empathic
To share time with adults I find myself nauseatingly simple. I spend all my waking hours with a 2 year old and embody his fresh curiosity, single word sentences, balance walking along parking markers.. I’m always happy and it’s beautiful. But good god, to relate to adults is hard. I am nostalgic for the young women who lived alone. Whose thoughts took abstract shapes with new ideas collecting like dust in all the empty corners of her apartment. She lived like an artist. Her rooms were one large studio of projects in various stages of incompletion. Now, I live like a child with disorganized activity areas strewn through each room.
My life isn’t me, and it won’t be for a long time. I’m 2 years old again, and I can only hope to undo my childhood conditioning of emotional suppression. Cursed beautiful empathy.
