I saw a couple on a motorcycle just now wearing vintage style helmets, his being a full face and hers was open with cute stickers all over it. It’s also raining and they just looked so chic
After I would shower in the mornings during my California visit, my friend would sometimes ask to braid my hair. So simple, but such a caring task. As I recall it now, it takes me back to when I was much younger. My older sister loved to brush my hair, to plait it so delicately. Now she’s a mother and I see her doing the same to her daughter, my niece. When I stay with them, my sister looks to me in the mornings and I ask my niece if she would like for me to plait her hair for the day ahead. I believe that it’s this act that has taught me to be more tender, and I cherish this sentiment
I’ve noticed that writing about my happiness comes much harder than the fluidity of writing about my sorrow. But my joy deserves as much attention and recognition as any other emotion I feel. I fear that in writing of it will diminish the experience. It’s happened many times that as soon as I admit the joy I feel it seems to slip between my fingers, in acknowledging it’s truth it’s like it makes it disappear. I love my joy as much as I love my sadness. They are both crucial parts of my human experience. They both allow me to share different parts of who I am. I don’t want to shy away from the joy that seems to be knocking at my door, i want to share it with others and let it come and go as needed. I’ve learned that no emotion is just one thing, I can be happy and feel sad. I can be sad and feel happy. I am not just one thing.
