing, preparing for Spain, meeting Picasso and St. Teresa, giving myself a chance. I was in love with my friends, obsessed with the sun and its setting ways. I was laughing in bathtubs and working at Cookie Co and learning how to love my family as friends, learning to make my own definitions. I was entranced by how my life was moving and I was never missing a beat. It was a spiritual time in life, and all the while I was preparing to meet you-- and I just didn't know it yet.

As much as that was two years ago, that is happening now, as it's all within me, always happening, always perpetuating the next meeting, the next moment, helping all of the now happen and I am all too aware of the connections. It's frightening to see how delicately the pieces need one another, you know? But as I sort through your words from what we dub The Beginning of sorts, I feel tears welling up because I remember how hard it was on my end, to know I would be in love with you, to know you would be far away. And because I don't want you to think that just because we won't be a mile apart again that we would be regressing. We can't. You know? We can only move forward or fall apart. I just need you to know that I'm here. And I need you to be, if only for a moment, happy with me, beside me, letting me know that maybe you are proud of me. Because you are so much apart of this... so much apart of me. And I feel like if you aren't proud of me, I won't make it to feeling like this is something I deserve. But I know this is something I deserve.

Today I told you I need you because this is true. I told you because you deserve to know.

I told them, as I always do, yes.

"No healer has ever healed without having healed himself first. No believer has ever believed as strongly without first testing his beliefs. And no lover has truly loved without having loved another and let go.

I’m not afraid to let go anymore. If it looks to others like I did something wrong, made bad choices, acted selfishly, or fearful, then so what. I can say, to you I am wrong. I am selfish. etc. Big deal. Stick and stones may break my bones but I choose not to give those thoughts a home. When I am sad I will simply be grateful for the sadness as it is a gift, a miracle in fact, to experience this powerful emotion, trusting the pendulum swings both ways; embracing all of life in it's awkward perfection."

-Jason Mraz

Please believe in me.

It's already hard enough...

I was trying to write a story, but I think I started writing a poem. And I'm calling it Beginning a Story. Stay tuned....

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened. I don't believe you are lacking awareness of the presence if you wonder "what if?" now and then; it is about trying to understand a different path, even if it not the one you chose in the end.

Something about Joanna Newsom that I love is how she continuously grows on me. The more I listen to a song, the more I connect with it and feel it in my own life. Really great poetry going on there.

I feel weird knowing so many of my dearest friends are in graduation mode now... I wonder where they will go in the coming months and how their lives will pan out and if it will continue to make me worry about my own. I'm really excited for them, though, because a great sense of pride and relief come with that big walk. Very strange times, indeed.

Today, I miss Spain. I miss being in Spain, being who I was then, regularly, even daily. But today it was almost heartwrenching, just because I was invited to talk about it and it was painful because I could barely contain myself from exploding with just how much I love that I experienced that country, that summer, with those gorgeous and amazing people, learning all that I did.

More on that later.

I was told today that Jack London wrote 1000 words a day. He died in his 30s or something, very young. So prolific. I've written every day in May, as it was my goal, hoping to come up with anything.... so far, not much. But I feel a little bit more myself.

GOING TO MAKE CORN ON THE COB WITH BB SEE YA!

Thank God for this solitude.

Some days, I want to be deeply alone. Maybe not entire days, but definitely there are moments. There is an exhaustion in so much loving, when you spend your days loving the people that you don't know, being in love with all of those you do, feeling the miracle of a kind stranger, reaching deeply for the kindness in those who are more obviously unkind... all this reaching... sometimes, days and days consumed of this life.... it leads to moments like these where I value the songs and the silence between them, the quiet of my little room, the sweetness in the setting sun and the barely there of the family just outside my door. I know I am well loved, and I am grateful for the company, for the constant awareness of the good motion between all of us, for being the kind of person who appreciates others deeply. But sometimes, I love being alone so much that it frightens me. These are the moments I am reminded, not only of being human, but of being an artist. Essentially conflicted, delicately constructed.