Et puis merde.

Like I’m obsessed with little things. Maybe I’m crazy, but when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late for school. One day she followed me to see why; I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk, or ants crossing the road; the way a leaf cast a shadow on a tree trunk; little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see little details in them, so specific to each of them, that move me, and that I miss, and will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. Like I remember the way your beard has a bit of red in it. And how the sun was making it glow that morning, right before you left. I remember that, and I missed it.

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.

You either like me or you don’t. It took me Twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else.