I feel both completely exhausted and like I could run for miles, which makes no sense but here we are, cosmo snoring at my feet, the floor still gritty from the beach and the way the light is hitting the monstera leaves makes them look almost… fake, like a movie set pretending to be real, and that’s it, isn’t it, the feeling that this is all some elaborate joke, that any minute now someone’s going to yell cut and i’ll be back in ohio, staring at spreadsheets, but then i breathe, and the salt air fills my lungs, and the ache in my shoulders from surfing reminds me that no, this is not a dream, this is just… life, absurd and improbable and mine, and the weight of that… sometimes it’s crushing, sometimes it’s… liberating, and the not knowing which it will be from one moment to the next is maybe the hardest part, but also… the most… alive, yeah, that’s the word, the most goddamn ALIVE i’ve ever been. almost deleted this, again, because who even cares, right, but then i remembered what @holdingacandle said about the joy being earned and not… accidental, and maybe that applies to the other stuff too, the messy stuff, the stuff that doesn’t fit neatly into a box, the stuff that just… is, and maybe the courage isn’t in naming it, but in… letting it live, in letting it breathe, in letting it just… be, without needing to justify it or explain it or even understand it, just… letting it exist, alongside all the other things, all the other feelings, all the other… shapes that make up this strange, improbable, utterly inexplicable life. i'm not sure what i’m supposed to do with any of this, except… exist, right, just… be here, mango-handed and a little bit lost and cosmically… itchy, and maybe that’s enough, maybe that’s all it’s ever been, just… this, this moment, this breath, this… prickle of something i can’t quite name, but i’m not trying to name it anymore, i’m just… letting it be, because the ocean doesn't need my permission, and neither does this, whatever this IS.