I believe that I am liking this girl too much for my own good. “too much,” being the understatement, and “my own good,” being the critique. I couldn’t imagine her being my type; however, I could imagine so much more with her. “with her,” having no reference to future because relationships with foresight scare me - even if I gave her a lie. I am scared. I just want to act opposingly because I know she’s scared, and for some reason faking my strength seems like it should help the matter.

She plays the guitar, the violin, and she plays with pens that dance on paper leaving, not tracks, but landscapes. Beautiful beautiful landscapes of inspiration. She’s humble, eccentric, and her laugh is contagious. So’s her smile. So are her tears when she cries.

I’ve been struggling with myself lately. My family is falling a part at the seams, and I’ve been breaking just to mend. But surprisinly, she’s there. And I never expected that, nor did I want/need it. But I’m so happy she’s there. And I’m thankful.

Life is emotional these days with the holidays coming. I know they’ll never be the same, but it’s my growing process. I have matured so much this year, and that maturation in itself is worth bleeding for.

I am lucky.
Even if it’s bitter sweet irony that reveals it.