Not Romantic Not Platonic But A Secret Third Thing [what Would Happen Between Earth And The Moon If The

Sometimes it hits me that there’s just no way to avoid the pain of the ending of relationships. I have tried and failed to just not make connections with the people around me. I’ve experienced, according to my therapist and Google statistics, more than the average amount of deaths-of-close-loved-ones, abuse, shunning, and whatnot. Makes sense. But sometimes I look at new friends, old friends, potential futures, and all I can see is me sitting on my bathroom floor the night after my fiancé died, feeling so much pain I didn’t know if I would ever come out the other side of it at all. And I think, “that’s the price of this. That’s what you know this will end in, and you chose it anyway.” And as inspiring as that is (like: testament to the power of love that I’d choose it even when it’s so painful), it’s also just exhausting. Like, I’ve been through the funerals, and the angry goodbyes, and the email goodbyes, and the crying at the airport, and the sort-of-happy-crying over new babies and marriages, and the last outings with close friends before moving away, and the last Sundays before leaving churches, and the thought of doing it all again, worth it or not, is exhausting. It’s just exhausting. Like how grandparents just aren’t able to raise babies because they’ve already done it and they’re old and retired and tired now. That’s how I feel. I’m tired.

And yet

If I bump into your cart at the supermarket, I’m going to laugh and apologize and tell you I like your sweater and if you’re friendly and not on a tight schedule that day you might smile and strike up a conversation, and we might share a love of some item in both of our baskets and I’ll offer you a recipe that uses it and then two years later I’m texting you to see if you want to meet up for coffee at our usual spot and at that point I care about you and you care about me and we’re friends and if you tell me you have terminal cancer I’ll be fucking devastated.

There’s no way to avoid these things. There’s no way to meet a quota. As long as I’m alive, my heart is always at risk of shattering into a billion tiny aching pieces from one phone call, one conversation, one funeral. I love the ones I love now, and I choose love in my life. And I’m tired.

Did you know? Or did you forget? You can do whatever you want with your art. Put random scribbles wherever. Horizontal lines over your character. Add dots everywhere and on everything. Draw eyes different than the rest of the face. Change art styles halfway through. Cut and glue paper cutouts. Use paints and markers together. Use all the filters. Use photos on top to add texture.

You can do what you want. Like literally literally literally.

Add a rubber ducky in the corner for no reason, put text in different languages on the background, leave your handprints or wipe your fingers on the paper.

Go have fun now this stuff isn't meant to be stressful for you

there is no old self to get back to there’s a new u to create n nurture

a second beam of hope has stricken my heart

cool self isolation bro now what if the people you’re hiding from truly love you and want to care for you

Please does anybody have the picture of the orange kitten sitting in front of old yellowed wood paneling and it’s smiling like this. The post where I saw it went something like “little kids before they learn how to smile in photos”

i hope that in 2025 u get to take more walks, read more books, connect with more people whom u love and who love u, achieve ur goals (even if ur goals are having no goals and just living in the moment), exercise fun hobbies, move from a place of self-direction, and weave together a beguiling assortment of beautiful little moments. remember that no feeling lasts forever. love u

Our inquiry for the pronouns of the most humble man alive was refused, "I haven't done anything that makes me worth talking about in third person"