My mother thinks I’m living a half life. Like I’m in the world but just barely. And she’s not wrong but she doesn’t understand compromise. She doesn’t see me at night, curled up in front of the TV laughing my ass off, or at work when I’m walking a dog I really like and it’s just the two of us striding out, not giving a shit about anything and I feel the closest thing to happy. I keep my joys small and close to my chest. I’m not trading them in for anything flashier, not anytime soon.
