August Slipped Away…

 I hope this email finds you well (no really, I actually do). Not well in a—I’m doing the best I can and getting by kind of way but well in a I’m soaking up every second I have from this life and sucking the joy from every joyful moment so it can carry me through the harder ones kind of way. If this email does not find you well, I’m not going to hold it against you. Because I want us to feel free to feel our feelings in all their ugliness here, to bring whatever we have to this table (even if it isn’t much of anything, you and your name is enough) and to show up as we are. 

This email is finding me well (enough). There’s something so pure about the few days immediately after you’re not feeling well, where you’re so grateful to have your health back that you’re just on cloud nine—and that is where you currently find me. I am actually on the couch wearing Miss. Cat Cohen’s new merch and a slouchy pair of pants, dreaming of the 5 o’clock glass of Sancerre I’m going to have (it IS still good summer), and yet. 

I have a lot of trouble deciding on my favorite season. To me, it is one of the many wonders of our world that the moment I start to tire of one season, another is around the corner, licking at our heels. This summer has been a near perfect summer (and again, it isn’t fully over until Labor day)—but I do find myself yearning for crisp fall days, pumpkin flavored everything and the sobering reality of autumn. 

I hope you’re relishing in these last days of summer, but looking ahead to the exciting premise of crisp days around the corner. 

X. 

Eli 

UPDATES: what I’m reading, watching, listening to, obsessing over and all other things I wish to share. 

What I’m Watching: 

1. Love Island USA Season 6 

(where to stream: Peacock) 

In college, I was an avid Love Island UK fan. My best friend Allie and I spent pretty much our entire junior year of college holed up in the living room between classes and social engagements binge watching Love Island UK. Part of my appreciation for the show comes from the entertainment factor, but back then, most of it came from what it represented. Love Island UK was our thing—like how some couples have a song or revisit the place they had their first date.  On our own, we probably wouldn’t have been tuning in as avidly, but when it served as a shared activity and a way to bond, we loved it. In all honesty, I haven’t watched the show since. I never felt pulled to it when it wasn’t something I shared with Allie, and bowls of candy and our L-shaped couch. However, at the end of July when the conversation on TikTok and Instagram was pretty much all Love Island USA lore, memes and tea, I went to go visit Allie and we found ourselves in need of something to watch. Out of a fit of nostalgia, and perhaps curiosity as well, I recommended we watch the new season of Love Island USA. I had been able to avoid most spoilers (reason being, I didn’t care enough). I was scrolling past all the content about the show because I wasn’t watching it, so I hadn’t really ingested much of it at all. We put on the first episode, and instantly I understood the hype. I will never be one to look down on reality TV—but I’ve never watched Love is Blind, Too Hot to Handle or most of the semi-viral dating TV series people watch. And I think what makes Love Island different is how it is a near perfect psychological experiment. Though you’re obviously watching a dating show, you’re also watching much more than that—and it feels less staged, scripted and manipulated than all the other dating shows out there, including the Bachelor franchise. I feel that as a social experiment and psychological experiment, Love Island is the most true to reality dating show we have. 

We don’t simply love it because of the cast of enigmatic characters or the layout of the show itself, we love it because as an audience member, it feels like an invasion of privacy in a way other shows don’t capture. Conceptually, the fact that the audience is aware that these 12+ islanders have spent every single waking second with one another, with nothing to do besides talk and socialize, creates this feeling of claustrophobia and inevitably, fast-tracked intimacy. When you enable the audience to feel as though they somehow have the power—because we’re watching from outside the strict confines of the villa—the show becomes more addicting. And when the fan base grows, the show grows because, as we know, people crave connection and they want to be a part of something. 

This season of Love Island USA stuck out to me from the other seasons of both USA and UK that I’ve watched for two reasons. Firstly, the cast of islanders (specifically the original 10 islanders) seemed to genuinely like one another, genuinely bond and form a friend group that felt like it could last after Love Island. This heightened comfort allowed for more drama (because they truly felt like they were friends who could argue, make up and get over it) and also for a heightened level of parasocial relationship between the islanders and the viewers. There was something endearing about the way the cast bonded together, and we rooted for them as a group from our couches—instead of simply rooting for individuals or individual couples. Simultaneously, this season of Love Island USA accomplished something many modern dating shows do not—platforming the love stories and journeys of two Black women  (both of whom made the final three couples) and awarding a Black couple with the title of winner. 

I do think there’s certainly something to be said about the ways in which the pressure of isolation weighs on the islanders–compounded by the obvious 24/7 surveillance they have by way of cameramen and producers. I recommend this interesting video essay if you’re curious and want to learn more. 

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this season of Love Island USA and, even if you have already encountered the spoilers, I recommend watching nonetheless. 

What I’m Listening to: 

1. The Chicks 

If I’m being honest with you, I’m not just listening to one of their albums, I’m listening to their entire discography. I grew up listening to The Chicks. My parents were huge music fans—and huge fans of art in general—which I feel very grateful for now. The albums ‘Fly’, ‘Home’, ‘Wide Open Spaces’, and ‘Taking the Long Way’ were the soundtracks to my childhood, and I do recommend revisiting the albums and songs your parents listened to throughout your childhood for some reflection. 

It feels apt, simultaneously, at this current sociopolitical turning point during an election year to revisit their discography as well. I’ll try my best to be brief in the event that you’re already aware of the controversy and backlash that the Chicks have faced, and what they represent to me today. In March 2003, at a concert in London, the Chicks publicly criticized president Bush’s decision to invade Iraq. At the time, the Chicks were one of the most popular country music bands, and in a post 9/11 world, a lot changed in the country music space (here’s a link to a Rolling Stone article if you’re interested in learning more). In 2004, 60% of respondents in a Gallup poll who claimed to be country music fans also identified as conservative, with 10% identifying as liberal and 30% identifying as moderate. In many ways, the GOP has sort of claimed country music as their own. So, for the Chicks to publicly take a stand against the invasion of Iraq—specifically at a time when 79% of Americans agreed with the decision to invade—was major. Today, over half of Americans believe the invasion of Iraq to be the wrong decision—a major shift from the early 2000s. Immediately following their statement, the Chicks were blacklisted by many country radio stations, received death threats and were ousted from many of their country music circles. They lost sponsorships and ticket sales plummeted. Their single Not Ready to Make Nice (which is going viral right now on TikTok, thanks to Trump supporters… strangely) was written and released in response to the controversy. 

Their activism and commitment to standing up for what they believe in—especially following such intense backlash—is admirable to me. In the years following their ‘cancellation,’ they went on to perform in the Vote for Change tour and contemporary pop-country singers from Kacey Musgraves to Taylor Swift have credited their bravery and passion as inspiration. 

The conservative reputation of country music is a really interesting deep dive (and one I could talk about for days). The industry hasn’t changed much since the Chicks were ousted—with liberal stars like Kacey Musgraves alienated by fans of the genre.  I feel like it is uncharacteristic for me in general to be a fan of country music—but I am. Specifically Chris Stapleton and the Chicks, if I’m being honest, but still a fan nonetheless. I’ve been loving their music lately, and it feels really timely considering we’re in an election year. 

2. My playlist: Impressing People at my Dinner Party

One integral aspect of being a good hostess people often forget is setting the proper vibe. Of course you want to make sure your guests have plenty to eat and drink, but, in my opinion, the ambiance is actually the most important part of hosting the perfect dinner party or gathering. The candles you have lit, the lighting and the music are just as integral as what you’re serving. So, if you’re looking for the perfect playlist next time you have your crush over, a group of your friends comes by for wine and cheese or you’re hosting a literal dinner party… look no further. 

3. Short and Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter 

Glitter gel pen music is back and just in time for the last few weeks of summer. This album is so reminiscent of Ariana Grande’s ‘Positions’ to me… I just can’t get enough. It’s like a good sugar high without the crash. I knew we were getting raunchy, convertible driving pop perfection, but I didn’t expect it to be so funny and also so smart. The lyrics are beyond witty and, when you really listen to them, she peppers in some really good jokes as well. My favorites on the album are currently Juno and Coincidence (subject to change, of course). The question we’re all asking ourselves is who the fuck is going to win Album of the Year… and I’m still riding the ‘Cowboy Carter’ train on that one (though I also have my money on Eternal Sunshine). And while I do really hope Chappell Roan wins best new artist, I would also be really excited if it went to Sabrina! Ultimately, I think her story shows that 1. It takes 10 years to be an overnight success and 2. Pop music is back. 

What I’m Reading: 

1. Big Swiss by Jen Beagin 

The premise of this book totally hooked me—a sex therapist’s transcriptionist falls in love with one of his married, female patients who she happens to recognize at their local dog park. The book is also set in Hudson, New York—and I took a trip there earlier this year and absolutely ADORED it. I’m glad I waited to read this book until after my trip. Overall, I really enjoyed this read. It focused on prose and plot simultaneously so it satiated my reading needs and kept me wanting more. The story was engaging, the emotional stakes were really well drawn out and I enjoyed the characters. I would really recommend it. For anyone who has read this book, I wonder if you had a similar issue though—there are lots of mentions of bugs. The main character lives in this hulking, old mansion that is full of maggots and bees and stink bugs. I found myself really disturbed by that. I know that sounds incredibly nitpicky, but I just felt like there were bugs all over me the entire time I was reading it. Probably a me issue, but if you feel like you get similarly ‘icked’ or have sensory issues with bugs, I’d probably skip!

2. Love Them or Hate Them, This Couple Reign in Russian Literature 

I absolutely loved this piece from the New York Times about two married, famous Russian translators who first translated a Dostoyevsky novel together and have been translators ever since. I like to learn about something I know nothing about, and this was my hyperfixation meal of choice this month. 

3. How the Harris Campaign Beat Trump at Being Online

I loved this analysis at how the Harris campaign is attempting to appeal to Gen-z voters by way of their social media presence over the past month, and how it juxtaposes that of the Trump campaign. I’ve been following along with @KamalaHQ, and I’m so glad someone put my thoughts into words. 

4. “Cats: The Jellicle Ball” Lands on its Feet 

I haven’t had the chance to see the production of “Cats” at PAC NYC, but this review just made me want to see it MORE before it closes than I did before! 

What I’m obsessing over: 

1. Bach’s Rescue Remedy 

Earlier this year I was diagnosed with OCD, and over the past few months I’ve been oscillating between therapists and treatment options, trying to find something that works. I think sometimes it is true that you feel worse before you feel better–and I think while my diagnosis gave me a lot of relief and reassurance, I was also met with an equal amount of dread and anxiety. I’m familiar with anxiety attacks and the physical manifestation of anxiety on the body, but had never experienced a full panic attack until recently, and it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. The morning after having a panic attack, my mom reminded me that as a child she used to buy me these Rescue Remedy pastilles to take to school. They’re entirely homeopathic and potentially a placebo—but they really work. I’ve been using them throughout the month whenever I feel anxious or uneasy, and they’ve been a game changer. They’re also inexpensive and pretty widely available at pharmacies and Whole Foods. In addition to those, I also bought the Rare Beauty aromatherapy pen. As I’m figuring out what works for me, I’ve really appreciated the support, grace and kindness you’ve all offered me. I love you. I hope you’re OK too. 

2. Dazzle Dry manicures 

I have been an acrylic manicure girl for a few years now, and recently I’ve been on a journey to heal my nails. The journey began with the realization that there may be an upcoming event where I’d really like to have strong, natural nails and my nails (under my acrylics) were literal stubs. I gave myself PLENTY of time to go on this journey and I wasted the vast majority of it getting dip manicures and seeing no results. Step one was getting my acrylics off, but step two proved to be much harder than I initially expected. I did not know (and maybe I’m crazy for this) that gel, dip and basically all other types of manicures one can get are equally as bad for your nails as acrylics are. I wound up discovering ‘dazzle dry’ manicures via TikTok comments and my mom (who had apparently been getting dazzle dry manicures for a year, unbeknownst to me). It is safe to say I won’t be returning to acrylics, or dip, or gel. And I really hope I can get the nails of my dreams via Dazzle Dry PRIOR to the big aforementioned event where I’d like to have beautiful, natural nails. Only time will tell. 

3. Grilled cheese sandwiches 

I’ve had a pretty anxiety inducing month as far as my mental health goes. I honestly have felt, for the last few weeks, like every day I wake up in a battle with my mind, hellbent on winning. One thing (other than professional help and other anxiety reducing tactics) that has helped me has been retreating to nostalgic or childhood routines, rituals and traditions that brought me comfort and joy as a child. Whether this is the music I used to listen to as a little girl in the living room with my parents, the movies I watched with my friends, the perfume I used to wear in high school—there is something so grounding about reminding myself that I am still the same me that I have always been. That I am in control. That said, childhood favorite foods (peanut butter and jelly, soft serve ice cream and grilled cheese to name a few) have a very prominent place in this reexploration of nostalgia and comfort. Not only is grilled cheese incredibly versatile, it is also seasonally flexible AND (in my opinion) you can never really get bored of it. I mean look at this Subreddit entirely dedicated to grilled cheese making. People love grilled cheese. I love grilled cheese. I hope I’ve reminded you that grilled cheese exists, and it's easy to make and you deserve to enjoy one soon. 

Where I’m Going: 

1. London, England 

I am beyond thrilled to announce (on her behalf) that Veronica is moving back to London. If you don’t know who Veronica is, other than a pop culture icon and someone who generally knows literally everything about everything, she is my best friend, the funniest person you will ever meet and the creme de la creme of people. She went to university in London (which is just a fancy, British way of saying undergrad). She thought she was going to move back to America (or the states, as they say) post grad, and after a summer here she’s decided to return to London! Though most people would be devastated that their best friend is moving back overseas to another country, I couldn’t be happier. We’ve already proven to ourselves and one another that our relationship can, will and has withstood distance and time differences, and now I can make visits to London all the time! I’ll be there early September to help her move in, explore the city and see Wicked on the west end. I can’t wait. 

2. Rosemary Beach, FL 

Wedding season has officially begun in my life, and I’m going to my best friend’s sister’s wedding as her plus one. I actually have never been anywhere in Florida other than Orlando and Miami (like one time for half a day) so I’m really looking forward to a full few days in a different area celebrating love. 

That’ll be all the travel in September! But of course, October is something else entirely, and we can talk about that next month. 

This month I wanted to ruminate on how it feels to be nostalgic for the present, so please enjoy the following essay about just that. 

***

There is a woman across from me on the subway. One train, downtown. She is doing her makeup with one hand, makeup bag balancing on her thighs, holding a small compact mirror with the other. And she is pretty. She is blonde, and it looks natural. That’s just what I notice about her. She seems put together in an effortless, flattering way. She doesn’t seem in a rush, or out of breath, or like there just aren’t enough hours in a day. She seems almost as though she wants to be right where she is–doing her makeup on the subway, though I cannot imagine why anyone would. I have this strange urge to say something to her, but I know that’s weird and New Yorkers hate small talk. But maybe she isn’t from New York. It is sad to me that I’ll never know. 

I am practicing the breathing technique I read about on Google to stop myself from remembering that I’m breathing. Breathe out longer than you breathe in. I wish it was that easy. And I wish to live inside this woman’s head. To know where she’s going. To know who she is so hellbent on wearing the makeup for or maybe it's for herself–but she already stepped outside of wherever she came from with her bare, pretty face. I don’t think anyone really wears makeup just for themselves anyway. On her podcast my friend Maalvika asked her co-host if she would wear makeup on a deserted island where nobody would see her. Or if she was the only person on earth. I wouldn’t. Because I don’t wear it just for me. I’ll be honest about that. None of us do. I wear it because society has convinced me I need it. People have convinced me I’m ugly. And maybe I’m weak too, for believing them. Weak and ugly. I like to decorate myself with jewels and pinks anyway. I wonder if I would feel that way if I didn’t own every color of every product sold at Sephora. Probably not. We are conditioned to love things. Taught to love things if, and only if, they have price tags. 

I pretend to look down at a book but I’m really more invested in how calm it all seems. Applying eyeliner on the subway. Checking her iPhone for the time with a casual sort of ease. I want to read between her lines. I am sad I won’t ever know more. And I am this way about everyone and everything. Frighteningly curious. Brutally observant. Wasted with the thought that everyone is the middle of their own life and the only life I am the middle of is mine. These bright human moments prickle my skin. The idea that I’ll never know her, never see her again. The idea that she’ll never know me. When I hated my life I never feared that there would be infinite amounts of good people I’ll never know. Infinite amounts of good books I’d never read. Now I am scared of living without maxing out my social battery and the confines of my overeager mind. 

I dated someone once who always told me I observe too much. That used to make me laugh. On the contrary, I worry that I’m not observing enough. I don’t know if either of us is right. The answer is probably somewhere in the middle. 

I am so sickly nostalgic for the present. As I sit here, as I live and as I breathe. 

Up until I was 25 years old I was moving too fast to appreciate the moment—in some ways, I always had one foot out the door. I think we were all that way. In high school I spent my moments dreaming of college applications and SAT tests and eventually what waited for me in Ann Arbor. In college I planned out next steps and meticulously pictured my fully formed adult self, lounging on a couch in a city with my very own beautiful apartment, a stemmed glass of wine in my hand. I wondered about my job and my goals. My friends and passions and future partner. I always felt like a rocket heading toward a destination. For two decades. And I dreamed of what that destination would be and I dreamed of how permanent and fine it would feel. But it doesn’t really feel that way at the destination. Everything is different from how I pictured it. In some way, better, in others, worse. 

I made it there anyway though. To 26. To my apartment with my stemmed wine glass. To my lover across the table and an open ended future ahead of me. Far reaching possibilities. Infinite answers to questions like: What do you want to do with your life? How do you want to live it? 

It is complicated and messy and cool and freeing to be an adult in the world today and I love it as much as I hate it and I think that’s normal. I have grown so sentimental. So gravely nostalgic and emotional. I had a second recently, for the first time, to stop and acknowledge how much I love this chapter of my life. And how much I don’t want it to end yet. How much I failed to appreciate the fleeting moments of the last decade—how much I wish I stopped and appreciated it but how much I know you can’t stop a 15 year old from doing whatever they’re going to do anyway. How much I wish to relive them now. How much I loved the positive parts of each prior chapter, and how they also brought their own unique set of challenges as well. And now I feel nostalgic for the present. And I feel this anxiety looming inside of me, begging me to make the most of every day with a consistent reminder–a poke in my side–that each day is slipping from me, each moment fleeting, nothing really ever ‘present’ or ‘future’ because it's all just moving, moving, moving. Even this moment is now past. 

This feeling of nostalgia for today often then morphs into some type of existentialism—the thought, or realization, that this is all fleeting. And nothing is forever. Not the woman doing her makeup on the subway, or me on that exact subway car, or you—or any of us. 

I wanted to know more about this feeling and so I took to Google (as one does, I am one of few people who chooses not to use TikTok as a search engine). I found Reddit threads full of people conversing about the same ideas, the same feelings. I found articles about how we should be romanticizing the present to feel nostalgia for it over the past—which is a common phenomena. I found people saying this emotion is good. Others say it made them feel trapped. Ultimately, I realized I was not alone in this experience. 

I never much dabbled in romanticizing the past. I like to learn about the past, soak up the history and understand exactly where I came from (NOT a coconut tree). But I never wished to live in another time or another decade. I always liked being right where I am. Because it feels meant to be. Because everyone down the line of my life had to be right where they were, exactly where they were, for me to be here. It feels like a miracle. Or maybe it feels incredibly banal. Perhaps it's a little bit of both. I think it's nice to use nostalgia for the past to heal oneself, or to evoke feelings of comfort and warmth. But that sensation isn’t, and has never been, as inherent to me as the feeling of nostalgia for the present—a feeling that just comes over me, no explanation. 

I am 26 and have become so existential. So aware of the way I move through the world. So afraid of how precious and meaningless and meaningful and vast this all is. So grateful. So undeniably grateful to just have the chance to live. Because I like it here. Because I really like it here. Because I finally like it here. 

I notice myself feeling this way when I’m watching really good art. Experiencing really good theater. The type that pulls me in like some intrinsic force and plants me in the middle of the moment. I snap out of it for a split second and I find myself missing it already—missing it before it's gone. Thinking about how I wish I could play the memory over in my head as I’m still experiencing it. The thoughts trickle back in when my boyfriend dances with me in the kitchen. Which is something he always does. I want to play on a loop forever, the way it feels to be twirled around, the way it feels to know I am loved in the way I’ve always wanted to be. Any room where my family is together, any portrait of our thrill and our fun—I find myself agonizing over how much of this I failed to appreciate so far. I find myself wishing I could freeze us all in time. I find myself missing their voices overlapping and their personalities butting against one another—so playful and childlike—even when I’m still sitting in the middle of it. 

I miss today when it is still today. And then I feel guilty for missing today, because today is all I have. In the Uber on the way home from the function, when I finally catch my breath, I worry I spent all my time in the moment missing it before it was gone, not even living it. Not even experiencing it. So worried about it slipping through my fingers that it did just that. 

Maybe it sounds nice to feel this way. Maybe you wish you did yourself. The emotion itself is nice—it is undeniably sweet, undeniably lived in to feel so gloriously in love with your moments that you fear them passing you by. But the accompanying fears—the accompanying web of sticky thoughts of time and death and what is coming for us, is where I begin to wish I could just live in the moment. Could stop analyzing, thinking and worrying so much. 

I just want to be. 

I’ve identified that the environments and circumstances and things that make me feel this way are timeless. It is love. It is art. It is the beating heart inside of all of us, so desperate to put down our phones. So desperate to connect. So desperate to get outside and feel. So afraid to admit we just want to be loved as much as we know we can love in return. It is a sunset everyone stops what they’re doing for (which is so human and so special). It is jumping into a cool body of water, a day on the lake, a birthday party for someone I love—watching them make a wish. It is a Taylor Swift concert or reuniting with my best friend in the middle of a hectic, crowded airport.

It is love, really though, specific instances of love, that I feel so nostalgic for as I experience them. In many ways nostalgia in general—nostalgia for the past, as we typically understand it—is always about love. It is always about a time where you loved or a thing that you loved or a person that you loved. Nostalgic films and books and songs that tug on your heart because there was a time you would’ve called them your favorite. And how beautiful is it to have had a favorite you don’t have anymore? 

I will never have high school graduation or sophomore year of college again. This is heartbreaking but also in some ways a relief. I don’t want my life to be Groundhog Day—an identical mirror of the same days, the same experiences, the same emotions over and over and over. You get one graduation day for a reason. We all just get one of so many moments. That’s just the way it is. We have to hold on so very tight to all the magic that happens around us, we have to live with the hope that more magic will always come again. I don’t want each chapter to be the same, though change is scary. If I did, I would still be receiving love from a guy who couldn’t love me like I needed to be loved—would still be experiencing the highlights of a time that pale in comparison to the highlights I have now. Maybe I’d still starve myself. Cancel plans because I was too upset when I looked in the mirror. Sometimes it has gotten better but mostly it has grown to be different—and that is a beautiful thing. 

I am so lucky to be alive. I am so lucky to observe, to feel, to absorb it all. I want my memories to look back on, to be nostalgic about, a decade from now, more than I fear the moment passing. I get drunk on the nostalgia of my college memories with the girl who lived down the hall. I sigh in wonder at the punchy little kid I was. I think of my brothers and their faces when they used to be fuller, more kid-like. I’m so lucky to have that picture of them in my mind, before they grew up and went out into the world, looking to change it. I want to live and then preserve the memory of my today more than I fear the moment passing. Because in ten years from now, when I’ve found new love, when I’ve held the hands of new friends, when I’ve seen more art, when I am enamored by my life for different reasons, when I am staring at a beautiful sunset, wordlessly, I’ll want to be able to feel truly nostalgic for today. 

In the moments where I begin to feel sad that this dinner date or ice cream cone or posed photograph will soon be a memory, I remind myself that I am here right now. My feet are on the ground, my hands are holding hers, our voices are singing the words to a song we love, I will go home and get in bed beside someone who cares for me—and it is still today. And I have to pinch myself and float back down to the moment. All I truly have is this moment, and then the memories of other moments I’ve lived in too. And for that I am rich. I am so rich. My net worth, in terms of joy I’ve experienced and love I’ve given and lives I’ve lived is in the billions, the trillions—it is infinite. 

My best friend is Brazilian and speaks Portuguese and she’s always telling me about words in Portuguese that aren’t directly translatable to English. I love that. I love language and I love words. When I looked up ‘nostalgia for the present’, I found the Portuguese word Saudade which effectively means a feeling of longing, melancholy, sadness or nostalgia for beloved moments. The word is used in this book I read in high school called The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George. And for a while, it was my favorite book. I haven’t revisited it since, but now I’d like to. In the book, the main character experiences ‘saudade of life, a soft, warm feeling of sorrow — for everything, for nothing.’ I feel that way too. 

Nostalgia will allow me to relive every moment I’ve been fortunate enough to hold close. Everything that matters. The scent of my college perfume. The shampoo she used to use that I used in a hotel bathroom that transported me back to a time ten years earlier, when my favorite word was fuck. It still is. The shirt I forgot about, stuck in the back of a drawer, that reminds me of that one night with that one girl who I don’t talk to anymore. I take a sip of a drink I always used to have back when I lived in a bedroom without windows and I feel nostalgia like a hug from my younger self, wrapping herself around me, thanking me for continuing to live. 

It is because you opened your eyes to the world and truly embraced every high and every low that this version of us still gets to experience it. She seems to say. 

And I love her, and I love you and I love this barstool where I sit, and my hands full of good words and the pillow where I rest my head, full of feathers and memories I fall asleep to. And I am grateful, and I hope you are too.