Lately, I've been feeling hopeful. And incredulous.
I mean, shouldn't I be more unhappy? But I'm not, and it's quite pleasant, really. Even if the world is falling down around my ears, I still have some things. Strong coffee, freshly baked cookes, and a lumpy bed to lie on.
Life is getting sloppy and delicious and dangerously fun.
My inability to rationally deal with my feelings leads to them often sweating out of my eyes, and my birthday was a beautiful, humbling surprise with my loved ones, feeling exhausted and looking like I earned those bags under my sleepy eyes. My Friday nap on the rocky shore of the lake, between roaring our cheers for our bears. My Sunday morning (and every morning) companion with me at Disneyland, squeezing me close beneath the kaleidoscopic lights and spray, carelessly laughing and belting out the best. A peek into your life: tip-toeing around creaky wood floors, messy chili burgers at midnight, the view of LA at night, and falling asleep with your hand in mine. A midday race to beat the bus, sprinting and leaping out of cars, screaming and yelling with the girls. Resting in my own bed, but a snuck-in smell of you with me. Movie-hopping terror and belting out Beauty and the Beast on repeat.
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