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I had my heart broken on Valentine’s Day.

petrichor - keaton henson

pet·ri·chor: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

(Source: petalpunx, via thatkindofwoman)


After spending the winter in a relationship, this summer came quick and it came with a lot of eye openers.

I’ve been single the majority of my life. I’ve actually spent more time with tumblr than I have dating or being in a relationship. 

I broke up with my ex because I felt extremely detached from myself, among other things. So, I’ve become my own partner. It’s only me. I’m the one who I wake up to, who I go to sleep with.

I’m the one who motivates myself to do an extra power set when working out, or push myself a little harder to deeming a posture in my yoga practice. 

I’ve spent a lot of time alone since moving out of my parent’s house. And, well, that’s great and fine. It’s loving and fulfilling, it’s giving me the time to make my body, mind, and thoughts fully mine. It means I don’t have to worry about what someone else needs or wants from me as a partner. 

But there is something about hot summer nights, about wanting to read aloud to someone. About heading onto my roof, being able to reach out and rest my hand upon someone i trust. It’s about waking up at 4am and having someone who matters next to you. 

There’s something about the way the sun sets, and the laziness of this town. It makes my skin prickle. It makes my shoulders ache down to my fingertips to hold someone. Day trips with a lover. With a best friend. With a confidante. With someone who doesn’t mind that I’ve let paint flake off my skin after I spend hours painting my kitchen cabinets. Someone who doesn’t mind my wild hair. Someone who’ll play with me, the little games. Someone to dance with. 

Someone to kiss, lazy. Someone to kiss fast. Nibbles and tastes. 

I was driving today, passing a converted barn, I spotted a couple. A tan man without a shirt on grabbing the hips of a woman who was standing next to a sedan. He pulled her closer, away from the car with it’s driver door open. He kissed her goodbye, with abandon. His summer skin glowing and her mouth spread in a smile. It was a split second in time. A moment.

It was summer love. It was need and want, and to have and to grab. 

It’s about sweat, and rolling around in messy bedsheets. It’s about wading into pools, and creeks. Rolling up your sleeves to work on a project. About car rides with messy hair. It’s about hands on your waist and thighs. It’s about sneaking a butt squeeze.

It’s about spilling all the love you have for yourself into someone else, and taking the love they spill back. Smiling, testing with greedy hands, with some playful glances.

God damn. It’s summertime. 

Am I enough?

It has been three weeks since my college graduation and, on that day, I felt genuine happiness, excitement, relief, anxiety, and a muddle of other emotions one may get when finally persevering through something that was financially, mentally, physically, and emotionally grueling.

The high I felt quickly became a nose dive into an ocean of my own self made insecurities and superhuman expectations I cannot reach and surpass. It helped boil the vat of self doubt, of what-ifs and I cants. My nights and weekends became days where I would be rolled up in bed feeling sorry for myself. “What happened?” would always be a passing thought as I slept through the time I wanted to utilize to be a better me.

I crossed the finish line and have a degree in my hands with a couple of years of experience in the field. I promised myself to limit my use of “no” and make more use of “yes”, yet here I am sitting on my bed, hunched over a laptop.

What reason do I have to feel the way that I do? I am uninspired and, as embarrassing as it may be to admit, I feel unwanted and unacknowledged.