TheAfterWhys

I saw my first celebrity since moving to the LA area last week. It's a rather surreal experience (for me at least) to see someone in person that I am used to seeing on TV.

How is everyone?

I'm suffocating.

This morning at 6:00 am my husband kissed me good morning and wished me a happy birthday. By 6:20 I had learned my grandmother had passed away late the night before and I was sobbing into his nightshirt. I went to work, praying nobody would notice the rim of tears that never seemed to go away, and struggled with desire to run out of the office and drive the 8 hrs to my parents house so we could all cry uselessly together.

I did not, do not, want to hear anyone offering me their consolations. I did not, do not, want to hear "I am sorry for your loss". I did not, do not, want to see anyone look at me with sympathy or empathy. My wound is still too raw. Their words are like a flood, like needles in a wound, like a rope around my chest squeezing the oxygen from my lungs. They are not comforting or supportive, they are a bat beating me over the head with the reality that she is gone before the wound has even stopped bleeding.

Our culture does not understand grief.

I miss writing, and would love to get back into it.

I would love it if any of you would like to do a collab with me.

Anyone interested?

Hi All,

At least, anyone who is still out of the goodness of their hearts still watching me.

So much has changed in the past year or so and I find my life has completely changed. I am getting married, I have moved for the very first time out into the world, and have my first job after graduation. So much has happened, and I have been so incredibly busy.

I miss this place, I miss the people that formed the little writing community I was a part of (though many of them are fading away as well), and I miss writing, but my words don't come to me the same. There is a new tone and shade that I do not know how to use yet. I doubt I will be as active as I was, but I will continue to try to put something up once in awhile. Though I cannot guarantee when, or how much, or even that it will be good.

Thank you for reading what I have written so far, and for hearing, seeing, and feeling, those moments I tried so hard to describe. It helped me immensely, and I hope that it helped you in some way as well. Made your soul a little brighter, a little more multi-colored, a little stronger.

Love is only interesting if it's killing you,

or driving you crazy,

or impossible,

or forbidden.

If the soft brush of a fingertip across your skin burns like ligtening through the dark,
or his lips catch the desperately soft gasps pooling in the back of your throat when no one is looking,
then it is worth telling someone about,

then it is worth writing about,

making a movie about,

reading about.




But if love is sunshine on your face,

a seamlessness between differences,

about being sanely insane,

and about the forever and always possible,
then it's boring.


and no one is listening.




Writing about our strifes, our dark moments, are easy. We remember them, we feel them,  and we can express them with the clarity of pinning it to our wall with a thumb tack. But writing about happyness, about love, is an entirely different ball game because happyness is a complicated simplicity that we never take the time to describe properly. Writing about something so incredibly simple as truly loving someone, easily, with no complications, with simplicity, is far harder than I think anyone suspects - because it's one of the hardest things you will ever accomplish.