sometimes, in the life of a hopeless romantic, come moments where you no longer wish to wear your life on your sleeve. moments where keeping the thoughts that you pile through at night in your own head becomes important. and sometimes, in the life of a hopeless romantic, you learn that’s impossible.

so you do anything you can to let it out without revealing it - conversing in metaphor and distant example, responding in short, terse answers where friends expect you to ramble, hiding behind cryptic words and writing. and why? because it’s somehow easier - you feel as if you aren’t imparting your own problems on the world, dropping your own decisions and words onto another being, a friend. and cryptic writing? because it sells books. because people think you’re a genius for dancing around simple points - they can fill in the blanks and insert their own life… and if that’s a question, look at how well books like the alchemist or jonathon livingston seagull sell.

and then you hit moments with friends who jog you through the field of words and pull out (or trigger) a moment of clarity - often unintentionally, often when you’re fighting to listen (really listen) to what they have to say instead of just waiting to tell your own story. clarity that may only lasts seconds but will ring for days. clarity that brings calm, brings laughter.

good moments.