And writing always helps all this mess sort itself out.
These are a few thoughts.
I miss the summer with my whole self. The summer is so much simpler than the rest of life. I don’t even know why. You just feel twelve in the summer, even if you have some very grown up experiences and some very grown up feelings.
I have finally put away some parts of my life that have been around since I was 17. I constantly ask myself why certain things happened that summer; why I met her and why I felt like I did and why those feelings evolved into something too big for my adolescent brain to comprehend. I always went back to those feelings. I couldn’t leave them alone. They were too real and too good to leave alone. In my mind, I had come up with about a hundred trillion different possibilities for how things could work but it just won’t work. I have said about a thousand times that I am over it, but today was the first day that I could say this honestly. I don’t regret any of it.
I walked alone to my apartment from the library tonight around 10:30. I was listening to the Beatles. I don’t remember what song and it absolutely doesn’t matter. I slipped my flip flops off and walked bare foot in front of the Joseph F. Smith Building and I looked at the moon and it was the same moon that I’ve seen at least 8,000 times and I felt like a human being.
Speaking of being, a question that I am forever asking myself is the following, penned by someone else: Are we human? Or are we dancers?
Esther Valora Harsh is, perhaps, one of the greatest people with whom I have had the pleasure of associating. And I have dealt with some great ones.
I love speaking Spanish. If you think about it all day, you will eventually speak it fluidly and beautifully.
I struggle with social awkwardness. I love being around people and I consider myself to be outgoing. But I just have some weirdnesses that need working out.
On a related note, I need more friends.
Obi-Wan Kenobi is definitely my favorite Jedi.
Tumblring in the BYU library is a semi-awkward experience, incidentally.
I love myself for who I was. I love myself even more for who I am, and what I can be.
Moreover, I want to be loved for who I am and for who I can be.