The conflict between your freedom and how much of it you’re actively living.
I want to be single so I can go on delicious dates with someone I like, who makes me conscious.
And yet I feel on these dates a side that is hesitant about giving too much of my innate capacity for love. The distractions of bubbling emotion, egged on by the confidence one receives for spending time with a lover, is a questionable pursuit. Plus there is the other end of love, the end of it.
Every season is one for falling in love, but they all smell the same.
Today is a day that I wish I had a cat, one that would check in on me, unconditionally adore a snuggle without me feeling like maybe I’m giving them too much attention. I feel like they’ve let me in. Am I a shitty person for taking my time?