hello again

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i've seriously come to believe i have nothing left to say. a mere 48 hours ago, i spent 6 hours on the couch of my manhattan apartment endlessly yammering with my dear roommate. i could not tell you a single syllable that was uttered, and it's made me realize that it could be the secret of true love. love's memory. love's memorable. love is the act of speaking to one another.

for staunch unconventional journal fans, or really, the two or three of you that have a vested interest in my lore, i want to both extend thanks for your patience during this inert hiatus of mine and offer some thrilling updates.

for the better part of my life, i have been unabashed and untempered in heartbreak and loneliness and emetophobia. i had the brief but remarkable experience of a first love. it was circumstantially stacked against me and (neutrally speaking) doomed from the start. there was a version of me that relied heavily on placing my past in separate categories to quanti-qualify an answer to our conclusion. i scientific-methoded all over my poor ex-boyfriend. i look back upon those memories and feel a wintry mix of regret, remorse, empathy, and love. i've exchanged it all for peace.

life has moved since, i've moved since, and when i'm really lucky, it happens at the same time.

suddenly, i've found myself in love again. really, much like a female Beck, i'm feeling quite shy over this bold exclamation. it feels painfully human of me to want to justify this statement, and really, it's a continued topic of conversation within the confines of my own mind. i've danced around my lover's ears with a perplexing question: why do some people click? on our first date, i had oversprayed mango sticky rice perfume on myself and missed my stop on the 1 train after leaving with uncertainty that he was even going to show up. we begun our exchange at a beautiful church, and i boldly declared we were on a date an hour or so later. you see, he'd initially only asked me to "hang out." semantics is half the battle. we stayed out until 5 in the morning. there hasn't been a single day since that moment i have not spoken some amount of words to him. perhaps there have been a few moments where they've failed to reach his ears. perhaps there have been a few expletives. but i've never been left speechless, and i've never been left mute. after all, love is the act of speaking to one another.

if i ask myself why the certained two of us click, i'm largely graced with the image of my lover's profile. he has no sideburns. they just curl into the rest of the hair on his head. 

i figured i'll omit some of the juicy details and dark casualties of this new venture in my life, but you'll read allll about it in my memoir once i'm 50.

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