There’s some weird satisfaction I get when I sit crisscrossed on my bed. It seems like something people do when they are young according to some indie films I’ve watched.
I was listening to Nina Nesbitt’s “Still Waiting to Start” again, and her reflections about the intense feelings she had in her youth seem more intense than ever. Drinking in the park really seemed liked the most wild experience I’ve had back then, and now it seems so far ago. In many ways, it echoes to this life I had but also did not have. It was a life I wished had more moments like that, but that part of life is already over. It was so temporary, and it is only at the end of that life I realized how to navigate that life. In so many ways, I feel like I’ve been waiting for life to start for me. I wanted to realize this aesthetic of what I wanted life to be, and I had come so close at one point in realizing it. Now, life has moved on, and it’s a different part of life that I navigate. I am still waiting for the last part of my life to start while waiting for this part of my life to end.
Things are familiar now. I arranged my room in a different fashion, but the world as a whole seems more familiar. I have faith in my ability to reside here. It is more welcoming than it once was. It’s less cold. It’s winter, but it’s less cold. It’s comfortable.