day 100

One hundred days since I started writing.
How much has changed in one hundred days?

One hundred days ago,
I was working in a job that made me miserable,
I was in a relationship that wasn’t making me happy and I didn’t know what to do about it,
I was relatively healthy –
or at least I didn’t know how sick I was.

Now I am in a new job,
and I am struggling but I leave each day happy.
I left that relationship and discovered my propensity for cruelty
and my complete lack of empathy.
I started chemotherapy and had an ovary removed
and I have come to terms with the fact
that nothing will go back to how it was
and that’s okay.

One hundred days ago,
I decided to stop screaming into the void
and start whispering into a crowded room.

I learned to be my own summer.

my deep dark fear

In my twenty three years on this planet,
I have met countless people.
How many of them I like is one matter.
How many I could see myself loving
for the rest of my life
(however long that may be)
is another.
The notion that one day,
I may grow old with someone
terrifies me to my very core –
how do I know when I have met that person?
What if I already have
and I was too blind to see it?

In a world so full of people,
individuals with their own likes and dislikes
and ambitions and goals
and motivators and passions,
how can I be so scared
of ending up alone?