Passion Project

by London Sperry

a candid photo at the top of a mountain with a camera slung around his neck. I rolled my eyes when I saw that one. Outdoorsy I am not.

that was before every atom in my body rearranged into who I am now.

I knew before I even opened my eyes that I was loved.

“Are you always this nice to people who ghost you?” “No.” He grins. “I usually don’t meet them.”

I’m a directionless loser in her twenties who doesn’t have a passion.”

“I don’t pick my friends based on their jobs,”

The library isn’t out of place—no, it will outstay everyone and everything here.

These people are my age, yet they seem to be in on something that I don’t understand. How did they get that way? What am I missing?

She wears a literal representation of who she is on her skin. It tells me that she knows who she is, that she’s bold and unafraid to make a statement, that she’s proud of being Kira.

Moments like these, when you’re able to get away from the chaos of certain areas of New York but are still close enough to hear and smell it, are the moments when I like this city the most. It’s like listening to the ocean through a conch shell, like closing your eyes and inhaling the scent of fresh-baked cookies. A moment between real life and a dream state. Almost hypnotic.

Pro: I might be able to discover my passion. Con: discovering my passion will mean I have no more excuses.

Spring is about to turn to summer any day now, as the trees are still flowering and blooming. Puddles of grime on the sidewalks are lined with milky yellow pollen and people walk around with tissues in their pockets.

It’s honestly a bit shocking to find out that human interaction over the past couple weeks has yet to kill me.

The guilt distracted him from the pain, and the pain manifested itself physically in his chest.

the more trash you accept in your life, the more you feel like you deserve it. I don’t want to feel like I deserve it anymore.

I don’t think I’m meant to be a #girlboss

His thumbs press into my skin, firm but gentle. I know these hands.

I would not be surprised if Henry had an army of identical siblings lurking around New York City, all on a mission to catch me in humiliating positions.

“Did you know I was going to be here?” I ask as I dab. “No.” He smiles. “I just keep getting lucky.”

Pretend I don’t exist.” “Yeah. Like I could do that.” The playfulness in his eyes flickers into something else when he looks at me now, something different.

“Everyone needs a little Dolly sometimes,”

Neon-purple desk, neon-green chairs, neon-orange picture frames with photos of neon-blue fish. I wonder how anyone gets anything done in a place like this.

I want to stay in New York for a little longer. I want this organ transplant to take.

All I can hear, ricocheting around my brain, is the phrase Henry Sexy and a very loud fart noise.

You know me better than anyone else in the world, I think, and that scares me so much because I feel like I’m not that same person anymore.

“You’re funny, you’re caring, and you feel everything deeply. Don’t rob people of that because you can’t see it yourself.”

I look back at him, crumpled into a ball in the backseat so that I could take the front. This is the essence of Henry, the thing I’ve been trying so hard not to trust.

I avert eye contact with him by looking at a Kit Kittredge doll on the dresser.

It’s that purply blue time of morning, when the sun is almost fully risen and the light plays tricks on your eyes, blurring the edges of the world around you.

I don’t know if I can do it, get lost in the tidal wave of life. I could drown again.

Having your shit together is not a prerequisite for love.

“Being up here makes me feel small, but being with you makes me feel significant.”

“I’d wait for you at that bar a million times if it meant I got to be here with you.”

Here, I’m broken, but in a beautiful way, in a way that all my pieces reflect light and color, not darkness.

For the first time in a very long time, in this exact place with this exact person, I feel like I’m right where I need to be.

“You’ve been pouring water over your matches to keep them in perfect order because fire is scary and you can get burned, but matches don’t want to be wet, they want to be on fire. All it takes is one thing to happen, one tiny match gets lit, and it’s like a domino effect, lighting all the other matches. All you have to do is light that first match.”

“That’s what life is about. Never stop loving. No matter what.”

“I know what you look like when you’re in love.”

“I want you to know that even if I love other people, it is only possible because I also love you.

love doesn’t care about whether or not you have your shit together, or if you’re a grieving mess. Love doesn’t care if you’re anxious or depressed or drowning in everyday life. Love just loves.

The first breeze of fall brushes past us as the oppressive summer heat melts away.