Water Lilies Gently Floatingas The Golden Sky Isreflected On The Water.

Water lilies gently floating as the golden sky is reflected on the water.

stomach knots. swirling. my chest burns, lump in my throat pulses hot. i hate seeing the hope flicker in your eyes, dull lights fading. i hear your mother telling you to persevere and the strain that reflects in your face. i wish i knew how i could help you.

(other than being a very ordinary tuesday morning in july) today feels like a new beginning, as if its new years, or the first day of something new.

From Backwater Sermons by Jay Hulme

mid-year reflection; i’m 18, turning 19 in 6 months. i burnt myself out (and subsequently failed my first uni course) but i got accepted to my dream university for 2025. i kissed my girlfriend last week. i left my hometown a month ago (and i moved out 6 months before that).

i’m now more than 1500km from my hometown, but home is now my girlfriends little green van. our mornings begin with tea and our evenings frequently consist of eating pasta straight out of the pot. the betwixt is spent at waterfalls or mountains or beaches.

and how i might be broke but oh boy i’m rich.

It’s weird to grow up in a family where you know you’re loved but you don’t feel loved. And then later in adulthood you understand how almost impossible it seems to cross that distance and let yourself experience closeness, how otherworldly love feels now and how love feels unbearable at times. You flinch when someone tries to wholeheartedly love you. And over and over you see so clearly how you cannot be loved unless it's from afar and love is mixed with that familiar sensation of distance and coldness.