And that's what tore me apart.

I remember one night--

six months after we were over.

I thought I was good.

I had moved on

(as on as I could get)

and I felt happy.

But that night, it started.

The second wave.

And this time,

it wasn't all because

I had lost you.

It was also because

in that moment

I knew

there was no way in hell

that you were thinking about me,

too.

This sounded a lot creepier on paper than it did in my head.

I often wish I were young enough to love a boy again, instead of a man.

Men have experienced too much life; they've lost that irresistible sweetness that boys seem to just have, sitting in their eyes, like pools of untainted honey.

And then he was gone.

You know how there's always that one kind of guy that you find yourself drawn to, that you secretly drool over and go weak at the knees for, but for some reason it's him that you always know you'll never have? For me it's those ones who wear the big headphones all the time, who have perfectly unkempt Zac Efron hair and Adidas shoes, who act aloof but are ridiculously soft on the inside, who rarely smile but when they do, the charm of it blows you away.

Well. Today was a big day because one of those spoke to me today. He was disheveled, and there wasn't a piece of clothing or hair on his head that wasn't in the wrong place. But at the same time, it was all so right in its wrongness, and he made it look astoundingly effortless.

He had no reason to talk to me, but he did, which made him just that much more charming. And there was something about his manner of speaking that had me absolutely enthralled.

The thing is, I knew in my heart that I could never have him, but even so, when he pointed out my shoes--said they were rad--there was that undeniable flutter of nervous hope in my stomach that made me think there was a chance.

A slight one, but a chance, nonetheless.

The Getting There

I don't know how you get there; only that you do. It is by no means sudden, but at the same time, it was suddenly one day that I realized I didn't feel a nagging need for him anymore. One day you will look back and realize that one year ago today you were a lot more of a train wreck than you are now--that you were calling him in the middle of the night sobbing, begging him to take you back. And on this day you will finally be able to feel so grateful that you were privileged enough to experience love like that, instead of simply wondering why it had to end. You will think of those memories with joy instead of sadness.

And particularly, when you hear that one song--during the which he never fails to appear in your memory, uninvited and unannounced--it is suddenly bearable, and you remember why you liked the song in the first place, before all that whirlwind love and heartbreak made it into something else.

I don't know why or how it happens. It does not rely on conscious decisions or deliberate thought processes. Unfortunately, these things cannot dull the pain as one might like them to. All I know is that time is a friend, a friend that gradually works on you, and so slowly that you couldn't possibly notice. A friend that takes all the tears out of you and in them dissolves the vividity of the images in your head. A friend who seems often cruel, but who, after a long stretch of himself, shows that he loves you enough to mend your heart.

Things London taught me:

• It is much harder to fall out of love than in it
• I have the capacity to make friends, despite my persistent belief that I didn't
• Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me personally, out of the billions of people that have ever lived on this earth
• Laughter heals most wounds, and time heals all others
• A mission scares me more than anything in this entire world, but I still want it so badly
• Sometimes you just have to get away from the things that are tearing out your heart, if only to realize how important they are
• I was born to dance
• New friends are wonderful and fun and exciting, but there is nothing better or more loyal than an old friend
• There is no reason to be angry at God for things that seem like the worst, because they usually turn out to be the best things that could happen
• Siblings are otherwise known as angels
• I am loved

And now, a plethora of pictures which you probably don't care about but that I love:

#sibsinlondon at Westminster Abbey

Constable Country with my favorite people
 

Hampton Court, probably most favorite picture of the trip

Sissinghurst Castle with the groupies

Awkwardness in Bath

My girlies at Robin Hood Bay

The Lake District with some more favorite people of mine

Chatsworth

Chatsworth with my darling Anna

The Louvre with my homegirls

 

Dancing at the Tour Eiffel in a torrential Parisian rainstorm and loving every minute

On top of the Arc de Triomphe on my BIRTHDAY with the two best older brothers around

You know, just wandering the Alps with my bros

You know, what I'm about to say is just full of all sorts of cheesy, but I'm just gonna do it, I'm just gonna tell you because this cheese is from the heart:

On days like this

when I'm not feeling myself,

and everyone's words seem to cut, in that oh-so-personal-but-not-on-purpose way,

I simply can't stop thinking about you because you always make me feel like the truest self I can be.

And that's just about the best thing you've ever given me.

But why? he said. Why now?

You want to know why I want to marry you? she said fervently, intent on conveying the important urgency of her answer. Because I want to be able to wake up to your face every day, first thing of the day. So that my day is made, right from the very beginning. And then I want to kiss your face, all over, and I want to be able to let you know, every single second of my consciousness, that I love you, and that I'll always love you.

To my darling girl, because I write much more easily than I speak:

Hey, love. I've been meaning to tell you some things. And I need you to know that they are true. Without a doubt.

First of all, that I look up to you more than anyone I know. It may seem a little backward, but how could I not? You are beautiful. Beautiful. Just ridiculously crazy unimaginably lovely. Your entire being exudes beauty because of the goodness that accompanies it.

You know how to be kind, which makes you mature beyond your age. The people around you notice: You're never cruel, you don't say hateful things, you're just so kind. The simple kind, the say-hi-to-someone-who-doesn't-think-you-know-their-name kind of kind. The most important kind of kind.

I catch myself gasping with admiration at your bravery. Watching you sing in front of so many people, an age group that has the potential to say some of the most mean-hearted things, I couldn't help but wish that I had even an ounce of that courage--that courage that seems like it should be much too large for your little body to hold. And then you cut your hair. And you knew that people might say things... Ali, all your hair's gone!... But it was so pretty and long!... But you didn't care in the slightest, and I was so proud of you. You're one of those people who doesn't give a {jam} ;) about what other people think, which is truly amazing.

You fill every day with vibrancy. You are such a little creator, you know. Those prettiest songs you compose for the guitar, those loveliest words you write down--it's all perfect. It's all something new, beautiful, and good that you've contributed to the world.

You know where you're going. You know what you want. And I don't want you to be like me when I was your age--just waiting. I want you to go get it. I want you to do whatever it is you want. You can. You can. Your heart is so strong, so wise, and it won't lead you astray.

I want you to know that boys, they come and go, and well, sometimes maybe one will like your cousin more, but that doesn't matter. That was one boy, but he's not the boy. Not for you. Someday, one will come along who will love you just as much as I love you--so much that his heart would rip in two if he ever lost you--so much that he can't find the words to describe it because every time he tries, he only ends up crying.

You deserve everything, darling. Everything and more. And I'm sorry that I can be a brat sometimes, but just so you know, there is no other sister that I would rather have than you. You help me grow and be kinder and realize when I am being selfish. No one else could do that as well as you.


With love, always with love,

Your adoring sister


{You were right, by the way, last night. That is your thing. And I'm not trying to take it from you or anything like that. I could never become as good as you, anyway. I guess I just wish I were as cool and wonderfully talented as you are. I was trying to be like you.}

Provoking Thoughts from a Stranger (or Kindred Spirit).

I've been thinking a lot lately about if I am a feminist. (Especially with this going around the Interwebs a few weeks ago.) If I am a feminist, I doubt I'm a very extreme one.

So then I stumbled upon this excerpt from the lovely Meg Fee:

"And then I began to think about how if I attempted to write (or okay, let's call a spade a spade, blog) about attraction then Anonymous would be sure to skewer me because heaven forbid a woman knows what she wants--physically or otherwise. So we can then add knowing-what-we-want to the list of things women are not encouraged to do, which I'm pretty sure also includes aging-gracefully and the-right-to-vote (which this last one I thought we took care of in 1920 but I came across a tweet today which led to a blog and apparently it's a thing again) and can we then take a minute to talk about how it's women that are holding each other back? How each and every last one of us does not proudly admit to being a feminist is simply beyond me. I am a feminist. This does not mean I burn bras. This does not mean I hate men. This means I think women have a voice and an unparalleled strength and a unique set of gifts. Women have birthed empires. And if you try to use religion on me and start talking about your god versus my god and how it's the Lord's will that women submit to a male authority then I will simply lose my shit. I mean, I will. I will lose my shit right here, right now, right over all that's to follow. Because the whole your god, my god thing is enough to make me end the conversation right then and there--it's entitled and possessive and wholly small in a way that seems so very against the spirit of things."

And that is precisely how I feel. Colorful language and all.

(And look, I don't know much, but what I do know is that if it weren't for feminists, my mom would not be where she is now, vice president of a successful and steadily growing company, able to provide well for our family for eight years and counting. That couldn't have happened thirty years ago and I'd say that's pretty damn amazing, not to mention incredibly important.)