“Your mother was born in December,
on the one sunny day that winter gave up.
She had warm summer eyes that flickered like fireflies,
when she stared at the world.”
“Your mother was born in December,
on the one sunny day that winter gave up.
She had warm summer eyes that flickered like fireflies,
when she stared at the world.”
The worst part is never when something terrible happens. It’s the first time you wake up afterwards.
After my heart broke, I cried until my body ran out of tears, literally dried up my emotional well. And then I sat in my bed, knees clutched to my chest, eyes open wide – staring at nothing – and rocked. Back and forth. For hours.
I suppose at some point my conscious numbness conceded to my body and I fell asleep.
It’s waking up that’s the worst. The moment you think maybe that was just a dream, then slowly process that it wasn’t. And the realization is stabbing. And choking. As if someone is taking your insides and wringing them out like a washcloth.
But on that morning, when I woke up in my college apartment, the walls were covered with words. Words of hope. Quotes I loved. My sweet roommate snuck into my room before I woke up and filled that place of sadness with kindness and friendship and concern.
I don’t remember all of them, but I remember the largest, written in bright green across the middle of my mirror.
This too shall pass.
And despite my bloodshot eyes and knotted stomach and heavy heart, I could not help but smile.

(Image source: Modern Hepburn on Tumblr)
Write your wrongs.
Every little thing is gonna be all write.
Stand up for what’s write.
Fight for your write.
Looking for Mr. Write.
Come write back to me.
Write back where I belong.
Write place at the write time.
Just write.
… Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world…
for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.