I had on a jacket this morning, first time in days. The cold weather hit the skin of my face and I was aware of winter, of what time it is I am actually living in. This, like the warm weather of the past couple days, felt nice. Something can feel nice and its opposite can as well - the pleasure of one need not negate the pleasure of the other.
I texted a guy yesterday. I got his number at a party this weekend, this cute boy I want to make out with. Via text, I asked him if he wanted to come over. Via this same medium of letters appearing on the screen of a phone, he let me know that he was already out of town with his family. I texted another guy. He was working late then had dinner plans. I took a nap on my bed, looking at Scruff, again trying to bring about some physical connection via metal and glass, hocus pocus, chatting with people half-heartedly, wanting something and thinking I could maybe find it there.
I thought about friendships, current and past ones. I thought about romance, about what it means to like a person. I mentally wrote letters to a lot of people from my past last night, thought all the things I would like to tell them from this current vantage point I inhabit, enough time and enough things having happened to me to let me see how wrong I often was.
I am free. I am happy. There might be some causality between those two statements.
The wind, cold slap of winter reasserting itself, felt great this morning. I buttoned my coat against it and pressed forward, bag full of clothes on my back, a shopping bag full of presents in my hand, heading on a train this evening from work, bound elsewhere, towards some iteration of home.
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