everything else: places
dear internet,
january is the dress rehearsal, really: all of us so conscious of our lines, our marks, our audience. it's only february that the curtain rises on the year and it all begins—the tulips discounted at the supermarket, the christmas trees upended on my street corner, the skies staying lighter longer, the post-its strewn across my floor. i spent last month listening to songs on loop and found myself confused in all my interactions, someone behind a counter always telling me something i didn't expect. my shoes, which i've worn every day for about two years, are falling apart, and i've had my first ice creams of the year. most februaries i spend thinking of leaving and ending and packing and moving, and it feels strange, instead, to search for a different script, to build a new new year.
love,
t
january is the dress rehearsal, really: all of us so conscious of our lines, our marks, our audience. it's only february that the curtain rises on the year and it all begins—the tulips discounted at the supermarket, the christmas trees upended on my street corner, the skies staying lighter longer, the post-its strewn across my floor. i spent last month listening to songs on loop and found myself confused in all my interactions, someone behind a counter always telling me something i didn't expect. my shoes, which i've worn every day for about two years, are falling apart, and i've had my first ice creams of the year. most februaries i spend thinking of leaving and ending and packing and moving, and it feels strange, instead, to search for a different script, to build a new new year.
love,
t
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