You don't have to explain your scars, your open wounds to anyone.
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Thanksgiving can be as filling as it is unfulfilling. As delicious as it is distasteful. As remarkable as it is unremarkable. As healing as it is hurtful. Everyone has someone they're anxious to be around which is why I'm writing down some things that could help you this year...
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Tucked under my chin, a sage-colored blanket smells of amber and mint. Flashes of purple tuck me in; I remember a sunset the evening before.
Driving home, is like this blanket in feel.
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A poem I wrote a year ago, about the struggle of long distance. I took photos of the Yuma sunrise as I thought about the days ahead. And wrote as my dread for saying 'goodbye,' grew.
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25 is the year you start to really hate yourself and it is, (perhaps more importantly), the year you start to really love yourself. It hits you like the loans you have to pay back or like the moment you say "I love you," for the first time.
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But like I said, the coffee is better in the fall and that's a pretty big present to me. It almost makes up for the fact that I have to wear pants.
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