07.20.03
I love summer.
I’ve been hecticly busy the last two weeks, but I’ve smiled and loved and been happier than in so long. The last two weekends were busy and eventful enough to fill ten pages, but I’ll try and keep it brief for your benefit.
I last wrote on the fourth; I don’t really remember what I did in the following week. I know that Tuesday we had a goodbye party for Carter: me, Reid, Kitz, Spoon, Patrick, Smoore, and Matt. We swam in the lake and then hit up Fourth Street for some cheese fries and funness. One of those nights I spent a good deal of time watching X-files on my computer’s DVD player. That was fun. One of those nights I watched Pod People MST3K style with the aforementioned lake people. One of those nights I climbed. Then it was the weekend, and Nationals.
The USCCA National Climbing Championship was at Peak last weekend. Come on. You know that’s cool. We had some three hundred competitors and a ton of parents milling about the place, plus a dozen new routes professionally set by…well, professionals. Like, the internationally-known types. It was rad. I’d spent a lot of time Wednesday and Thursday goofing off at the gym and working a bit and helping out because it’s really exciting to get a place ready for such a big-deal event. I also got to work with Hans Florine, who’s one of the most famous speed climbers ever. He’s a nice guy, too. Speed climbing is goofy and silly and I wasn’t a fan, but meh, whatever makes you happy. I guess.
So the comp was Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I got to the gym at seven am on Friday, had coffee, and worked as a runner for the first session and a belayer for the second session. It’s kind of stressful to do anything at this high a level of competition, because it’s so important to everyone there. Especially the parents; there were some nutso parents there. But it was awesome to see the competitors making friends and goofing off and sharing beta and being friendly, because that’s what climbers are: friendly. I also saw some of the coolest chalkbags EVER…one had a fuzzy spider on it, one was hot pink and fuzzy and had eyes, one was made out of astro-turf…just neat stuff.
After the comp on Friday, Andrew, Christine, Stine, Alex, Aaron, and I went to Hugenot Woods for the rope-swing. We swam a bit, told jokes, I got raped by the rope, Aaron almost did too…it was awesome. Then I came home and positively crashed. Nana had been there for the week, too, so that was [not] fun; I hung out with her and mom and dad for about an hour before I absolutely died. I’d told Dom I’d be at the gym at ten ‘till nine the next day, but I actually got there a little after nine. It was fine; I was scheduled to belay in the afternoon session, so I just sorta hung out and goofed off and watched people climb for a few hours.
The climbing that weekend was astounding. I saw Andrew and Christine and Elissa and Austin and Chris and Stine do some neat stuff, and they’re all amazing and I love them all, but I also saw guys hang onto tiny crimps or horrible slopers and make dodgy clips, I watched people scream as their feet cut from an overhung bit, I saw some huge whippers, and I watched the crowd react as a unit, heads craned upward, gasping and cheering and following every move with mouths hanging open. I could tell from the cheers across the gym when someone fell, made a new high point, or sent the route. Peak has never been more alive than it was that weekend.
That afternoon I left during my lunch break to pack up for Prom and the next day; I wouldn’t be coming home until late Sunday night, and I had to say goodbye to Nana. I headed back to the gym, belayed Donald Rumsfield’s granddaughter (no joke; he was there with Secret Service and everything), and then headed off to Christine’s house to get ready. I showered, dressed, and went to Trip’s to meet everyone. Seeing the whole crowd dressed up and wearing Chacos was awesome, and everyone looked great. Dave’s date Michelle was Krys’ doppelganger, I swear, and Trip and I rode with them in Dave’s mom’s convertible to Bottom’s Up for dinner.
We turned quite a few heads, which was fun; we told the waiters it was Summer School Prom, then we decided that Katie and Jon were getting married and tried to get free drinks. Trip made a toast instead, which was amusing. The whole thing was amusing. Then to Clayton’s for the dancing and such.
There wasn’t actually that much dancing; there was a bit of goofing off and a little bit of learning and a bit of sex in the woods, and I took part in all but the latter. The party itself wasn’t really that great. I spent most of my time hanging out with Dave and Michelle. There wasn’t much dancing, and everyone was more concerned with hooking up with their dates (except me and Trevor), so it was pretty lame. Rob was there, though, which was nice, since I’d not seen him in a few weeks. Jeff was still in California, but I saw him on Wednesday, so everyone’s back together again. Rah.
I went back to Suz’s and crashed around four am, and then got up around eight fifteen so Kati could take me back to my car and I could get to the gym. I stopped at Starbuck’s for a wake-me-up, but I actually felt pretty good, considering the late night I’d had previous. I watched the girls’ 18-19 finals route, and it was super-exciting. Everyone did well; Christine finished tenth, but that was because of a slippery hold and sucked quite a bit. Andrew finished seventh, which is incredible, and Austin won, which is just phenomenal. He’s eleven, adorable, and awesome. It was super-exciting, and cheering for people I didn’t know was just as much fun as encouraging those I did. The boys 16-17 finals were all I really watched, but they were incredible; big falls and lots of unbelievable hanging-on. I wish I’d competed this year; I’m competitive by nature and I love climbing, and it looked like so much fun. But oh well; watching was not a bad way to spend the weekend either.
After the difficulty finals on Sunday was speed climbing, and I got coerced into working that; Dom let me clock in, which was okay. I did the first bit of that, and then we all went to Matt Londrey’s house to swim for a while, then back to Peak for the awards ceremony. Following, the boys wanted to climb the comp routes, but they had to help clean up first. I went to Christine’s where we unbraided her hair (it was HUGE), then back to the gym to help clean up. Instead of getting an hour to climb, we got several; Chris F-J stayed with us and worked, then Laz came and we goofed off some in the bouldering cave; I got to set, which doesn’t mean I’m any good, but does mean I had fun. Brian, Andrew, Alex, Chris, Aaron, and I stayed and played for a good six hours; I flashed some of the routes, which was really nice, and just felt strong, something I’ve not felt at the gym in a long, long time. I also really talked to Laz for the first time; he’s quiet around people he doesn’t know, but is an awesome person. He wanted to hear all about Prom and had some insightful things to say about Passages staff that I completely agree with but had never thought of before.
I got home around one and crashed, then was at work again at ten the next day. Unfortunately, I was supposed to be there at nine thirty. Luckily, Jay and Scott were super-understanding; we didn’t open until ten anyway, and that was just to competitors, and they knew I’d been pulling insane hours all weekend. They’re awesome like that. I did about forty belay tests (well, not really forty, but a bunch), and then hung out with some cute competitors who were there climbing. After I finished my shift, I bouldered with them for a while. Northstar was there, which is the special-needs camp Patton runs. Dave was there working it, and I’d had a lovely chat with him earlier when he’d gotten there. So I’m bouldering (actually, at this point, I think I was sacked out on the crash pads and watching Ian and Isaac bouldering), and heard a crash. I thought someone had just hit the ground really hard, and then I saw Patton sprinting across the gym. I panicked; one of the camp kids had fallen or something major; I stood up and headed in that direction, trying to keep people back but unable to resist my natural urge to see what was happening.
There was a crowd of people around someone who was lying on the ground and moaning in pain. I couldn’t see who it was, so I backed off and tried to get the kids away. Jay was on the phone with 911 and I heard him say it was a 21-year-old male, and I got confused; I thought it was a kid. I went back to get some information from him and finally saw who had fallen: it was Dave. That was when I lost it.
Something about being at the gym for four days solid, the intensity of the comp, being around incredible friends all weekend, the lack of sleep, the stress, and the general emotion of the last few days suddenly snapped inside me when I realized that was my friend. I turned my back and faced Ian and Isaac, who were not quite sure what to do with themselves. I realized I was near tears, and tried to hide it; I don’t really know why. I talked to them for a few minutes and then said good-bye. I’ll never see them again. That’s odd. I told Jay I was leaving unless he thought I could do any good at the gym; I didn’t. He didn’t either, so I left. I tried calling Christine and Aaron and anyone else I could think of as I left; I needed to be around friends. I couldn’t find anyone, so I headed home, sobbing the whole way. I got home just as I collected myself and called Aaron again. He and Andrew were looking for a ride to the gym and could I help them out? Surely. I put up an away message, told Dad I was leaving and didn’t know when I’d be back, and headed right back the way I came. By the time I got to Aaron’s, I was fine; as composed as I was going to be but still freaked out. I took them to the gym, then went back out and went to Barnes & Noble. The minute I walked into that bookstore I felt better. I wandered around for a bit, bought a blank book, took it back to Peak, and sacked out on a crash pad to write. It felt good.
I put my finger on what snapped inside me on the ride home from the gym. Climbing is a damn dangerous sport. People die doing it all the time. Ropes break. Gear fails. Human error, like in Dave’s case, and everything else. It’s dangerous. But we do it because we love it. Because something inside drives us to climb. I lived climbing for almost a solid week; it was all I could think about, and I was so happy. I saw huge whippers, I saw amazing moves, I saw people almost deck and kick belayers in the face and hit the wall. And it was incredible. But people get hurt. And people die. It’s a dangerous game we play, but we eventually learn to accept that and after a point we stop thinking about that because worrying about that isn’t worth it. But when I saw Dave lying on the ground in pain, it just clicked for me. We could all die climbing. Someone I know will die climbing. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in thirty years. And suddenly two and a half years of ignored risk hit me and that was it. I was scared for myself and for everyone I love, even though I never have been before. And it was a shock.
Of course, I’ve since gotten over that. But for a few hours I was blown away. I don’t really know how else to describe it. Dave is fine; we all knew he could be. He broke a vertebrae, and he might never climb or boat again. But it could have been so much worse. Dave could have died. And the thought that a close friend of mine, a wonderful person, could have been killed twenty feet from me doing something we both love…it’s terrifying.
So that was that. That night I stayed late again to climb, didn’t climb as well as I would have liked, but still had fun. I waited for Andrew to finish setting, then he and Andrew and Alex and I went to his house to watch Eddie Izzard, which I’d brought along. Except I hadn’t; I’d brought the DVD box and not the DVD. Fuck. We rented a Robin Williams show instead, which was funny, but not as funny as his other stuff. Alex left sometime in the middle, and Aaron fell asleep, and Andrew and I almost did too. The movie finished and we watched the end of Ghostbusters, because it’s an awesome movie. Then I came home, feeling so insanely content I couldn’t express myself. I did in my dreams, though; I remember waking up feeling so happy and loved and wonderful.
Tuesday I went back to Andrew’s and he and Aaron and I watched Eddie Izzard for real. He’s so damn funny. Then we watched a bit of the Home Run Derby and I headed home for my last swim meet ever. Well damn. I won all of my events, which was a lovely way to finish off the season; during my fifty breaststroke I was aware that they were announcing my last individual event, and then right before my relay they made me get up on the block and Anne came on the PA and told everyone that I’d been on the team for eleven years and this was my last race. Wow. Talk about fucking up my focus. I just wanted to swim. It was a close race, and I was anchoring, and it made me super-nervous. Griffin and Susan and Coleman held us close, and I dove in for my fifty just behind the girl next to me. The only thing running through my mind was that it was my last race, my last relay with Coleman, and I’d fucking better not blow it. I finished right next to the other team, and no one knew who won until Griffin started screaming that we’d won by three hundredths. Wow. I wasn’t crying…well, I was. And I am now, a little, thinking about it. I mean, swim team is the only thing I’ve grown up with. Every Wednesday night for six weeks in the summer since I was eight has been a meet, and now that’s over. I have one more week of practices until Champs, and that’s it. No more Hurricanes. Holy shit.
So I come home from the meet and Patrick comes over for a bit. He then proceeds to get cranky because of my away messages, which he should know by now not to read too much into. But he did, and he stormed out and slammed the door, and I let him go, because sometimes people just need to blow off steam. I think everything’s going to be okay…or at least over. And over is sometimes better than okay. But we’ll see.
So that’s fun. Wednesday I was back at the gym, and Passages was there too. It was awesome to see Jeff, and everyone else was lovely as well. I climbed for a bit, but not much and not well. I don’t think anything terribly exciting happened on Wednesday; I honestly forget.
Thursday was fun. I think I went to morning practice, then goofed off for the better part of the afternoon. I think. I do know that I was at the gym from 1-6, working, then mom and dad and I went college shopping, which was a blast. I got all sorts of fun stuff and stuck my head in fridges and the like. Then I came home long enough to pack for the New, and returned to the gym to meet Aaron and Andrew. We met Alex at the Byrd and saw Xmen2, which is just as great a movie the second time around as it was the first. Andrew and I then returned to the gym to sleep. We figured it would be easier to get up and leave from there instead of trying to find somewhere to meet before we left, since we wanted to leave around six am. So we curled up in the back wall to sleep, which was fine for a while. And then we realized that the people who were having the lockin weren’t going to go to sleep, and neither were we. People climbing on the other side of the wall, throwing rocks at it, laughing and talking and yelling…we didn’t sleep much at all. Maybe an hour and a half for me, and Andrew can’t remember sleeping at all. So that was fun. The four and a half hour drive to West Virginia was quite an adventure; I’m so lucky I didn’t fall asleep, and Andrew was definitely dozing off in the passenger seat. I’m grateful that he tried to stay awake for me, but I felt bad that he wasn’t napping, too. Whatever; we got there safely around noon, pitched the tent, and proceeded to nap in it. The problem was that we had all of the windows closed and we were in direct July sunlight. We both woke up an hour or so later, and then drowsed until about three, drenched in sweat, and headed out to Summersville.
I’d never led outside before, and it’s way different than gym climbing. I was on a seven and an eight, and was terrified out of my mind. And I don’t really even know why; I know I’m safe, and I had complete faith in Andrew. I just…can’t get my mind out of the rut that hey, I’m high above the bolt and I’m not really comfortable with my climbing ability. It pissed me off, but it also gives me a place to go on from: I need to get unscared of leading and climbing outside so I can climb like I know I can next time I go (hopefully in a week and a half.) And when I wasn’t busy trying not to wet myself, I was having the most incredible time. The moments when I wasn’t worried about falling and was looking for the next hold or clipping a draw and breathing the mountains and everything around me…it was incredible. And I want to be able to do that all the time, without worrying about falling. The fear isn’t worth passing up on the beautiful freedom and peace of climbing. So now I have a goal.
After climbing a bit, we swam a bit, and bouldered out of the water. It was fun; maybe more fun than the wall climbing, just because I could mix my two favorite sports. After we were done with that, and Andrew was shivering frighteningly, so we hiked out and headed back to the campsite. I think. We might have gone straight to Rio for dinner; I forget. Either way, Rio was wonderfully quick, quite good, and we wound up back at Roger’s with nothing to do while we waited for Christine and Laz and Mike to show up. At least, they were theoretically showing up. We hadn’t actually heard from them, but we were expecting them around eleven. So we dozed off for a bit…at least, I did. I think Andrew might have been staying awake and waiting for them. I have no idea; all I know is that there was definitely thunder in the distance and Andrew forgot the rain fly for the tent, so we were both hoping it wouldn’t rain.
The others showed up around midnight, and we hung out for a very brief time before going to bed; Mike and Laz pitched their tent a ways away and Christine joined us in the big one. Someone was snoring a few tents over, so at least someone was getting some sleep; meanwhile, he was keeping the rest of the camp up. Boo. And then it started raining. And our tent had a rather large hole in the roof, and no rain fly. We thought we could outlast it for a while, since it was just a slight drizzle. Then the torrential downpour started, and we said ‘fuck it’ and moved out to the porch. And that sucked. The porch is, just as you’d expect, a hard bit of wood with a roof over it. But the roof was the important part, and I actually got a little bit of good sleep. Then the next morning everyone was looking at us with a ‘what the fuck are you doing out here? And why is your tent listing to one side?’ look. We’d just point at Andrew and let him explain it. And he’ll never live it down.
The place where we stayed, whose official name I don’t know, is basically a big field with a porch and some portapotties. The proprietor, Roger, is super-friendly, and the porch is the social hangout to talk about climbing. We didn’t hang out Friday because I was exhausted and Andrew wasn’t feeling social, but Saturday morning there was definitely a crowd around us. So the porch is the place to be.
Laz woke me up by telling me it was ten thirty, which got me moving. The five of us, plus some guy named Matt, headed out to Cathedral for breakfast, which is an old cathedral that makes awesome breakfasts. I learned Laz is a caffeine junkie, got some great beta for routes I’m completely incapable of doing, and had fun. Then we headed out to climb, and it was much fun. We went to Bubba City, which we figured would be dry. Christine and I hung back a bit and let the boys go on ahead because we weren’t in the mood to hike all the way in if it was just going to be wet. We ended up finding a nice place to climb; an eleven, a twelve, and a drying thirteen not far away. While Andrew got on the twelve, the rest of us messed around on the eleven. I wasn’t in the mood to lead it, but I topped it, and when I wasn’t busy flailing, I was loving every second of it. I was fine until I got to the roof, and then when I fell, I couldn’t get back to the wall. It sucked, I looked silly, but everyone was quite encouraging, and when I got the moves, it was the best feeling in the world. Meanwhile, Andrew took a whipper directly into a tree off of his route, ouchie, and Mike did some shady stuff on the top of the unnamed eleven. After we’d exhausted those two routes, the boys went off to Diamond Life, a thirteen, and Christine led a ten for me to top rope. It wasn’t as much fun as the eleven; technical crimps and whatnot. But hey, I did a ten at the New, only fell a few times (not nearly as bad as the eleven), and even though I didn’t feel strong, I did feel content.
Rather than climb more, Christine and I went back to Summersville to swim and climb a bit. That’s the best thing about going to the New…if you don’t feel like climbing, you don’t have to…you can go swimming, go to sleep, do whatever you want. There’s no schedule. And it’s freedom. I love it. I kept feeling all weekend – especially when it was just me and Andrew- that someone was missing. And I realized who it was: an adult, a parent, a guardian, someone who would keep us in line. And there wasn’t one. I mean, Mike and Laz are responsible 5.20c guys who can look after us, but they weren’t there to play chaperone. They were there for the same reason we were, and it was awesome. So Christine and I swam, then went to Waterstone, then met the boys back at Roger’s and headed off to Rio for dinner.
Until the Sunday prior, I’d never heard Laz string to sentences together. Getting to know him (and Mike, who I didn’t know well either) this weekend was awesome. I wish I had more time with them. They’re both hilarious guys who have something to say – usually something dirty – about everything. Mike told stories about taking a shot of Pert Plus; Laz made tawdry allusions to Christine’s underwear. Just goof-off stuff like that. Human stuff. I had so much fun with them, and I was sorry that they left Saturday night. Andrew and I stayed one more night, because I wasn’t in the mood to drive four and a half hours at nine o’clock at night. We parted after dinner, and Andrew and I went back to Roger’s to pitch Mike’s tent, which he’d graciously left us (along with its rain fly, thank you very much), take down ours, and hang out. First, though, Andrew convinced me to give him a belay on a route somewhere down in Kaymoor, which was right behind the campsite. The hike in was fun; the hike out drained what little energy I had left. Still, I’m glad he got that last route in, since we didn’t get up in time on Sunday to do anything else.
We were definitely more social Saturday night than we’d been on Friday. We talked about going to Kaymoor, figured out what routes we wanted to do, stuff like that. Some guy was out there with a guitar, playing and singing, and I sang along when he played stuff I knew. When he started into ‘Rain King’ I couldn’t stop smiling…one of the greatest feelings in the world (up there with climbing for the sake of climbing, without fear or inhibitions) is singing along because you can, singing because you know the words, not worried about who’s watching or what. Just enjoying the music. And I did. And it was incredible. He left after that, regrettably, but ‘Rain King’ will always remind me of that night on Roger’s porch, and I’m looking forward to having that memory.
Andrew and I took over the porch swing to look at the pictures I’d taken that day, and eventually Matt and his two friend Doug and John showed up. They talked about getting drunk and doing stupid stuff on the bridge, we discussed South Park, told dirty jokes, the boys did one-arm pull-ups, and we talked about climbing. At the picnic table across the way, a group was flipping through my guidebook and talking about climbing, sharing beta and stories. That night on the porch was almost as much fun as the climbing, or the dinner, or the swimming. Climbers are friendly, open people who love talking about their sport. Most of the stories are told without arrogance; we want to talk about an awesome send, nevermind if it was an eight or a 12d. Ability is second to passion, and there was so much passion on that porch that I felt completely alive. All I wanted to do was get up the next day and climb until I’d worn all the skin off my hands and dizzied myself with falls. I wanted to wear myself out and then hike out and collapse into the car, drive back, and be back on that porch, with those people, laughing and telling stories and singing and loving what we did. I want to go back, and stay forever.
We crawled into the tent and got ready for sleep, not caring if it rained or not, and suddenly there was a large bug buzzing in the tent. I swatted at it; it went down my shirt. Bueno. Neither Andrew nor I could see a damn thing, even with my headlamp, so we tried to ignore it, until we heard it buzzing again. It was behind the pouch that was hanging against the tent’s back wall; I smacked the pouch as hard as I could and it stopped buzzing. We never found it; Mike has a dead bug somewhere in his tent, and I’m glad it’s dead. It was a little fucker.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get to climb on Sunday morning. Instead of getting up when we woke up, we spent a little more time drowsing in the tent, until the sun beating down on us got to be too much. We crawled out, packed, looked at the clock, and realized it was ten thirty, and we were supposed to be home by two. At least, I was; I had the swim team banquet last night, and my parents wanted me home in plenty of time to get ready. Meh. So we went to Cathedral for another yummy breakfast, and then headed home. I was much more well rested, and the fact that Andrew and I actually talked (instead of the companionable silence we’d had on the way up there) made the ride that much faster. I returned home from the New with goals, memories, approximately three hundred mosquito bites, and a small cut on my upper lip whose origins I am not at liberty to explain. (Just say that it was the sort of situation that Carter would have called during.) I got home around five, just in time to shower (my first shower since Thursday, and it was great), get dressed, and go to the banquet.
Now, I’ve never been a fan of those things. Dinner is always awkward, and even though I sat with the big kids (the closest thing I have to friends on the team, tho I’m not very close with any of them), I still felt a little excluded. I was also exhausted. The awards and speeches are the same every year, but somehow, knowing it was my last, I took them in with a little more…I dunno. A little more interest, I suppose. It was nice to hear my name called a few times, and when they announced the Senior Cup (the award they give to all graduating seniors; this year, there were two, and I was the only one there), I didn’t cry. I asked if I could say something, and Elizabeth said sure, so I took the mic and gave a little speech, totally off the cuff. The message I wanted to get across was that if you love something, you don’t always know you love it until you’re almost done or done with it. I’ve been lucky; I’ve known I love swimming for almost all of the eleven years I’ve done it. And sometimes it sucks, and sometimes I wanted to quit, but I never did. And I’ve had to choose between loves all the time – like that morning, when I’d packed up and left the best climbing I’ve ever seen – and it’s worth it, and I’m eighteen but I know the secret to life: find what you love, an do it, no matter what. If you don’t deny yourself passions and loves, that’s all you need.
Of course, I wasn’t that eloquent. I don’t remember most of what I said; I remember shaking and turning red and backing into a piano and getting really choked up – but not crying, like I’d expected to – and making some of the parents cry and then everyone stood up and cheered for me. It was crazy; spontaneous and fun, and then that was it. I grabbed my awards and headed out, and that was it.
I was back there for practice today, and I’m going to go all week, and to two practices the days I can muster myself to do it at nine am, and I’m going to kick ass at champs. But wow, that was it.
So that’s how my last few weekends have been. I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking, so now I’m going to shove all that down your throat.
There’s a line in a Reel Big Fish song that goes ‘I love you, whatever that means.’ I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately, not just because I use the word so much, but because that’s how I feel about a few people. And I used it on my away message and it got me in trouble, although it shouldn’t have, because I don’t know what I meant by it.
When you realize that the person who you’ve been friends with for a year is really a man and not just the boy you’d trained yourself to see him as, it spurs some interesting thoughts. I’m not in love with anyone in the sense that I want to get married and make lots of babies. I simply have a friend who makes me so happy that I can’t wait to see him again. I want to put my arm around him and slide my fingers into that little notch at his hip – my favorite spot on a guy (believe it or not.) I want to squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back. I want to look into his eyes and see that he knows how I feel and I know how he feels. It’s an incredible sensation. And it’s love, no matter what anyone says. Driving four and a half hours with someone, listening to music and telling life stories and watching the people around you seems like so much less than four and a half hours when you don’t want that peaceful companionship to end.
Falling asleep in the arms of someone you care about is an incredible feeling. Waking up next to that same person and seeing them smile at you is indescribable. Something as simple as walking along a Scenic View off of Interstate 64 with your arm around someone can mean so much, not just because of the action, but because of the person and the time and the place. And when everything comes together like that, it’s love. Not just for the person, but for everything; you love the whole world.
I’m running out of time, and I wish I’d found this love sooner. But I have it now, and I want to hold it as close to me for as long as I can.
‘As long as I can’ isn’t very long, though; I plan to love as much as I can in the next five weeks, and only hope that I’ll feel as happy in those weeks as I did this weekend. If I can, I’ll be the luckiest person alive. So much seems too good to be true; I want to hold on to it forever in case I really do wake up, alone, and discover that it’s all been fake. But even if it has, if I can remember the feeling of taking someone’s hand to fall asleep, I can remember love, and that’s all I need. If I can remember that, I can remember that life can be that incredible, and that’s all I need to keep going. If nothing else, having something like that love to look forward to in life will make anything bearable, even losing everything I’ve had for the last eighteen years.