confessions of perfect little stories

confession: yesterday i wrote 100 perfect words telling a love story. i set them aside. the 100 words seemed less perfect today. i edited them, arriving at almost perfect. i trust almost perfect words over perfect words. i aspire to write perfect stories in almost perfect words.

confession: it had been ten months since i’d seen her, which is a long time for best friends to wait between hugs, long enough to deepen lines in our faces, long enough to soften our hearts toward everyone. we’d never gone that long between laying eyes on each other. even during her years living in europe, i’d visit every summer and she’d visit every winter. but because we’ve been best friends for 25 years, time moves slower and faster than it used to while we are busy living our far-flung lives, and we’ve known for months that i’m moving closer to her, close enough to hop on a train and see her any day.

confession: i’m moving to philadelphia in june. i wasn’t going to tell you. i was going to slip out unnoticed because i don’t want to say goodbye.

confession: a few days ago i met someone from someplace that isn’t texas who questioned if i were condescending when i called another honey, sweetie, and darlin. i’m not condescending. i’m just from texas. that’s how we talk. but since i’m moving 1,700 miles north in two and a half months i’m growing guarded about my universally applied terms of endearments.

confession: there are people in austin i don’t want to leave including a new godchild with giant feet, but there are also airplanes and facetime and reasons to travel and reasons i need to go away.

confession: bluebonnets are more precious to me this year because i’m kissing them goodbye. everything is more precious this spring because i am kissing it goodbye.

confession: i’ve watched friends leave austin and return to austin over the decades and i wonder if i’ll become one of them, someone who moves back. i already have plans to return next january, february, and march to escape northern winter in austin’s non-winter.

confession: i have to leave because i’ve become someone i don’t like, the austinite who complains about traffic and new condos and reminisces about how austin used to be ten, twenty, and thirty years ago. if i stay, i’ll become bitter. leaving, i get to be new.





About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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