029 - love letters // second spaces
for a long time, i have been feeling particularly broken. not exactly fallen through the cracks of society, but maybe lying on society’s kitchen floor. like i can’t quite get myself to work within normal lives, like there isn’t quite space for someone like me in this world. i have been making it through, in no small part with the help of some truly wonderful people i’m incredibly fortunate to have in my life, but the feeling remains.
i’ve never really known what to do about it.
it leaves me suffused with this sense of restlessness. can’t sit still, can’t relax in a world that i’ve never quite managed to feel comfortable in.
and in this restlessness, i stumble around, try to find spaces where i feel safe. but it always feels like im grasping, always feels too little, too late.
i’ve never been good at writing love letters. for the longest part of my life, i was always trapped in a certain kind of writing, too precise, too clean. i've just started to feel like i'm able to break out of it, but now so often my writing feels messy, obscured. trying to write an honest impression of my heart just ends up feeling clumsy and stilted, like i'm trying to talk from behind a pane of glass that's all fogged and dirty.
but i have a lot of wonderful people in my life, and a lot of love in my heart for them, and i struggle to think of a motivation i'd like to pursue more, so i still try. and so often, my words come out wrong. too impersonal, too scared. too familiar. talking in circles, talking around the point too much.
but i don't think that's ever been the point of them. as messy as they are, as much as i'd like to be able to express myself better - they're still mine. i treasure writing them as a space where i'm able to, where i want to write them raw and emotional and imperfect.
so what is there to do, what is left for me to say here? i don’t really know. call it unsatisfying, but i think that sometimes, things just need to exist.
but i can promise - i will get up, and try again. i will keep going, with the belief - with the knowledge, that one day i will be able to carve a space that fits me. i will keep writing love letters, messy, imperfect, mine.
i guess i fucked it up again, but all i can do is try, try, try, try
all i can do is try, try, try, try
~