Remnants of flower petals on the ground everywhere you walk. I’m sitting here reading in the just-breaking-from-sudden-raincloud-sunlight, tears streaming down my face. And I’m really grateful that the bookstore man wearing plaid (there is always a bookstore man wearing plaid here) is just letting me cry and read these words.
Then, I kid you not, “don’t let the sun catch you crying” plays gently on the speakers. Just like that.
I would like to admit that this weekend I reiterated my cynical view, that I don’t know if I believe in love. I would like to admit that it is most likely just that I know absolutely nothing about love, and yet try every day to learn about it with a clean slate and open mind. I would like to admit that I fail all the time, maybe as often as every five minutes. I lose hours upon hours of sleep over it. But what else to live for, but to live to learn how to love, then?
I didn’t want to admit all of that. But today, a practice of vulnerability over pride. Every day.
Oh, and final flowers of the spring (a.k.a how we know it’s summer):
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