Relationships

When I was a kid, Saturday mornings meant a breakfast of fried rice, a runny egg, and SPAM—a staple in our pantry growing up.

I just bought a dining table for my apartment. It is two months into the school year and almost half a year since my lease started. Why the delay?

It takes you three days to fall out of love with her.

I am not interested in being scared this Halloween. And yet, it appears that I am unable to escape the witching hour. As I turn the corner, I am greeted by a familiar haunting.

I find cemeteries to be awkward places. I feel incredibly self-conscious in grocery stores, but a cemetery that living people are visiting is a thousand times worse, especially when you can’t find the grave you are looking for.

I am quite fond of living on a stage. Curating my thoughts for consumption, I love seeing myself in the reactions of others.

But now the awkward interaction with a barista, the stress of an upcoming exam, the slow-motion neon lights in a crowded bar are mine alone, no longer processed and packaged stories to liven someone else’s day.

“When You Were Young” streams quietly on the radio as I find a table. No one knows how this song makes me nostalgic for Texas heat.

If you’re gone, who do I tell? How do I live with just myself?

July 25th, 2021

I feel like I am floating after this untethering. Like a balloon headed for the clouds, in that dually melancholy and pleasing way. After this life change, I was expecting my reality to crash around me. This not-quite painful floating sensation has taken me off guard. Losing love is a funny thing.

Losing love is a funny thing.

As the Pinterest app opens on my phone, I appreciate the ease with which I can search and browse a seemingly infinite supply of thumbprint cookie recipes.