Valentine's Day coming up really has me thinking about all of these near fairytales I've lived: the countless letters I've received, the beautiful poems and songs that have been inspired by relationships I've been a part of, the stars I've counted in the beds of trucks, the notes that have been left in the margins of my favorite books, the Dutch canals I've held so close to my heart... The relationships so effortless and natural that they never needed a label -- the company I surrounded myself with that was so sacred to me that I selfishly kept it hidden even from those closest to me in attempts to fully grasp and understand the experiences and energy being shared and exchanged.
There have been moments so ethereal and perfect that I to this day refuse to write about because not even words can do my feelings justice. I'm almost scared to write about these things sometimes -- as if the universe might take offense to how I've tried to capture these transcendent moments in time with a few simple scribbles of ink.
I've tried to convince myself that I didn't love these people. That I somehow created the butterflies I felt in my stomach at 3am or the sad goodbyes in Paris metros in my mind, but I'm just now realizing that this isn't the case at all.
It turns out that magic lies in sacred places to me and I lie to myself about the people I've loved.
I don't really know what the point of this extensive post is, except maybe to apologize to those who have fully committed to the idea of wanting me, but never truly having me -- to those who feel like I've nonchalantly touched their hearts without even knowing it. I thought it would be easy to leave. To forget. But you have been stuck
in my cowardly heart for far too long. I keep waiting for the memories
to fade but they simply refuse, because while you were unhappily in love with your love for me, the truth is, your love for me was in love with you the entire time.
dress: Chic Wish
heels: ModCloth
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