a list of things that feel okay:
A clean apartment. Like freshly vacuumed clean, where it almost is a bit warmer and you just collapse happily on the couch.Ā
Honey cinnamon coffee.
Allowing my lungs to expand, despite their frantic attempts to quit on me. Inhale, exhale, you know how to do this.Ā
Adding the wordĀ āmaybeā to spiraling thoughts. Maybe Iām not a piece of garbage. Maybe I wonāt fail. Maybe, maybe I am not being judged by every person who sees me.
T-shirts and sweaters that feel like youāre returning home, that donāt tug or pull or even need a second thought.
A realization that reinventing myself is a process that is always occurring, and that it may be contradictory to discuss it as a choice when it so clearly, painfully, slap-in-the-face-fully chose me.












