Oh dear. I guess it’s been since Valentine’s Day, hasn’t it?
I confess I haven’t been my usual self. The move to this charming little city has been colder than I anticipated
Loneliness, boredom, nostalgia, stifling New England personalities. They’re a recipe for regret. I’ve slept on so many things in the past five or so years and every person, thing, or place I’ve ever loved is in love with someone or something or someplace else because they never knew that I loved them. I guess I didn’t know either. And so they gave up and moved on.
But I’m still here and I’ve sewn my wild oats too late and missed the harvest or something like that.
So I’m going to revel in the thought of magical beds where I can sleep, perchance to dream. And in my dream, I’d go back those 5 years and change everything. Because I believe in regret.
Here’s something from my journal about someone far away in a weird corner of my heart. Virginia really was for lovers.
We had sex in an abandoned boat and then we sat on the beach and looked at the stars and you laughed at me because I thought Mir was still orbiting. Then you crafted me a jewelry box and filled it with cards and golden bees and I missed out on the beauty of it all because I was too young to notice.
I promise the next post will be full of promise (and will come more quickly than months ahead).