the world is so incredibly loud, but my brain is the quietest it’s been in a long while. somehow, through all the noise and clutter I have found a glimmer of sun peeking through. my thoughts are filled with hopes for the future instead of being painfully aware of the past. it probably won’t last for long, but I’m going to bask in my happiness for as long as it’s here.
for as long as I can remember, my momentary happiness was always eclipsed by something bigger and louder. I may have found the antidote, though. I have to make myself bigger and louder. I have to not let those other stupid fucking things cloud what beams of hope seep through. the pessimist in me is shaking their head as I’m typing this, but their time is not now. now I get to be happy.
I went to see a movie in a theater a few days ago. it’s truly one of my favorite things to do. I saw petit Mama and it genuinely changed the way I view my mother and how I view grief. that film made me want to go home and hug my mom. the beauty of a wonderful film is that you see the world a little bit differently when you step out of the theater. my boyfriend and I just kept saying how beautiful life is on the way home. that is before we began deconstructing our relationships to grief.
there is a certain beauty in grief. the people that we once knew are not here anymore, but their memory lingers. one comparison that may be distasteful, but I believe to be accurate, is that grief is like the smell of weed. it stays with you: on your clothes, your skin, in the air. even the smallest whiff of it when you’re out and about reminds you of past run-ins with it. it’s strong and unforgettable. slowly over time, you begin to appreciate those little reminders.