I went to the mountains in December and it was beautiful. I hiked frozen trails and returned to a cabin with no running water or electricity and I felt content. It was cold and hard and miserable. It was exactly what I needed.
I don’t have that today. There are days when I feel happy. Today, my greatest misery is not finding my tears.
I feel unusual in the way that I’ve been counting. I’ve never kept elaborate timelines. My cousin’s wife reminded me when 30 days had passed. I was visiting, and her words took the breath out of me. It always feels like yesterday.
One year ago, I was celebrating Chinese New Year with two of my best friends. I found out recently that one of these friends now lives near by me, near my new city. We came to the mountains this weekend. It was beautiful and perfect and I don’t care.
I don’t keep time like other people. I don’t count the weeks, even when I have a good idea of their distance. I think about milestones, maybe. I think about what we would both be doing in this time and place. I think about these drastic differences.
Adrian’s birthday is coming up in June. I’ve decided I want to make him a cake. But is it for him, or is it for me? Who in the world gets to blow out the candles?
I live in a world where time has no meaning. I live here now, if you call this living.