Recently, I had a dream about wedding. It wasn’t just any wedding, though—it was my wedding, though not the wedding I have often dreamed about. It was a small, cheap, family-filled affair in a large room with wooden booths laid out on the perimeter. It was also a double-wedding, shared with my cousin (as though she were my sister) even though she’s already married. I spent much of the affair deep in conversation with my mother, looking for my beloved.
My husband was tall, gangly, and somewhat socially awkward. He immediately took my hand upon finding me, and we navigated the throngs of dancing guests as one unit, linked by fingers and.
It’s strange, but that simple dream hurt so much upon waking up. Everything was all wrong—the wedding, the dress, the groom—but the simple act of holding my hand in a moment of marital bliss made everything feel absolutely right. This man, a figment of my subconscious that I can barely remember, showed me pure, unconditional love for the briefest of moments, and reality stripped it all away.
Waking up and going about my day feels empty and hollow after dreams like that. Dreams like that make me wonder what it is I’m missing about this whole love & life thing.
driving to Tucson on a whim, two weekends in a row.
meeting someone I can only describe as a kindred spirit, even if he does have some growing up to do.
conversations on a strange couch that last until sunrise.
long exchanges of text messages discussing everything from favorite books and places to pipe dreams and life’s philosophies.
falling asleep smiling.
a concert that set my soul on fire.
mutual feelings at the wrong time; premature goodbyes.
"see you in another life, brother."
a new direction in life. purpose.
that feeling of knowing without really knowing.
the unbelievable magic of random chance so perfect it almost feels meant to be…almost.
that feeling of almost.
(Source is Hyperbole and a Half, a fabulous blog that you should read in its entirety RIGHT NOW).
On the list:
The only bummer is that I can’t do clean these things in my normal cleaning attire: my underwear. That’s what happens when you try to clean when people are home.
Listening to “Burial” by Miike Snow reminds me of the infinite possibility of the holiday season. It hurts to think of how much has changed since just last December.
I’ve been told that I haven’t been replaced, but I feel it in every fiber of my being. It was inevitable, I know, but that doesn’t change this feeling one bit. I miss my friend.
I miss the simplicity of driving around, looking at Christmas lights with the windows down, and picking out dream houses.
"Don’t forget to cry at your own burial."
I understand that I have neglected this ‘blog’ for quite some time. Admittedly, I used it as a tool to express some of the feelings I had after my last relationship (if you can call it that), and once I stopped expressing those publicly, I stopped writing in here. I have also been trying to consolidate my online presence into my website (I’ve paid for the damn domain for a year, so I might as well actually USE it), which contributes to the lack of content here. Those are excuses, however, and my two readers deserve an apology for the neglect. I’m sorry.
However, I am making a concerted effort to blog on my website at least once or twice a week (yes, even with law school taking up much of my free time!), so feel free to bookmark if you enjoy reading my jumbled and disjointed thoughts.
I am still not entirely sure what I want, but I can promise you that I spend more time than I have to spare trying to figure it out.
I am happier than I used to be, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still struggle with sadness or frustration. I’m trying. Life has to be lived EVERY DAY. Between that mantra and law school, I spend less time hiding in bed because I feel sad. However, I still over think things until I kill them, and I still (VERY infrequently) reminisce about various points in my past, extrapolating to the present and wondering what would be different and what wouldn’t.
There are days when I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin.
I am more like Summer than I initially thought.
I can know exactly how I feel about someone, but that doesn’t mean I’m capable of actually expressing it.
I am completely capable of crying over someone I thought held no more power over me.
Sometimes I get this overwhelming sense of deja vu when I listen to (don’t make fun of me) the Halo/Walking on Sunshine mashup from Glee.
I remember driving to that overnight, though I don’t remember what on earth the overnight was for. I remember that I was either dating or broken up with JR (who can keep that straight without iCal anyway?). I remember Smart Water and rolling down the car windows and feeling infinite.
It’s an emotional cold shower, and it’s enough to make me want to quit listening to that song. It’s not that I still care about him or anything like that. I’m simply trying to numb the things I feel about the biggest mistake I’ve made in a while, if not ever.
And yes, dear, you were that mistake.
I’ll walk your lands and swim your sea. Marry me. Marry me.
Why would I stop loving you a hundred years from now?