The everyday love, every day. The days where intertwined hands and deprivation and fast shiny cars and inside jokes and bad dreams - if I could only forever remember one petit bonheur for every sorrow, because melancholia shouldn't erase every beautiful day that you have ever lived. I need to remember how lucky I am, we are, to have memories. I remember that [ twenty9.septembre.2thousand&7teen ] double rainbow that seemed to enchant the entire street; drunk in love and dancing the very next day with my beautiful friends; 7-years-old and waking up in white sheets with the sun streaming through the north-facing window through the greenery; knowing what it feels like to love and lust and lose; hugs; films at the cinema; listening to your favourite songs for the twenty-6th time. It's so easy to reject the love of anything and everything, when you don't feel the love within you to accept and believe that you are worthy of being loved. This is for y o u, and those days. This is so you can find the every day love, everyday.
It seems pretty surreal that today I am almost three decades worth of recollections, sensations, beliefs and escapades. We will always remember what we felt the most deeply, and what we trulymadlydeeply cared about. It's so weird and wonderful to think that the people who you encounter every day for a fleeting moment, or maybe longer, that they are somebody else's world. They are a son, a daughter, a lover, a mother, a father, a friend --- and they are a soul. They are a special and interesting individual and you might never remember their face when they could be the hero/[ine] of someone's dreams.
I can remember every person I have ever loved and why. But why only some of those people I still love and some I love no longer -- that I do not know. It would be such a fucking dream to study love forever. Is it terrible to admit that only sometimes love is infinite, and sometimes it's as transient as a fucking good dream? But in the moment, it will always feel like it's forever, in that moment, I know it might seem like nothing will ever change your heart's crazystupidbeautiful mind. Embrace that moment -- because you don't want to be the one who holds your own heart in an iron cage. Sometimes you have to share the[ir] love that you wanted to have all for yourself. Sometimes it's all over before anything r e a l-ly began [ even if you'd already written the ending in your imagination, I know I do x ]. But you can take the real in that really and remind yourself of the 7.4 billion people in this world for you to love and don't forget that feeling, however momentary, of loving like your life depended on it and don't even question think about la fin.
These days that stagnant stillwater feeling is commonplace, but maybe it's because now-upon-a-time you found your strongest sense of self before everybody else woke up. That senseofself shouldn't be defined by others, but who and what and where you are and why. Comparing is a curse, and I learned that
octobre, t'aime -- Love, A x