the years that grew me

spotify playlists. winter nights i fall asleep in a tank-top (warm bedroom, low heating bill). a room with a built-in bookshelf. spontaneous sunday morning coffee with my brother. night train rides over the brooklyn bridge - the empire state building, the chrysler building all lit up. dark cherry floorboards. bedtimes past midnight. unexpected text messages. subway reading. late dinners at whole foods, scrolling through tumblr. bus rides to maine. weekend drives through ct. cups of coffee. a wide wooden windowsill. thoughts of red lip stain, i can if i want.

"tiny beautiful things." how quickly i forget.

it feels as though i am beginning again. so i will begin again. to collect the tiny beautiful things. which are hardly ever things at all.

below - a half complete post, written a few days before the hurricane hit, before i had even an inkling that life would change again, before i left that house and never really returned. perhaps i knew change was coming, the way the barometric pressure drops before a storm. or perhaps i had no idea, because months later, it feels a bit like the storm should have been over years ago and yet it's not over yet.

collect the tiny beautiful things. a reminder, for myself, as i begin again.

"It might be  Meg's post still lingering in my thoughts (as her posts tend to do), but as I grabbed my towel this morning and headed for the shower, I had a surprising and distinct thought:

This is all going to pass by in an instant and I'm going to miss it. 

There is a lot to unpack in that brief thought, but I'll say this much for now: It is the first time I have looked around at less than ideal living circumstances and felt it all coming to an end. The small bedrooms, the bathrooms shared with so many that towels are kept in our rooms, the closets packed full because it's the best place to store all the things, the only place to store all the things. 

It is the first time I haven't pleaded with the universe to grant me unending space - a place of my own at the very least. It was a sudden realization that this phase of my life (roommates and shared fridges) will end soon and when it does I'll think of these years (so many years) as the years that grew me." 

[october twenty four, two thousand twelve] 

[tiny beautiful things, of course, is her phrase]