Her tears made a puddle on the clean white tabletop, and she dried them away with her sleeve. She asked if her mascara had smudged. I told her it had not. She’d never been an ugly crier. And she went silent, that silence that is hopefully, desperately, expecting the listener to extend advice, a hand, a […]Read More Tabletop talks.
Right now she’s weaving in and out of unfamiliar faces, dragging a suitcase behind her. Waiting for her flight to be called. Waiting to land in the uncertainty of the weekend. She’s trying to be brave, but the lukewarm coffee sloshes in her paper cup, reminding her how utterly alone she feels. She thought this time would work. […]Read More The sun will come out tomorrow.
This is what you look like to me :: a whole lot of brave, wrapped up in a whole lot of fear. And it’s time to love the brave out of you and put the fear to rest. You deserve to take up space here; you matter here. So walk like you do. / / […]Read More Let’s speak tiny declarations and small truths over ourselves until we believe them.
If a) we are essentially strangers, b) we grab coffee, and c) you ask me to tell you who I am or my story, I probably won’t maintain eye contact. I’ll start talking, but I’ll fidget with my clothes. I’ll mess with my hair [especially if it’s curly], and I’ll put my hand behind my neck or draw […]Read More Come, matter here. [A letter for someone who is struggling deeply tonight.]
And then we were a year and a half into our friendship and we were on the phone at 3am and I was realizing my brutal honesty was burning all of our bridges and it was too late to turn back. Because as dumb as it sounds, Pinterest and tumblr are right: You’re afraid […]Read More Ground zero.
Dear you, I’m not sure who I’m writing to tonight, but I know where you’re at. I’ve been there. And I didn’t think I was going to make it out. But I have. I’m here and my heart is still beating, and I feel more alive in this moment than I have in a really […]Read More A letter for the one who doesn’t think they’ll make it out.
We broke crackers and dipped chips into salsa and port wine cheese balls, and made chamomile tea at 11pm. And we called it church. She’s roughly fifteen years older than me, but whenever we gather in her old farmhouse kitchen, the kids asleep upstairs and a pile of crayons at the corner of her counter, I […]Read More Kitchen-counter church.
Monday, you’re hard. Especially when I come off a weekend and feel anything but rested, walking into the week with a laundry list of things (and laundry) to do and no idea if I’ll to make it through. At this point we’re all tired and need more than a two day weekend to recover. I don’t remember anyone telling […]Read More Monday, please pick me up.
(the post before this one) I hadn’t been back in four months, four months since I packed up my car and left for good. I planned to visit, and I would keep to that plan, but there would be no comeback, no “I changed my mind, I’m staying.” It was final, and I was completely […]Read More When you return, remember to take pictures.
By the end of the weekend, the random bursts of tears in the car, the hotel room, and the restaurant, had turned to sobbing. The kind of sobbing that makes your body convulse, snot and tears mixing, the emotion turning completely physical. The girl stood in the middle of the tiny dorm room, screaming because she didn’t […]Read More Nashville.