in review

/wah—bee, saa—bee/

adjective

1: a way of living that often focuses on finding beauty in that which is imperfect, impermanent, or incomplete.

“the cracked vase, though irreparable, evoked a sense of wabi sabi”

//cracked leather binding of an aging book / chipped terracotta pots housing blooming buds / crooked crowded teeth framed by persimmon lips/ peeling paint on the cottage windowsill / vines tangled in the broken lattice//

○

a year is a long time.

I mean I know time is relative and a social construct and just a way for us to feel a little more in control of our lives or something like that but like a year is a long time.

I’m different. New place job cat friends car depression crunchyroll account man. Crack me open like a tree and you’d see twenty-seven rings but I feel like I’ve aged threefold and how does that work anyway.

And I learned that love can make me feel like a hummingbird topographical map piece of cut fruit left on the table to rot, the smell of decay suffocating every living thing that comes near me filling their lungs til choking, disgusting.

I digress.

This is the way the world works, tough clutch and holding. No apology, no excuse keep your head down and get through—is what I’d like to say. But things are better seen with starry eyes and strong shoulders.

Its not the end even though my heart is in my ankles and my brain has shrunk and everything I gained I also lost. Yet it feels that way.

Still, I go on.