Ten.Five Hundred & Ninety-Three
The sound of rain.
He’s sleeping with his legs crossed. Even now, in their growing bodies, the way they sleep mirrors much of the way they slept as babies: arched backs, fists at the chin, legs crossed, arms overhead.
A little bit of sun.
Resistance. Just not feeling it. Could also just be the stress of it all.
The fear of missing out.
Culture over everything. But how sometimes that philosophy makes it hard to do the things you need or have to do.
The rain is back.
What do I want to be when I grow up?
“…that life can be perfectly satisfying without major achievements.” - “Too Much Happiness”, Alice Munro
That feeling you get when you realize that life still is not set up in such a way for you to do everything you want to do, but that it is primed for the kind of work that your heart’s been longing to do. There is time for the writing. There is time to be the greatest writer I can be. If only I weren’t so afraid of the work required.