Two Paper Airplanes Flying

It happened, but there’s still an entire world out there to see. There’s no time travel, no machine that will let you correct everything, and sometimes that’s what is best for us. I completed the outline of my second novel a few weeks ago. I sat there in disbelief that so much happened in one year. Apart of me opened it last night, 15 pages into the rough draft, and wished I could rewrite a couple of things. Because I’ve chosen to take the Fiction route, and tell the story (my story) from an outsider’s perspective, I learned more about myself in these moments. You want to say something different, you don’t want to give in so easily, but we cave. We’re human. But we’re growing with every second.

I made brownies, and knew the pan was scorching, but nothing stopped me from moving my hand closer to it as I snuck a piece out. Throwback to 2014 when I turned that into a metaphor, I thought it was what was best for me in that moment, because I also learned the repercussions of waiting too long.

A friend of mine told me it never gets any easier to say goodbye, and I reassured him that it’s one less goodbye you’ll have to say. I reminded myself that when I was an ocean away from my mother over these last 3 months. 20 years old, and I still look behind me to see if my parents are walking along with me.

She left me with a leather bound journal, from Florence just like my blue one from the Summer. A significant moment in one’s character during adulthood, is to learn to do things on your own. When I found myself stuck, and unsure of what move to make I’d often write letters in the journal to her. But after 20 years, I know exactly what her response will be.

When you’re coming down a mountain, and basque in the glory of a lit up city, you don’t think about anything else. To leave a city of 2 million and spend 3 weeks solely surrounded by family members, teaches you an important lesson in patience, and presence. My Aunt came around the table one Sunday collecting cellphones. 3/4 were instantly concerned about cutting off contact with significant others, I was halfway through Looking for Alaska and was concerned about where the plot was headed. (Ps: I lasted the longest)

I only started writing during the last week of my vacation. I tried to spew out some poetry on the Island, but I kept thinking about jet lag, and the plane rides awaiting me. Until I sat on my bed January 3rd, and unleashed piece after piece. Sent them around to friends to get opinions, and Diana (a name mentioned many times before) pulled a line out that I never found important until she showed me. I wrote, you fight for the love you write about. Then I kept that line in the back of my mind and couldn’t fall asleep. Because I didn’t intentionally mean to write that, but it was exactly what I needed to hear.

But this year I’ll fight for the love I deserve. But I’ll tell you more about that Sunday.



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