Happily Ever Afters

by Elise Bryant

We strut to the car and slam the doors shut, and when I turn to Sam, I find myself blinking a few times. And then a few times more, like you do when you first wake up and the world is still coming into focus. Because something’s different. He’s different. Or maybe he’s just who he’s been all along, and the different one is me.

But I think there’s something to be said for making art just to make you happy. Not to win awards or impress others or get the attention of your parents who can be a little clueless at times. But art for art’s sake. Art for yourself.”

Writing again feels like reuniting with an old friend. Except no—that’s not right. Because it’s a part of me, it always has been, even through these lost months. It’s more like reattaching a limb. Or my hair growing back after the Big Chop, different but wholly mine.

I’m intoxicated with the magic of it all, being able to share my words with others. And I wouldn’t have been able to experience this joy, this rush, without first taking the risk of sharing myself. Without saying, Here. This is something I love, please love it too.