Originally written on April 24, 2022 I broke a small yellow tea cup a few weeks ago. A rogue spice jar of cinnamon fell out of the cupboard and landed on the cup sending it off the windowsill and on to the floor. I never really used it. It’s main purpose was to look cute. That said I really liked it. The deep yellow in contrast with the greeny-blue of my kitchen walls made me smile. The broken cup has been sitting on my kitchen table since the incident. All the little pieces are stacked inside the largest piece of the cup that survived and all of those are nestled on the unbroken saucer. I can’t bring myself to throw them away.

I slipped for a moment forgot you existed all my troubles quietly slipped away the release went unnoticed the relief was overwhelming feeling free awake to possibility hoping for something more allowing myself to enjoy a blissful moment then i remembered

Originally written on June 5, 2022 The sweet relief of connection filling the inner cup that has been thirsting for a refill laughter brining new air in what once felt like a routine now feels like a prize grateful still longing for more

Originally written on April 26, 2022 i am a human being messy needy imperfect full of life i am valid so are my feelings i am allowed to be complicated to feel more than one thing at a time i don’t need to figure everything out i can’t control everything i’m trying i’m here that’s enough

Originally written on June 2, 2022 Letters I would never send sit in my mind occasionally I rewrite them obsess over the exact wording so you’ll know how you made me feel the way you impacted my life how you being you made me less me I want to write mean things to you want to blame you for it all to articulate it clearly put it plainly so there’s no misunderstanding some of these letters have been collecting dust for decades others only a few years they all sit together a disheveled pile that gets sorted through when I want to feel bad picking at the emotional scab trying to prove to myself what I don’t deserve for long stretches of time they go untouched unedited unread feeling free feeling good they are never completely forgotten