Unreliable Narrator

The stories we tell about ourselves are sometimes the lies we tell to ourselves. Sometimes we tell lies to tell the story. And sometimes lies are true.

In this case, it was what was not said out loud until recently that made me reassess every relationship.

“Kelly, that’s fucked up.”

And it is. And now I get to deconstruct. Re-prioritize. Shed old thought patterns and habits. And basically start over, learning how to look at who I’m attracted to and why.

Not everything needs solving.

Book Dragon

Like the tooth fairy, only a dragon who gives books.

And of course, a book recommendation list (small) with Reader’s Block. One day, there will be another who understands the appeal, one who can answer “beaches or graveyards?” This way to the muesy-room. Play it again, Sam.

Sacred Spaces

The urge to leave nj is strong. I miss the stars. I miss the smell of the grass and trees after a rainstorm. I miss the water. And the magic certain trees hold. And the quiet that only comes when you watch a sunset during the summer from a flat, table-like rock.

I try to create little safe havens. For myself, for others. It’s been some time since I felt like I’ve accomplished that. Putting so much energy, so much of one’s self, into a space to make it a home when the outside energy fights against that peace is exhausting. I have all these grand plans: frame all my art! Get a nice comfy reading chair! Make space to create art! But when I walk into my apartment, that desire gets syphoned away by the suburban gods for their enjoyment. To crack the sidewalks and create potholes and hide away the fireflies.

I have yet to figure out a way to recharge. I am diminished daily; I’m afraid that I’ll forget my magic.