I wish I never promised.
I wish I could have stayed.
I wish that life had granted us more time,
More breakfasts together
More more more,
But less pain.
And maybe you didn’t know,
But every time I said goodbye, my heart broke.
I loved your home, your laughter, your love for all of life.
You didn’t pick and choose, you saw beauty where I saw chaos.
Your world view inspires me, I take it with me through life’s journey.
I want to see the world how you saw it.
I want to sit and chat and learn.
I miss your wisdom and sincerity.
I miss you.
Your happiness is yours.
You can keep it, hide it, share it, give it away.
But I suggest you keep it.
Hold onto it as long as you can.
If you hide it – you might forget exactly where you placed it.
If you share it – a fragment of your Happiness will no longer belong to only you.
If you give it away – there is no guarantee that the recipient will value it, because your happiness is best understood and most effective when it belongs to you.
And if you love someone, encourage them to find theirs – whatever that may consists of.
This is where my hope and happiness was found, shared, hidden, broken, and ultimately restored.
“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
For the longest time, I wanted someone to feel this way about me.
I feel kind of awkward admitting I still really want to be loved for these reasons.
But aren’t these words absolutely beautiful?
I’m constantly surrounded by people, and this tends to inhibit my ability to think clearly about things I want to think about. So, today, I had dinner with myself.
I sat in the balcony with my favorite Italian pasta dish from a small restaurant down the street.
I faced San Francisco and the setting sun.
The beauty of it all overwhelmed me.
It was chilly and bright and quiet –
The cool wind kept me company and drew me back to reality every time my mind drifted too far.
And I liked it.
I realized that lately I have become so critical of myself.
I have let failures fracture my self-esteem and confidence.
I have let stressful situations and insecurities break my convictions in the beauties of life.
My little date with myself and my thoughts made me love myself more.
It made me sure of who I am and what I want to do.
It made me forgive myself and others –
It gave me the opportunity to fall in love with my life again.
Life is not easy. I think we all learn that very quickly in the process of growing up.
But oh my God, it is so beautiful –
And I’ve spent too long doubting, criticizing, over-analyzing everything.
I’m at peace – with the world, with my struggles, with the hurdles I must jump to get to where I need to be.
I’m giving everything I care for one hundred percent of my effort,
But I’m setting higher standards for the way I treat myself.
I have so much to say, but no ears want to listen.
I think about things that will break your heart.
I scribble in my notebook, but I feel no peace.
I have felt better, I have loved and been loved better.
I have been worth more.
Missing conversations with my best friends.
No matter how much technology tries to convince me, I refuse to abandon my local bookstore.
There’s something about the smell of old books, new books, old bookcases.
There’s something about that old couple who runs the place and smiles, talks, and recommends something from another time.
There’s something about the people who sit in bookstores, so absorbed that they jump when you accidentally step on their toes.
There’s something about the kids who climb the shelves, picking up books and saying, “Daddy I want this one.”
There’s something about the feel of glossy covers, torn edges, printed knowledge.
Time feels unlimited, life feels more simple, happiness less far away.
Instant connection to the past, wisdom, strangers, your own personal thoughts.
I really do hope that the bookstore does not become extinct. I want the future to feel what I feel when I walk inside and stay a while. I really do hope that paper books do not become things of the past. I want the future to know what it’s like to curl up in bed with a good book.
They smell like honey and happiness.
They are sunshine on a foggy, rainy day.