On Letters Written In Someone Else’s Diary
I’ve been thinking a lot about healthy relationships lately. I’m no Buddhist, but I always thought true happiness came with unbearable struggle. With beauty comes inconsolable pain. To me success (in anything: relationships, work, school) always felt like death; success is an end. Success meant that you were finished. Finished meant settled, meant boredom, meant an inevitable apathy. I thought that to be “happy” like everyone else, I’d have to be bored or stupid. I don’t think I was necessarily wrong, persay; most happy people are both bored and stupid. But it wasn’t as inescapable as I once thought. People say if you do everything right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all. Sometimes it feels like I’ve spent my whole life struggling for no reason at all. But I ended up here, the only place I ever want to be, and the only place I know I no longer need to fight. In all the time I spent as an atom, drifting through pillars of sunlight between trees and cherries and ikea chairs, building schools and bridges and spider webs, until finally forming me, I’ve never felt such magnetism. I love you for everything you are, and everything you aren’t. I love you for making me stupidly happy.
Some people make us feel more human and some people make us feel less human and that is a fact as much as gravity is a fact and maybe there are ways to prove it, but the proof of it matters less that the existence of it—how a stranger can show up and look at you and make you make more sense to yourself and the world, even if that sense is extremely fragile and only comes around occasionally and is prone to wander or fade—what matters is that sometimes sense is made between two people and I don’t know if it’s random or there is any kind of order to it, what combinations of people work the best and why and how do we find these people and how do we keep these people around, and I don’t know if it’s chaos or not chaos but it feels like chaos to me so I suppose it is.
A romantic getaway to London to see Tyler the Creator.
That’s my kind of vacation.