Annotations
i don’t know why i’ve always felt like i was born with too much feeling and not enough places to put it.
sometimes i wonder if this is all growing up ever was—learning to live with the absurdity of wanting wildly while settling quietly. learning to mourn the lives you didn’t live. learning to keep showing up.
because for a long time i thought love was a thing you gave, a thing that made you warm and good and full. but i’ve come to believe it’s also a mirror. sometimes the most brutal one.
love shows you exactly where you’ve been abandoned—by others, sure, but also by yourself. love asks you: are you capable of softness? can you bear to be seen? can you choose someone not out of fear or loneliness, but from the quiet, thunderous place inside you that just wants to give?
because when we break, we see. we see the ugliness and the beauty and how they sit right next to each other. we see that nothing is ever entirely one thing. and we learn how to hold both.
the loneliness of this century is not the kind that howls. it doesn’t scream. it simmers. it grows quiet in bedrooms lit by blue light, where people scroll past other people’s joy and call it connection. it thrives in group chats where no one really says how they are. it survives in relationships where we’re too scared to say what we mean because what if we get left on read? what if our honesty isn’t convenient?
because maybe real faith isn’t about certainty. maybe it’s about surviving enough grief to still kneel at something. maybe the holiest thing we can do is admit we don’t know and still choose to love anyway.
isn’t it funny how some people become doorways?how they open something inside you that you didn’t even know was locked?and then they leave and suddenly you’re a house with no doors, just wind and memory and the echo of “i love you” said too quietly to last?
being a good person doesn’t mean you’ll be spared. i was taught to believe that goodness would shield me, that if i was kind enough, gentle enough, soft enough, the world would reflect that back. but it didn’t.