moppet

sometimes when i am feeling insecure i like to stay up late, thinking if i do this i'll fix it, if i blog if i write this letter if i finish this or do the dishes or something productive or read a happy book.

when i should really just go to bed. some days end like this and it's okay, i guess. why not? i'm tired, and for this very moment i am alone which is something i don't do enough these days anyway and maybe that's part of it.

i used to wander cork alone. ireland is a good place to wander and feel poetic about it. not alone, not empty, not wishing the perfect scene would show up and sweep you away. it's good for that, too, true, and true i did plenty of it...loitering where my love used to haunt, drinking the drink we had that night...willing my life to turn into a movie so i could montage it away and be happy without thinking.

but sometimes those wanderings turn internal and sometimes dreams breed contentedness and maybe that angle from that bridge or the way that song played just right over the vintage clothes shop was something only i would appreciate anyway. it's not greedy to not want to share sometimes. you're only here now.